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Full text of "Essays, moral, political and literary
"
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ESSAYS
MOKAL, POLITICAL, AND LITERARY
DAVID HUME
VOL. II.
rnixTED by
HFOTTISWOODE AND CO., NEW-STKEET SQUAUK
LONDON
ESSAYS
MORAL, POLITICAL, AND LITERARY
BY DAVID HUME
EDITED, WITH PRELIMINARY DISSERTATIONS AND NOTES, BY
T. H. GREEN and T. H. GROSE
LATE FELLOW AND Tl^TOS OF BALLIOL FELLOW AND TOTOR OF QUKKX'l
COLLEGE, OXFORD COLLEGE, OXFORD
IN TWO VOLUMES
Vol. II.
NEW EDITION
LONDON
LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO.
AND NEW YORK : 15 EAST 16 th STREET
18S9
r
^
AN
E N Q U I K Y
CONCERNING
HUMAN
UNDERSTANDING,
VOL. IV.
B
AN ENQUIEY
CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING.
Sect. I. Of the Different Species of Philosophy* SECT.
Mokal philosophy, or the science 01 human nature, may be * r
treated after two different manners ; each of which has its
peculiar merit, and may contribute to the entertainment,
instruction, and reformation of mankind. The one considers
man chiefly as born for action; and as influenced in his
measures by taste and sentiment ; pursuing one object, and
avoiding another, according to the value which these objects
seem to possess, and according to the light in which they
present themselves. As virtue, of all objects, is allowed to
be the most valuable, this species of philosophers paint her
in the most amiable colours ; borrowing all helps from poetry
and eloquence, and treating their subject in an easy and
obvious manner, and such as is best fitted to please the
imagination, and engage the affections. They select the
most striking observations and instances from common life ;
place opposite characters in a proper contrast; and alluring
us into the paths of virtue by the views of glory and happi-
ness, direct our steps in these paths by the soundest pre-
cepts and most illustrious examples. They make us/ee? the
difference between vice and virtue ; they excite and regulate
our sentiments ; and so they can but bend our hearts to the
love of probity and true honour, they think, that they have
fully attained the end of all their labours.
The other species of philosophers consider man in the
light of a reasonable rather then an active being, and en-
deavour to form his understanding more than cultivate his
manners. They regard human nature as a subject of specu-
lation; and with a narrow scrutiny examine it, in order
to find those principles, which regulate our understanding,
B 2
4 CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING.
excite our sentiments, and make us approve or blame any-
particular object, action, or behaviour. They think it a
reproach to all literature, that philosophy should not yet
have fixed, beyond controversy, the foundation of morals,
reasoning, and criticism ; and should for ever talk of truth
and falsehood, vice and virtue, beauty and deformity, with-
out being able to determine the source of these distinctions.
"While they attempt this arduous task, they are deterred by
no difficulties ; but proceeding from particular instances to
general principles, they still push on their enquiries to prin-
ciples more general, and rest not satisfied till they arrive at
those original principles, by which, in every science, all
human curiosity must be bounded. Though their specula-
tions seem abstract, and even unintelligible to common
readers, they aim at the approbation of the learned and the
wise ; and think themselves sufficiently compensated for
the labour of their whole lives, if they can discover some
hidden truths, which may contribute to the instruction of
posterity.
It is certain that the easy and obvious philosophy will
always, with the generality of mankind, have the preference
above the accurate and abstruse ; and by many will be re-
commended, not only as more agreeable, but more useful
than the other. It enters more into common life ; moulds
the heart and affections ; and, by touching those principles
which actuate men, reforms their conduct, and brings them
nearer to that model of perfection which it describes. On
the contrary, the abstruse philosophy, being founded on a
turn of mind, which ca,nnot enter into business and action,
vanishes when the philosopher leaves the shade, and comes
into open day ; nor can its principles easily retain any in-
fluence over our conduct and behaviour. The feelings of
our heart, the agitation of our passions, the vehemence of
our affections, dissipate all its conclusions, and reduce the
profound philosopher to a mere plebeian.
This also must be confessed, that the most durable, as well
as justest fame, has been acquired by the easy philosophy,
and that abstract reasoners seem hitherto to have enjoyed
only a momentary reputation, from the caprice or ignorance
of their own age, but have not been able to support their re-
nown with more equitable posterity. It is easy for a pro-
found philosopher to commit a mistake in his subtile reason-
OF THE DIFFERENT SPECIES OF PHILOSOPHY. 6
ings ; and one mistake is the necessary parent of another,
while he pushes on his consequences, and is not deterred S ^ CT
from embracing any conclusion, by its unusual appearance, * ,
or its contradiction to popular opinion. But a philosopher,
who purposes only to represent the common sense of man-
kind in more beautiful and more engaging colours, if by
accident he falls into error, goes no farther ; but renewing
his appeal to common sense, and the natural sentiments of
the mind, returns into the right path, and secures himself
from any dangerous illusions. The fame of Cicero nourishes
at present ; but that of Aristotle is utterly decayed. La
Bruyere passes the seas, and still maintains his reputation :
But the glory of Malebranche is confined to his own nation,
and to his own age. And Addison, perhaps, will be read
with pleasure, when Locke shall be entirely forgotten. 1
The mere philosopher is a character, which is commonly
but little acceptable in the world, as being supposed to con-
tribute nothing either to the advantage or pleasure of society ;
while he lives remote from communication with mankind,
and is wrapped up in principles and notions equally remote
from their comprehension. On the other hand, the mere
ignorant is still more despised ; nor is any thing deemed a
surer sign of an illiberal genius in an age and nation where
the sciences nourish, than to be entirely destitute of all relish
for those noble entertainments. The most perfect character
is supposed to lie between those extremes ; retaining an
equal ability and taste for books, company, and business ;
preserving in conversation that discernment and delicacy
which arise from polite letters ; and in business, that probity
and accuracy which are the natural result of a just philoso-
phy. In order to diffuse and cultivate so accomplished a
character, nothing can be more useful than compositions of
the easy style and manner, which draw not too much from
life, require no deep application or retreat to be compre-
hended, and send back the student among mankind full of
noble sentiments and wise precepts, applicable to every
exigence of human life. By means of such compositions,
virtue becomes amiable, science agreeable, company instruc-
tive, and retirement entertaining.
1 [Editions E and F add the note : and modest Reasoner. 'Tis only meant
This is not intended any way to detract to show the common Fate of such ab-
from the Merit of Mr. Locke, who was stract Philosophy.]
really a great Pliilosopher, and a just
6 CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING.
SECT. Man is a reasonable being ; and as such, receives from
_ J- . science his proper food and nourishment : But so narrow are
the bounds of human understanding, that little satisfaction
can be hoped for in this particular, either from the extent
or security of his acquisitions. Man is a sociable, no less
than a reasonable being : But neither can he always enjoy
company agreeable and amusing, or preserve the proper relish
for them. Man is also an active being ; and from that dis-
position, as well as from the various necessities of human
life, must submit to business and occupation : But the mind
requires some relaxation, and cannot always support its bent
to care and industry. It seems, then, that nature has
pointed out a mixed kind of life as most suitable to human
race, and secretly admonished them to allow none of these
biasses to draw too much, so as to incapacitate them for other
occupations and entertainments. Indulge your passion for
science, says she, but let your science be human, and such
as may have a direct reference to action and society. Ab-
struse thought and profound researches I prohibit, and will
severely punish, by the pensive melancholy which they in-
troduce, by the endless uncertainty in which they involve
you, and by the cold reception which your pretended dis-
coveries shall meet with, when communicated. Be a philo-
sopher ; but, amidst all your philosophy, be still a man.
Were the generality of mankind contented to prefer the
easy philosophy to the abstract and profound, without throw-
ing any blame or contempt on the latter, it might not be
improper, perhaps, to comply with this general opinion, and
allow every man to enjoy, without opposition, his own taste
and sentiment. But as the matter is often carried farther,
even to the absolute rejecting of all profound reasonings, or
what is commonly called metaphysics, we shall now proceed
to consider what can reasonably be pleaded in their behalf.
We may begin with observing, that one considerable ad-
vantage, which results from the accurate and abstract philo-
sophy, is, its subserviency to the easy and humane ; which,
without the former, can never attain a sufficient degree of
exactness in its sentiments, precepts, or reasonings. All
polite letters are nothing but pictures of human life in
various attitudes and situations ; and inspire us with different
sentiments, of praise or blame, admiration or ridicule, ac-
cording to the qualities of the object, which they set before
OF THE DIFFERENT SPECIES OF PHILOSOPHY. 7
ns. An artist must be better qualified to succeed in this SECT,
undertaking, who, besides a delicate taste and a quick ., *} __
apprehension, possesses an accurate knowledge of the in-
ternal fabric, the operations of the understanding, the
workings of the passions, and the various species of senti-
ment which discriminate vice and virtue. How painful soever
this inward search or enquiry may appear, it becomes, in
some measure, requisite to those, who would describe with
success the obvious and outward appearances of life and
manners. The anatomist presents to the eye the most
hideous and disagreeable objects ; but his science is useful
to the painter in delineating even a Venus or an Helen.
While the latter employs all the richest colours of his art,
and gives his figures the most graceful and engaging airs ;
he must still carry his attention to the inward structure of
the human body, the position of the muscles, the fabric of
the bones, and the use and figure of every part or organ.
Accuracy is, in every case, advantageous to beauty, and just
reasoning to delicate sentiment. In vain would we exalt
the one by depreciating the other.
Besides, we may observe, in every art or profession, even
those which most concern life or action, that a spirit of
accuracy, however acquired, carries all of them nearer their
perfection, and renders them more subservient to the in-
terests of society. And though a philosopher may live
remote from business, the genius of philosophy, if carefully
cultivated by several, must gradually diffuse itself throughout
the whole society, and bestow a similar correctness on every
art and calling. The politician will acquire greater fore-
sight and subtility, in the subdividing and balancing of
power ; the lawyer more method and finer principles in his
reasonings ; and the general more regularity in his discipline,
and more caution in his plans and operations. The stability
of modern governments above the ancient, and the accuracy
of modern philosophy, have improved, and probably will still
improve, by similar gradations.
Were there no advantage to be reaped from these studies,
beyond the gratification of an innocent curiosity, yet ought
not even this to be despised ; as being one accession to those
few safe and harmless pleasures, which are bestowed on
human race. The sweetest and most inoffensive path of life
leads through the avenues of science and learning; and
8 CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING.
SECT, -whoever can either remove any obstructions in this way, or
' _. open up any new prospect, ought so far to be esteemed a
benefactor to mankind. And though these researches may
appear painful and fatiguing, it is with some minds as with
some bodies, which being endowed with vigorous and florid
health, require severe exercise, and reap a pleasure from
what, to the generality of mankind, may seem burdensome
and laborious. Obscurity, indeed, is painful to the mind as
well as to the eye ; but to bring light from obscurity, by
whatever labour, must needs be delightful and rejoicing.
But this obscurity in the profound and abstract philosophy,
is objected to, not only as painful and fatiguing, but as the
inevitable source of uncertainty and error. Here indeed lies
the justest and most plausible objection against a consider-
able part of metaphysics, that they are not properly a science ;
but arise either from the fruitless efforts of human vanity,
which would penetrate into subjects utterly inaccessible to
the understanding, or from the craft of popular superstitions,
which, being unable to defend themselves on fair ground,
raise these intangling brambles to cover and protect their
weakness. Chaced from the open country, these robbers fly
into the forest, and lie in wait to break in upon every un-
guarded avenue of the mind, and overwhelm it with religious
fears and prejudices. The stoutest antagonist, if he remit
his watch a moment, is oppressed. And many, through
cowardice and folly, open the gates to the enemies, and
willingly receive them with reverence and submission, as
their legal sovereigns.
But is this a sufficient reason, why philosophers should
desist from such researches, and leave superstition still in
possession of her retreat ? Is it not proper to draw an oppo-
site conclusion, and perceive the necessity of carrying the
war into the most secret recesses of the enemy ? In vain do
we hope, that men, from frequent disappointment, wiU at last
abandon such airy sciences, and discover the proper province
of human reason. For, besides, that many persons find too
sensible an interest in perpetually recalling such topics ;
besides this, I say, the motive of blind despair can never
reasonably have place in the sciences ; since, however unsuc-
cessful former attempts may have proved, there is still room
to hope, that the industry, good fortune, or improved sagacity
of succeeding generations may reach discoveries unknown to
OF THE DIFFERENT SFECIES OF PHILOSOPHY. 9
former ages. Each adventurous genius will still leap at the SECT,
arduous prize, and find himself stimulated, rather than w ,'
discouraged, by the failures of his predecessors ; while he
hopes that the glory of atchieving so hard an adventure is
reserved for him alone. The only method of freeing learning,
at once, from these abstruse questions, is to enquire seriously
into the nature of human understanding, and shew, from an
exact analysis of its powers and capacity, that it is by no
means fitted for such remote and abstruse subjects. We must
submit to this fatigue, in order to live at ease ever after :
And must cultivate true metaphysics with some care, in
order to destroy the false and adulterate. Indolence, which,
to some persons, affords a safeguard against this deceitful
philosophy, is, with others, overbalanced by curiosity ; and
despair, which, at some moments, prevails, may give place
afterwards to sanguine hopes and expectations. Accurate and
just reasoning is the only catholic remedy, fitted for all persons
and all dispositions ; and is alone able to subvert that abstruse
philosophy and metaphysical jargon, which, being mixed up
with popular superstition, renders it in a manner impene-
trable to careless reasoners, and gives it the air of science
and wisdom.
Besides this advantage of rejecting, after deliberate en-
quiry, the most uncertain and disagreeable part of learning,
there are many positive advantages, which result from an
accurate scrutiny into the powers and faculties of human
nature. It is remarkable concerning the operations of the
mind, that, though most intimately present to us, yet, when-
ever they become the object of reflection, they seem involved
in obscurity ; nor can the eye readily find those lines and
boundaries, which discriminate and distinguish them. The
objects are too fine to remain long in the same aspect or
situation ; and must be apprehended in an instant, by a
superior penetration, derived from nature, and improved by
habit and reflection. It becomes, therefore, no inconsiderable
part of science barely to know the different operations of the
mind, to separate them from each other, to class them under
their proper heads, and to correct all that seeming disorder,
in which they lie involved, when made the object of reflec-
tion and enquiry. This task of ordering and distinguishing,
which has no merit, when performed with regard to external
bodies, the objects of our senses, rises in its value, when
10 CONCEENING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING.
SECT, directed towards the operations of the mind, in proportion to
. / _ , , the difficulty and labour, which we meet with in performing
it. And if we can go no farther than this mental geography,
or delineation of the distinct parts and powers of the mind,
it is at least a satisfaction to go so far; and the more obvious
this science may appear (and it is by no means obvious) th e
more contemptible still must the ignorance of it be esteemed,
in all pretenders to learning and philosophy.
Nor can there remain any suspicion, that this science is
uncertain and chimerical ; unless we should entertain such
a scepticism as is entirely subversive of all speculation, and
even action. It cannot be doubted, that the mind is endowed
with several powers and faculties, that these powers are dis-
tinct from each other, that what is really distinct to the
immediate perception may be distinguished by reflection ;
and consequently, that there is a truth and falsehood in all
propositions on this subject, and a truth and falsehood,
which lie not beyond the compass of human understanding.
There are many obvious distinctions of this kind, such as
those between the will and understanding, the imagination
and passions, which fall within the comprehension of every
human creature ; and the finer and more philosophical dis-
tinctions are no less real and certain, though more difficult
to be comprehended. Some instances, especially late ones,
of success in these enquiries, may give us a juster notion of
the certainty and solidity of this branch of learning. And
shall we esteem it worthy the labour of a philosopher to give
us a true system of the planets, and adjust the position and
order of those remote bodies ; while we affect to overlook
those, who, with so much success, delineate the parts of the
mind, in which we are so intimately concerned ? l
1 [Editions E and F append the note: Nature of Things, but is entirely rela-
That Faculty, by which we discern tive to the Sentiment or mental Taste
Truth and Falshood, and that by which of each particular Being ; in the same
we perceive Vice and Virtue had long Manner as the Distinctions of sweet
been confounded with each other, and and bitter, hot and cold, arise from the
all Morality was suppos'd to be built particular feeling of each SenseorOrgan.
on eternal and immutable Eolations, Moral Perceptions therefore, ought not
which, to every intelligent Mind, were to be class'd with the Operations of the
equally invariable as any Proposition Understanding, but with the Tastes or
concerning Quantity or Number. But Sentiments.
a' late Philosopher has taught us, by It had been usual with Philosophers
the most convincing Arguments, that to divide all the Passions of the Mind
Morality is nothing in the abstract into two Classes, the selfish and bene-
[Mr. Hutcheson.]
OF THE DIFFERENT SPECIES OF PHILOSOPHY. 11
But may we not hope, that philosophy, if cultivated with SECT,
care, and encouraged by the attention of the public, may >_ /,
carry its researches still farther, and discover, at least in
some degree, the secret springs and principles, by which the
human mind is actuated in its operations ? Astronomers
had long contented themselves with proving, from the
phaenomena, the true motions, order, and magnitude of
the heavenly bodies : Till a philosopher, at last, arose, who
seems, from the happiest reasoning, to have also determined
the laws and forces, by which the revolutions of the planets
are governed and directed. The like has been performed
with regard to other part3 of nature. And there is no reason
to despair of equal success in our enquiries concerning the
mental powers and ceconomy, if prosecuted with equal capa-
city and caution. It is probable, that one operation and
principle of the mind depends on another; which, again,
may be resolved into one more general and universal : And
how far these researches may possibly be carried, it will be
difficult for us, before, or even after, a careful trial, exactly
to determine. This is certain, that attempts of this kind are
every day made even by those who philosophize the most
negligently: And nothing can be more requisite than to
enter upon the enterprize with thorough care and attention ;
that, if it lie within the compass of human understanding, it
may at last be happily atchieved ; if not, it may, however,
volent, which were suppos'd to stand the latter could never possibly exist;
in constant Opposition and Contra- that the Case is precisely the same
riety ; nor was it thought that the with the Passions, denominated benevo-
latter could ever attain their proper lent, and consequently that a Man is
Objectbut at the Expense of the former. no more interested when he seeks his
Among the selfish Passions were rank'd own Glory than when the Happiness of
Avarice, Ambition, Kevenge : Among his Friend is the Object of his Wishes;
the benevolent, natural Affection, nor is he any more disinterested when
Friendship, Public spirit. Philosophers he sacrifices his Ease and Quiet to
may now 1 perceive the Impropriety of public Good than when he labours for
this Division. It has been prov'd, the Gratification of Avarice or Ambi-
beyond all Controversy, that even the tion. Here therefore is a considerable
Passions, commonly esteem'd selfish, Adjustment in the Boundaries of the
carry the Mind beyond Self, directly to Passions, which had been confounded
the Object ; that tho' the Satisfaction of by the Negligence or Inaccuracy of
these Passions gives us Enjoyment, yet former Philosophers. These two In-
the Prospect of this Enjoyment is not stances may suffice to show us the
the Cause of the Passion, but on the Nature and Importance of this Species
contrary the Passion is antecedent to of Philosophy.]
tiie Enjoyment, and without the former,
[See Biitlifs Sermons.]
12 CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING.
SECT, be rejected with some confidence and security. This last
L *' . conclusion, surely, is not desirable ; nor ought it to be em-
braced too rashly. For how much must we diminish from
the beauty and value of this species of philosophy, upon
such a supposition ? Moralists have hitherto been accustomed,
when they considered the vast multitude and diversity of
those actions that excite our approbation or dislike, to search
for some common principle, on which this variety of sen-
timents might depend. And though they have sometimes
carried the matter too far, by their passion for some one
general principle ; it must, however, be confessed, that they
are excusable in expecting to find some general principles,
into which all the vices and virtues were justly to be resolved.
The like has been the endeavour of critics, logicians, and
even politicians : Nor have their attempts been wholly
unsuccessful ; though perhaps longer time, greater accuracy,
and more ardent application may bring these sciences still
nearer their perfection. To throw up at once all pretensions
of this kind may justly be deemed more rash, precipitate,
and dogmatical, than even the boldest and most affirmative
philosophy, that has ever attempted to impose its crude dic-
tates and principles on mankind.
What though these reasonings concerning human nature
seem abstract, and of difficult comprehension ? This affords
no presumption of their falsehood. On the contrary, it seems
impossible, that what has hitherto escaped so many wise and
profound philosophers can be very obvious and easy. And
whatever pains these researches may cost us, we may think
ourselves sufficiently rewarded, not only in point of profit
but of pleasure, if, by that means, we can make any addition
to our stock of knowledge, in subjects of such unspeakable
importance.
But as, after all, the abstractedness of these speculations
is no recommendation, but rather a disadvantage to them,
and as this difficulty may perhaps be surmounted by care and
art, and the avoiding of all unnecessary detail, we have, in
the following enquiry, attempted to throw some light upon
subjects, from which uncertainty has hitherto deterred the
wise, and obscurity the ignorant. Happy, if we can unite
the boundaries of the different species of philosophy, by
reconciling profound enquiry with clearness, and truth with
OF THE DIFFERENT SPECIES OF PHILOSOPHY. 13
novelty ! And still more happy, if, reasoning in this easy SECT,
manner, we can undermine the foundations of an abstruse . * .
philosophy, which seems to have hitherto served only as a
shelter to superstition, and a cover to absurdity and error !
Sect. II. Of the Origin of Ideas.
Every one will readily allow, that there is a considerable
difference between the perceptions of the mind, when a man
feels the pain of excessive heat, or the pleasure of moderate
warmth, and when he afterwards recalls to his memory this
sensation, or anticipates it by his imagination. These facul-
ties may mimic or copy the perceptions of the senses ; but
they never can entirely reach the force and vivacity of the
original sentiment. The utmost we say of them, even when
they operate with greatest vigour, is, that they represent
their object in so lively a manner, that we could almost say
we feel or see it : But, except the mind be disordered by dis-
ease or madness, they never can arrive at such a pitch of
vivacity, as to render these perceptions altogether undistin-
guishable. All the colours of poetry, however splendid, can
never paint natural objects in such a manner as to make the
description be taken for a real landskip. The most lively
thought is still inferior to the dullest sensation.
We may observe a like distinction to run through all the
other perceptions of the mind. A man in a fit of anger, is
actuated in a very different manner from one who only thinks
of that emotion. If you tell me, that any person is in love,
I easily understand your meaning, and form a just concep-
tion of his situation ; but never can mistake that conception
for the real disorders and agitations of the passion. When
we reflect on our past sentiments and affections, our thought
is a faithful mirror, and copies its objects truly ; but the
colours which it employs are faint and dull, in comparison of
those in which our original perceptions were clothed. It
requires no nice discernment or metaphysical head to mark
the distinction between them.
Here therefore we may divide all the perceptions of the mind
into two classes or species, which are distinguished by their
different degrees of force and vivacity. The less forcible and
lively are commonly denominated Thoughts or Ideas. The
14 CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING.
SECT, other species want a name in our language, and in most
_ , ' _ . others ; I suppose, because it was not requisite for any, but
philosophical purposes, to rank them under a general term
or appellation. Let us, therefore, use a little freedom, and
call them Impeessions ; employing that word in a sense
somewhat different from the usual. By the term impression,
then, I mean all our more lively perceptions, when we hear,
or see, or feel, or love, or hate, or desire, or will. And im-
pressions are distinguished from ideas, which are the less
lively perceptions, of which we are conscious, when we reflect
on any of those sensations or movements above mentioned.
Nothing, at first view, may seem more unbounded than
the thought of man, which not only escapes all human
power and authority, but is not even restrained within the
limits of nature and reality. To form monsters, and join
incongruous shapes and appearances, costs the imagination
no more trouble than to conceive the most natural and
familiar objects. And while the body is confined to one
planet, along which it creeps with pain and difficulty ; the
thought can in an instant transport us into the most distant
regions of the universe ; or even beyond the universe, into
the unbounded chaos, where nature is supposed to lie in
total confusion. What never was seen, or heard of, may yet
be conceived ; nor is any thing beyond the power of thought,
except what implies an absolute contradiction.
But though our thought seems to possess this unbounded
liberty, we shall find, upon a nearer examination, that it is
really confined within very narrow limits, and that all this
creative power of the mind amounts to no more than the
faculty of compounding, transposing, augmenting, or dimin-
ishing the materials afforded us by the senses and experience.
When we think of a golden mountain, we only join two
consistent ideas, gold, and mountain, with which we were
formerly acquainted. A virtuous horse we can conceive;
because, from our own feeling, we can conceive virtue ; and
this we may unite to the figure and shape of a horse, which
is an animal familiar to us. In short, all the materials of
thinking are derived either from our outward or inward sen-
timent : The mixture and composition of these belongs alone
to the mind and will. Or, to express myself in philosophical
language, all our ideas or more feeble perceptions are copies
of our impressions or more lively ones.
OF THE ORIGIN OF IDEAS. 15
To prove this, the two following arguments will, I hope, SECT,
be sumcient. First, when we analyse our thoughts or ideas, ._ / -
however compounded or sublime, we always find, that they
resolve themselves into such simple ideas as were copied from
a precedent feeling or sentiment. Even those ideas, which,
at first view, seem the most wide of this origin, are found,
upon a nearer scrutiny, to be derived from it. The idea of
God, as meaning an infinitely intelligent, wise, and good
Being, arises from reflecting on the operations of our own
mind, and augmenting, without limit, those qualities of
goodness and wisdom. We may prosecute this enquiry to
what length we please ; where we shall always find, that
every idea which we examine is copied from a similar im-
pression. Those who would assert, that this position is not
universally true nor without exception, have only one, and
that an easy method of refuting it ; by producing that idea,
which, in their opinion, is not derived from this source. It
will then be incumbent on us, if we would maintain our
doctrine, to produce the impression or lively perception,
which corresponds to it.
Secondly. If it happen, from a defect of the organ, that
a man is not susceptible of any species of sensation, we
always find, that he is as little susceptible of the correspon-
dent ideas. A blind man can form no notion of colours ; a
deaf man of sounds. Restore either of them that sense, in
which he is deficient ; by opening this new inlet for his sensa-
tions, you also open an inlet for the ideas ; and he finds no
difficulty in conceiving these objects. The case is the same,
if the object, proper for exciting any sensation, has never
been applied to the organ. A Laplander or Negboe has
no notion of the relish of wine. And though there are few
or no instances of a like deficiency in the mind, where a
person has never felt or is wholly incapable of a sentiment
or passion, that belongs to his species ; yet we find the same
observation to take place in a less degree. A man of mild
manners can form no idea of inveterate revenge or cruelty ;
nor can a selfish heart easily conceive the heights of friend-
ship and generosity. It is readily allowed, that other beings
may possess many senses of which we can have no concep-
tion ; because the ideas of them have never been introduced
to us, in the only manner, by which an idea can have access
to the mind, to wit, by the actual feeling and sensation.
16 CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING.
SECT. There is, however, one contradictory phenomenon, which
* _ r may prove, that it is not absolutely impossible for ideas to
arise, independent of their correspondent impressions. I
believe it will readily be allowed, that the several distinct
ideas of colour, which enter by the eye, or those of sound,
which are conveyed by the ear, are really different from each
other ; though, at the same time, resembling. Now if this
be true of different colours, it must be no less so of the dif-
ferent shades of the same colour ; and each shade produces
a distinct idea, independent of the rest. For if this should
be denied, it is possible, by the continual gradation of shades,
to run a colour insensibly into what is most remote from it ;
and if you will not allow any of the means to be different,
you cannot, without absurdity, deny the extremes to be the
same. Suppose, therefore, a person to have enjoyed his sight
for thirty years, and to have become perfectly acquainted
with colours of all kinds, except one particular shade of blue,
for instance, which it never has been his fortune to meet
with. Let all the different shades of that colour, except that
single one, be placed before him, descending gradually from
the deepest to the lightest ; it is plain, that he will perceive
a blank, where that shade is wanting, and will be sensible,
that there is a greater distance in that place between the
contiguous colours than in any other. Now I ask, whether
it be possible for him, from his own imagination, to supply
this deficiency, and raise up to himself the idea of that par-
ticular shade, though it had never been conveyed to him by
his senses ? I believe there are few but will be of opinion
that he can : And this may serve as a proof, that the simple
ideas are not always, in every instance, derived from the cor-
respondent impressions ; though this instance is so singular,
that it is scarcely worth our observing, and does not merit,
that for it alone we should alter our general maxim.
Here, therefore, is a proposition, which not only seems,
in itself, simple and intelligible ; but, if a proper use were
made of it, might render every dispute equally intelligible,
and banish all that jargon, which has so long taken posses-
sion of metaphysical reasonings, and drawn disgrace upon
them. All ideas, especially abstract ones, are naturally faint
and obscure : The mind has but a slender hold of them :
They are apt to be confounded with other resembling ideas ;
and when we have often employed any term, though without
OF THE ORIGIN OF IDEAS. 17
a distinct meaning, we are apt to imagine it has a determinate SECT,
idea, annexed to it. On the contrary, all impressions, that . _
is, all sensations, either outward or inward, are strong and
vivid : The limits between them are more exactly determined :
Nor is it easy to fall into any error or mistake with regard
to them. When we entertain, therefore, any suspicion, that
a philosophical term is employed without any meaning or
idea (as is but too frequent), we need but enquire, from what
impression is that supposed idsa derived ? And if it be im-
possible to assign any, this will serve to confirm our suspicion.
By bringing ideas into so clear a light, we may reasonably
hope to remove all dispute, which may arise, concerning their
nature and reality. 1
Sect. III. Of the s 'Association of Ideas.
It is evident, that there is a principle of connexion between
the different thoughts or ideas of the mind, and that, in
their appearance to the memory or imagination, they intro-
duce each other with a certain degree of method and
regularity. In our more serious thinking or discourse, this
is so observable, that any particular thought, which breaks
in upon the regular tract or chain of ideas, is immediately
remarked and rejected. And even in our wildest and most
wandering reveries, nay in our very dreams, we shall find,
1 It is probable that no more was our sensations and passions, as well as
meant by those, who denied innate thoughts. Now in this sense, I should
ideas, than that all ideas were copies of desire to know, what can be meant by
our impressions ; though it must be con- asserting, that self-love, or resentment
fessed, that the terms, which they em- of injuries, or the passion between the
ployed, were not chosen with such sexes is not innate ?
caution, nor so exactly defined, as to But admitting these terms, impres-
prevent all mistakes about their doc- sions and ideas, in the sense above ex-
trine. For what is meant by innate ? plained, and understanding by innate.
If innate be equivalent to natural, then what is original or copied from no p*e-
all the perceptions and ideas of the cedentperception, then may we assert,
mind must be allowed to be innate or that all our impressions are innate, and
natural, in whatever sense we take the our ideas not innate,
latter word, whether in opposition to To be ingenuous, I must own it to be
what is uncommon, artificial, or miracu- my opinion, that Mr. Locke was be-
lous. If by innate be meant, cotem- trayed into this question by the school-
porary to our birth, the dispute seems men, who, making use of undefined
to be frivolous ; nor is it worth while terms, draw out their disputes to a
to enquire at what time thinking tedious length, without ever touching
begins, whether before, at, or after the point in question. A like ambiguity
our birth. Again, the word idea, and circumlocution seem to run through
seems to be commonly taken in a very all that great philosopher's reasonings
loose sense, by Locke and others : as on this as well as most other subjects,
standing for anj of our perceptions, * [Connexion : Editions E and F.
VOL. IV.
18 CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING.
SECT, if we reflect, that the imagination ran not altogether at
rc*- adventures, but that there was still a connexion uphold
among the different ideas, which succeeded each other.
Were the loosest and freest conversation to be transcribed,
there would immediately be observed something, which con-
nected it in all its transitions. Or where this is wanting,
the person, who broke the thread of discourse, might still
inform you, that there had secretly revolved in his mind a
succession of thought, which had gradually led him from
the subject of conversation. Among different languages,
even where we cannot suspect the least connexion or commu-
nication, it is found, that the words, expressive of ideas,
the most compounded, do yet nearly correspond to each
other : A certain proof, that the simple ideas, comprehended
in the compound ones, were bound together by some uni-
versal principle, which had an equal influence on all mankind.
Though it be too obvious to escape observation, that dif-
ferent ideas are connected together ; I do not find, that any
philosopher has attempted to enumerate or class all the prin-
ciples of association ; a subject, however, that seems worthy
of curiosity. To me, there appear to be only three principles
of connexion among ideas, namely, Resemblance, Contiguity
in time or place, and Cause or Effect.
That these principles serve to connect ideas will not, I
believe, be much doubted. A picture naturally leads our
thoughts to the original : l The mention of one apartment in
a building naturally introduces an enquiry or discourse con-
cerning the others : 2 And if we think of a wound, we can
scarcely forbear reflecting on the pain which follows it. 3
But that this enumeration is compleat, and that there are
no other principles of association, except these, may be diffi-
cult to prove to the satisfaction of the reader, or even to a
man's own satisfaction. All we can do, in such cases, is to
run over several instances, and examine carefully the prin-
ciple, which binds the different thoughts to each other, never
stopping till we render the principle as general as possible. 4
The more instances we examine, and the more care we em-
1 Resemblance. mixture of Causation and Resemblance.
2 Contiguity. Where two objects are contrary, the one
* Cause and Effect. destroys the other ; that is, the cause of
4 For instance, Contrast or Contra- its annihilation, and the idea of the an-
riety is also a connexion among Ideas : nihilation of an object, implies the idea
But it mav, perhaps, be considered as a f its former existence.
OF THE ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS.
19
ploy, the more assurance shall we acquire, that the enumera-
tion, which we form from the whole, is compleat and entire. 1
SECT.
III.
1 [In Editions E to Q the Essay con-
tinues : Instead of entering into a detail
of this kind, which would lead into many
useless subtilties, we shall consider
some of the effects of this connexion
upon the passions and imagination ;
where we may open a field of speculation
more entertaining, and perhaps more
instructive, than the other.
As man is a reasonable being, and
is continually in pursuit of happiness,
which he hopes to attain by the gratifi-
cation of some passion or affection, he
seldom acts or speaks or thinks without
a purpose and intention. He has still
some object in view ; and however im-
proper the means may sometimes be,
which he chuses for the attainment of
his end, he never loses view of an end,
nor will he so much as throw away
his thoughts or reflections, where he
hopes not to reap any satisfaction from
them.
In all compositions of genius, there-
fore, 'tis requisite that the writer have
some plan or object ; and tho' he may
be hurried from this plan by the vehe-
mence of thought, as in an ode, or drop
it carelessly, as in an epistle or essay,
there must appear some aim or inten-
tion in his first setting out, if not in
the composition of the whole work.
A production without a design would
resemble more the raving of a madman,
than the sober efforts of genius and
learning.
As this rule admits of no exception, it
follows, that in narrative compositions,
the events or actions, which the writer
relates, must be connected together, by
some bond or tye : They must be re-
lated to each other in the imagination,
and form a kind of Unity, which may
bring them under one plan or view, and
which may be the object or end of the
writer in his first undertaking.
This connecting principle among the
several events, which form the subject
of a poem or history, may be very dif-
ferent, according to the different designs
of the poet or historian. Ovid has
formed his plan upon the connecting
principle of resemblance. Every fabu-
lous transformation, produced by the
miraculous power of the gods, falls
within the compass of his work. There
needs but this one circumstance in any
event to bring it under his original plan
or intention.
An annalist or historian who should
undertake to write the history of Euhopk
during any century, would be influenced
by the connexion of contiguity in time and
place. All events, which happen in that
portion of space, and period of time, are
comprehended in his design, tho' in
other respects different and unconnected.
They have still a species of unity, amidst
all their diversity.
But the most usual species of con-
nexion among the different events, which
enter into any narrative composition, is
that of cause and effect : while the his-
torian traces the series of actions accord-
ing to their natural order, remounts to
their secret springs and principles, and
delineates their most remote conse-
quences. He chuses for his subject a
certain portion of that great chain of
events, which compose the history of
mankind : Each link in this chain he
endeavours to touch in his narration.
Sometimes unavoidable ignorance ren-
ders all his attempts fruitless: Some-
times, he supplies by conjecture what is
wanting in knowledge : And always, he
is sensible, that the more unbroken the
chain is, which he presents to his
readers, the more perfect is his produc-
tion. He sees, that the knowledge of
causes is not only the most satisfactory ;
this relation or connexion being the
strongest of all others; but also the
most instructive ; since it is by this
knowledge alone, we are enabled to con-
troul events, and govern futurity.
Here therefore we may attain some
notion of that Unity of Action, about
which all critics, after Aristotle, have
talked so much : Perhaps, to little pur-
pose, while they directed not their taste
or sentiment by the accuracy of philo-
sophy. It appears, that in all produc-
tions, as well as in the epic and tragic,
there is a certain unity required, and
that, on no occasion, can our thoughts be
allowed to run at adventures, if we
would produce a work, which will give
any lasting entertainment to mankind.
It appears also, that even a biographer,
who should write the life of Achilles,
would connect the events, by shewing
their mutual dependence and relation,
as much as a poet, who should make the
20
CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING.
SECT.
IV.
Part I.
Sect. IV.-
-Sceptical Doubts concerning the Operations of the
Understanding.
PAET I.
' All the objects of human reason or enquiry may naturally
be divided into two kinds, to wit, Relations of Ideas, and
Matters of Fact. Of the first kind are the sciences of
Geometry, Algebra, and Arithmetic ; and in short, every
affirmation, which is either intuitively or demonstratively
certain. That the square of the hypothemise is equal to the
square of the two sides, is a proposition, which expresses a
of painting, approaches us nearer to the
objects than any other species of nar-
ration, throws a stronger light upon
them, and delineates more distinctly
those minute circumstances, which, tho'
to the historian they seem superfluous,
serve mightily to enliven the imagery,
and gratify the fancy. If it be not
necessary, as in the Iliad, to inform us
each time the hero buckles his shoes,
and ties his garters, it will be requisite,
perhaps, to enter into a greater detail
than in the Henriade ; where the
events are run over with such rapidity,
that we scarce have leisure to become
acquainted with the scene or action.
Were a poet, therefore, to comprehend
in his subject any great compass of
time or series of events, and trace up
the death of Hector to its remote
causes, in tho rape of Helen, or the
judgment of Paris, he must draw out
his poem to an immeasurable length, j n
order to fill this large canvas with just
painting and imagery. The reader's
imagination, enflamed with such a series
of poetical descriptions, and his pas-
sions, agitated by a continual sympathy
with the actors, must flag long before
the period of the narration, and must
sink into lassitude and disgust, from the
repeated violence of the samemovements.
Secondly. That an epic poet must
not trace the causes to any great dis-
tance, will farther appear, if we consider
another reason, which is drawn from a
property of the passions still more re-
anger of that hero, the subject of his
narration. 1 Not only in any limited
portion of life, a man's actions have a
dependence on each other, but also
during tho whole period of his duration,
from th cradle to the grave ; nor is it
possible to strike off one link, however
minute, in this regular chain, without
affecting the whole series of events,
which follow. The unity of action,
therefore, which is to be found in bio-
graphy or history, differs from that of
epic poetry, not in kind, but in degree.
In epic poetry, the connexion among the
events is more close and sensible : The
narration is not carried on thro' such a
length of time : And the actors hasten
to some remarkable period, which satis-
fies the curiosity of the reader. This
conduct of the epic poet depends on
that particular situation of the Imagi-
nation and of the Passions, which is
supposed in that production. The ima-
gination, both of writer and reader, is
more enlivened, and the passions more
enflamed than in history, biography, or
any species of narration, which confine
themselves to strict truth and reality.
Let us consider the effect of these two
circumstances, an enlivened imagina-
tion and enflamed passions, circum-
stances, which belong to poetry, espe-
cially the epic kind, above any other
species of composition ; and let us
examine the reason why they require a
stricter and closer unity in the fable.
First. All poetry, being a species
1 Contrary to Aristotle, MvOos 5'
i
St Kal 7rpa|ets ivbs iroWal tlaiv, e'| Siv fxia.
ovSe/j.layiveTanrpa^is,8iC.K(ip.i]. 1450a.
SCEPTICAL DOUBTS.
21
relation between these figures. That three times five is equal
to the half of thirty, expresses a relation between these
numbers. Propositions of this kind are discoverable by the
SECT.
IV.
Paut I.
markable and singular. 'Tis evident,
that in a just composition, all the affec-
tioiis, excited hy the different events,
described and represented, add mutual
force to each other ; and that while the
heroes are all engaged in one common
scene, and each action is strongly con-
nected with the whole, the concern is
continually awake, and the passions
make an easy transition from one ob-
ject to another. The strong connection
of the events, as it facilitates the passage
of the thought or imagination from one
to another, facilitates also the transfu-
sion of the passions, and preserves the
affections still in the same channel and
direction. Our sympathy and concern
for Eve prepares the way for a like
sympathy with Adam : The affection is
pnsLTved almost entire in the transi-
tion ; and the mind seizes immediately
tho new object as strongly related to
that which formerly engaged its atten-
tion. But were the poet to make a
total digression from his subject, and
introduce a new actor, nowise connected
with the personages, the imagination,
feeling a breach in the transition, would
enter coldly into the new scene, would
kindle by slow degrees ; and in return-
ing to the main subject of the poem,
would pass, as it were, upon foreign
ground, and have its concern to excite
anew, in order to take party with the
principal actors. The same inconve-
nience follows in a less degree, where
the poet traces his events to too great a
distance, and binds together actions,
which tho' not entirely disjoined, have
not so strong a connexion as is requisite
to forward the transition of the pas-
sions. Hence arises the artifice of the
oblique narration, employed in the
Odyssey and Mneid ; where the hero is
introduced, at first, near the period of
his designs, and afterwards shows us,
as it were in perspective, tho more dis-
tant events and causes. By this means,
the reader's curiosity is immediately
excited : The events follow with rapidity,
and in a very close connexion : And the
concern is preserved alive, and, by means
of the near relation of the objects, con-
tinually increases, from the beginning
to the end of the narration.
The same rule takes place in dramatic
poetry; nor is it ever permitted, in a
regular composition, to introduce an
actor, who has no connexion, or but a
small one, with the principal per-
sonages of the fable. The spectator's
concern must not be diverted by any
scenes, disjoined and separated from
the rest. This breaks the course' of the
passions, and prevents that communica-
tion of the several emotions, by which
one scene adds force to another, and
tranfuses the pity and terror, which
it excites, upon each succeeding scene,
'till the whole produces that rapidity of
movement, which is peculiar to the
theatre. How must it extinguish this
warmth of affection to be entertained,
on a sudden, with a new action and new
personages, no wise related to the
former ; to find so sensible a breach
or vacuity in the course of the passions,
by means of this breach in the con-
nexion of ideas ; and instead of carrying
the sympathy of one scene into the fol-
lowing, to be obliged every moment, to
excite a new concern, and take party in
a new scene of action ?
To return to the comparison of his-
tory and epic poetry, we may conclude,
from the foregoing reasonings, that as
1 [Editions E to N insert the follow-
ing paragraph : But tho' this rule of
unity of action be common to dramatic
and epic poetry ; wo may still observe
a difference betwixt them, which may,
perhaps, deserve our attention. In
both these species of composition, 'tis
requisite the action be one and simple,
in order to preserve the concern or sym-
pathy entire and undiverted ; but in
epic or narrative poetry, this rule is
also establish'd upon another founda-
tion, viz. the necessity, that is incum-
bent on every writer, to form some plan
or design, before he enter on any dis-
course or narration, and to comprehend
his subject in some general aspect or
united view, which may be the constant
object of his attention. As the author
is entirely lost in dramatic composi-
tions, and the spectator supposes him-
self to be really present at the actions
22
CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING.
SECT.
IV.
Part I.
mere operation of thought, without dependence on what is
| any where existent in the universe. Though there never
were a circle or triangle in nature, the truths, demonstrated
by Euclid, would for ever retain their certainty and evi-
dence.
Matters of fact, which are the second objects of human
reason, are not ascertained in the same manner ; nor is our
a certain unity is requisite in all pro-
ductions, it cannot be wanting to history
more than to any other ; that in history,
the connexion among the several events,
which unites them into one body, is the
relation of cause and effect, the same
which takes place jn epic poetry ; and
that in the latter composition, this con-
nexion is only required to be closer and
more sensible, on account of the lively
imagination and strong passions, which
must be touched by the poet in his nar-
ration. The Peloponnesian war is a
proper subject for history, the siege of
Athens for an epic poem, and the death
of Alcibiades for a tragedy.
As the difference, therefore, between
history and epic poetry consists only in
the degrees of connexion, which bind
together those several events, of which
their subject is composed, it will be
difficult, if not impossible, by words, to
determine exactly the bounds which
separate them from each other. That
is a matter of taste more than of reason-
ing ; and perhaps, this unity may often
be discovered in a subject, where, at
first view, and from an abstract con-
sideration, we should least expect to
find it.
'Tis evident, that Homer, in the
course of his narration, exceeds the first
proposition of his subject ; and that the
anger of Achilles, which caused the
death of Hector, is not the same with
that which produced so many ills to
the Greeks. But the strong connexion
between these two movements, the quick
transition from one to another, the
contrast 1 between the effects of concord
and discord among the princes, and the
natural curiosity which we have to
see Achilles in action, after such
long repose ; all these causes carry on
the reader, and produce a sufficient
unity in the subject.
It may be objected to Milton, that
he has traced up his causes to too great
a distance, and that the rebellion of
the angels produces the fall of man by
a train of events, which is both very
long and very casual. Not to mention
that the creation of the world, which
he has related at length, is no more
the cause of that catastrophe, than of
the battle of Pharsalia, or any other
represented ; this reason has no place
with regard to the stage; but any dia-
logue or conversation may be introdue'd,
which, without improbability, might
have pass'd in that determinate portion
of space, represented by the theatre.
Hence in all our English comedies, even
those of Congreve, the unity of action
is never strictly observ'd ; but the poet
thinks it sufficient, if his personages be
any way related to each other, by blood,
or by living in the same family ; and he
afterwards introduces them in particular
scenes, where they display their humors
and characters, without much forward-
ing the main action. The double plots
of Terence are licenses of the same
kind ; but in a lesser degree. And tho'
this conduct be not perfectly regular,
it is not wholly unsuitable to the nature
cf comedy, where the movements and
passions are not rais'd to such a height
as in tragedy ; at the same time, that
the fiction or representation palliates,
in some degree, such licenses. In a
narrative poem, the first proposition or
design confines the author to one sub-
ject ; and any digressions of this nature
would, at first view, be rejected, as ab-
surd and monstrous. Neither Boccack,
la Fontaine, nor any author of that
kind, tho' pleasantry bo their chief ob-
ject, have ever indulg'd them.]
1 Contrast or contrariety is a con-
nexion among ideas, which may, perhaps,
be considered, as a mixture of causation
and resemblance. Where two objects
are contrary, the one destroys the other,
i. e. is the cause of its annihilation, and
the idea of the annihilation of an object
implies the idea of its former existence.
SCEPTICAL DOUBTS. 23
evidence of their truth, however great, of a like nature with SECT.
the foregoing. The contrary of every matter of fact is still , r l ,
possible ; because it can never imply a contradiction, and Pabt l
is conceived by the mind with the same facility and distinct-
ness, as if ever so conformable to reality. That the sun will
not rise to-morrow is no less intelligible a proposition, and
implies no more contradiction, than the affirmation, that it
will rise. We should in vain, therefore, attempt to demon-
strate its falsehood. Were it demonstratively false, it would
imply a contradiction, and could never be distinctly con-
ceived by the mind.
It may, therefore, be a subject worthy of curiosity, to
enquire what is the nature of that evidence, which assures
us of any real existence and matter of fact, beyond the pre-
sent testimony of our senses, or the records of our memory.
This part of philosophy, it is observable, has been little
cultivated, either by the ancients or moderns ; and therefore
our doubts and errors, in the prosecution of so important an
enquiry, may be the more excusable ; while we march
through such difficult paths, without any guide or direction.
They may even prove useful, by exciting curiosity, and de-
stroying that implicit faith and security, which is the bane of
event, that has ever happened. But if this subject is very copious, and that
we consider, on the other hand, that all many operations of the human mind
these events, the rebellion of the angels, depend on the connexion or association
the creation of the world, and the fall of ideas, which is here explained. Par-
of man, resemble each other, in being ticularly, the sympathy between the
miraculous and out of the common passions and imagination will, perhaps,
course of nature; that they are sup- appear remarkable; while we observe
pond to be contiguous in time; and that the affections, excited by one ob-
that being detached from all other ject, pass easily to another connected
events, and being the only original with it; but transfuse themselves with
facts, which revelation discovers, they difficulty, or not at all, along different
strike the eye at once, and naturally objects, which have no manner of con-
recall each other to the thought orima- nexion together. By introducing, into
gination: If we consider all these cir- any composition, personages and ac-
cumstanccs, I say, we shall find, that tions, foreign to each other, an injudi-
these parts of the action have a suffi- cious author loses that communication
cient unity to make them be compre- of emotions, by which alone he can
hended in one fable or narration. To interest the heart, and raise the pas-
wliich we may add, that the rebellion sions to their proper height and period,
of the angels and the fall of man have The full explication of this principle and
a peculiar resemblance, as being coun- all its consequences would lead us into
terparts to each other, and presenting reasonings too profound and too copious
to the reader the same moral, of obe- for tins enquiry. 'Tis sufficient, at pre-
dience to our Creator. sent, to have established this conclusion,
These loose hints I have thrown that the three connecting principles of
together, in order to excite the curiosity all ideas are the relations of Resem-
of philosophers, and beget a suspicion hlance, Contiguity, and Causation.^
at least, if not a full persuasion, that
24 CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING.
SECT, all reasoning and free enquiry. The discovery of defects in
_. the common philosophy, if any such there be, will not, I
PaetI. presume, be a discouragement, but rather an incitement,
as is usual, to attempt something more full and satisfactory,
than has yet been proposed to the public.
All reasonings concerning matter of fact seem to be
founded on the relation of Cause and Effect. By means of
that relation alone we can go beyond the evidence of our
memory and senses. If you were to ask a man, why he
believes any matter of fact, which is absent ; for instance,
that his friend is in the country, or in France ; he would
give you a reason ; and this reason would be some other
fact ; as a letter received from him, or the knowledge of his
former resolutions and promises. A man, finding a watch or
any other machine in a desart island, would conclude, that
there had once been men in that island. All our reasonings
concerning fact are of the same nature. And here it is con-
stantly supposed, that there is a connexion between the
present fact and that which is inferred from it. Were there
nothing to bind them together, the inference would be en-
tirely precarious. The hearing of an articulate voice and
rational discourse in the dark assures us of the presence of
some person : Why ? because these are the effects of the
human make and fabric, and closely connected with it. If
we anatomize all the other reasonings of this nature, we
shall find, that they are founded on the relation of cause
and effect, and that this relation is either near or remote,
direct or collateral. Heat and light are collateral effects of
fire, and the one effect may justly be inferred from the
other.
If we would satisfy ourselves, therefore, concerning the
nature of that evidence, which assures us of matters of
fact, we must enquire how we arrive at the knowledge of
cause and effect.
I shall venture to affirm, as a general proposition, which
admits of no exception, that the knowledge of this relation
is not, in any instance, attained by reasonings a priori ; but
arises entirely from experience, when we find, that any
particular objects are constantly conjoined with each other.
Let an object be presented to a man of ever so strong
natural reason and abilities ; if that object be entirely new
to him, he will not be able, by the most accurate examina-
SCEPTICAL DOUBTS. 25
tion of its sensible qualities, to discover any of its causes or SECT,
effects. Adam, though his rational faculties be supposed, at / _
the very first, entirely perfect, could not have inferred from Paet l -
the fluidity, and transparency of water, that it would suffo-
cate him, or from the light and warmth of fire, that it would
consume him. No object ever discovers, by the qualities
which appear to the senses, either the causes which pro-
duced it, or the effects which will arise from it ; nor can our
reason, unassisted by experience, ever draw any inference
concerning real existence and matter of fact.
This proposition, that causes and effects are discoverable,
not by reason, but by experience, will readily be admitted with
regard to such objects, as we remember to have once been
altogether unknown to us; since we must be conscious of
the utter inability, which we then lay under, of foretelling,
what would arise from them. Present two smooth pieces of
marble to a man, who has no tincture of natural philosophy ;
he will never discover, that they will adhere together, in
such a manner as to require great force to separate them in
a direct line, while they make so small a resistance to a
lateral pressure. Such events, as bear little analogy to the
common course of nature, are also readily confessed to be
known only by experience ; nor does any man imagine that
the explosion of gunpowder, or the attraction of a loadstone,
could ever be discovered by arguments a priori. In like
manner, when an effect is supposed to depend upon an in-
tricate machinery or secret structure of parts, we make no
difficulty in attributing all our knowledge of it to experience.
Who will assert, that he can give the ultimate reason, why
milk or bread is proper nourishment for a man, not for a
lion or a tyger?
But the same truth may not appear, at first sight, to have
the same evidence with regard to events, which have become
familiar to us from our first appearance in the world, which
bear a close analogy to the whole course of nature, and
which are supposed to depend on the simple qualities of
objects, without any secret structure of parts. We are apt
to imagine, that we could discover these effects by the mere
operation of our reason, without experience. We fancy, that
were we brought, on a sudden, into this world, we could at
first have inferred, that one Billiard-ball would communi-
cate motion to another upon impulse ; and that we needed
26 CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING.
SECT, not to have waited for the event, in order to pronounce
,_ / _ , . with certainty concerning it. Such is the influence of cus-
PaetI. torn, that, where it is strongest, it not only covers our
natural ignorance, but even conceals itself, and seems not
to take place, merely because it is found in the highest
degree.
But to convince us, that all the laws of nature, and all
the operations of bodies without exception, are known only
by experience, the following reflections may, perhaps, suffice.
Were any object presented to us, and were we required to
pronounce concerning the effect, which will result from it,
without consulting past observation ; after what manner, I
beseech you, must the mind proceed in this operation ? It
must invent or imagine some event, which it ascribes to the
object as its effect ; and it is plain that this invention must
be entirely arbitrary. The mind can never possibly find the
effect in the supposed cause, by the most accurate scrutiny
and examination. For the effect is totally different from
the cause, and consequently can never be discovered in it.
Motion in the second Billiard-ball is a quite distinct event
from motion in the first ; nor is there any thing in the one
to suggest the smallest hint of the other. A stone or piece
of metal raised into the air, and left without any support,
immediately falls : But to consider the matter d priori, is
there any thing we discover in this situation, which can
beget the idea of a downward, rather than an upward, or any
other motion, in the stone or metal ?
And as the first imagination or invention of a particular
effect, in all natural operations, is arbitrary, where we con-
sult not experience ; so must we also esteem the supposed
tye or connection between the cause and effect, which binds
them together, and renders it impossible, that any other
effect could result from the operation of that cause. When
I see, for instance, a Billiard-ball moving in a straight line
towards another; even suppose motion in the second ball
should by accident be suggested to me, as the result of their
contact or impulse ; may I not conceive, that a hundred
different events might as well follow from that cause ? May
not both these balls remain at absolute rest ? May not the
first ball return in a straight line, or leap off from the second
in any line or direction? All the suppositions are con-
sistent and conceivable. Why then should we give the pre-
SCEPTICAL DOUBTS. 27
ference to one, which is no more consistent or conceivable SECT,
than the rest? All our reasonings a priori will never be ._ / _
able to shew us any foundation for this preference. Part !
In a word, then, every effect is a distinct event from its
cause. It could not, therefore, be discovered in the cause,
and the first invention or conception of it, a priori, must be
entirely arbitrary. And even after it is suggested, the con-
junction of it with the cause must appear equally arbitrary ;
since there are always many other effects, which, to reason,
must seem fully as consistent and natural. In vain, there-
fore, should we pretend to determine any single event, or
infer any cause or effect, without the assistance of observa-
tion and experience.
Hence we may discover the reason, why no philosopher,
who is rational and modest, has ever pretended to assign
the ultimate cause of any natural operation, or to show
distinctly the action of that power, which produces any
single effect in the universe. It is confessed, that the utmost
effort of human reason is, to reduce the principles, produc-
tive of natural phenomena, to a greater simplicity, and to
resolve the many particular effects into a few general causes,
by means of reasonings from analogy, experience, and obser-
vation. But as to the causes of these general causes, we
should in vain attempt their discovery ; nor shall we ever be
able to satisfy ourselves, by any particular explication of
them. These ultimate springs and principles are totally
shut up from human curiosity and enquiry. Elasticity,
gravity, cohesion of parts, communication of motion by im-
pulse ; these are probably the ultimate causes and principles
which we shall ever discover in nature ; and we may esteem
ourselves sufficiently happy, if, by accurate enquiry and
reasoning, we can trace up the particular phenomena to, or
near to, these general principles. The most perfect philo-
sophy of the natural kind only staves off our ignorance a
little longer : As perhaps the most perfect philosophy of the
moral or metaphysical kind serves only to discover larger
portions of it. Thus the observation of human blindness
and weakness is the result of all philosophy, and meets us,
at every turn, in spite of our endeavours to elude or
avoid it.
Nor is geometry, when taken into the assistance of natural
philosophy, even able to remedy this defect, or lead us into
28 CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING.
SECT. / the knowledge of ultimate causes, by all that accuracy of
l ^' I reasoning-, for which it is so justly celebrated. Every part
Paet I. of mixed mathematics proceeds upon the supposition, that
I certain laws are established by nature in her operations ;
and abstract reasonings are employed, either to assist expe-
rience in the discovery of these laws, or to determine their
influence in particular instances, where it depends upon any
precise degree of distance and quantity. Thus, it is a law of
motion, discovered by experience, that the moment or force
of any body in motion is in the compound ratio or proportion
Iof its solid contents and its velocity ; and consequently, that
a small force may remove the greatest obstacle or raise the
greatest weight, if, by any contrivance or machinery, we can
encrease the velocity of that force, so as to make it an over-
match for its antagonist. Geometry assists us in the appli-
cation of this law, by giving us the just dimensions of all the
(parts and figures, which can enter into any species of ma-
chine ; but still the discovery of the law itself is owing merely
to experience, and all the abstract reasonings in the world
could never lead us one step towards the knowledge of it.
When we reason a priori, and consider merely any object or
cause, as it appears to the mind, independent of all observa-
tion, it never could suggest to us the notion of any distinct
object, such as its effect ; much less, shew us the inseparable
and inviolable connection between them. A man must be
very sagacious, who could discover by reasoning, that crystal
is the effect of heat, and ice of cold, without being previously
acquainted with the operation of these oualities.
PAET H.
But we have not, yet, attained any tolerable satisfaction
with regard to the question first proposed. Each solution
still gives rise to a new question as difficult as the foregoing,
and leads us on to farther enquiries. When it is asked,
What is the nature of all our reasonings concerning matter of
fact ? the proper answer seems to be, that they are founded
on the relation of cause and effect. When again it is asked,
What is the foundation of all our reasonings and conclusions
concerning that relation ? it may be replied in one word, Ex-
perience. But if we still carry on our sifting humour, and
ask, What is the foundation of all conclusions from experience ?
this implies a new question, which may be of more difficult
SCEPTICAL DOUBTS. 29
solution ana explication. Philosophers, that give themselves SECT,
airs of superior wisdom and sufficiency, have a hard task, . _.
when they encounter persons of inquisitive dispositions, who PAaT u
push them from every corner, to which they retreat, and who
are sure at last to bring them to some dangerous dilemma.
The best expedient to prevent this confusion, is to be modest
in our pretensions ; and even to discover the difficulty our-
selves before it is objected to us. By this means, we may
make a kind of merit of our very ignorance.
I shall content myself, in this section, with an easy task,
and shall pretend only to give a negative answer to the ques-
tion here proposed. I say then, that, even after we have
experience of the operations of cause and effect, our conclu-
sions from that experience are not founded on reasoning, or
any process of the understanding. This answer we must
endeavour, both to explain and to defend.
It must certainly be allowed, that nature has kept us at a
great distance from all her secrets, and has afforded us only
the knowledge of a few superficial qualities of objects ; while
she conceals from us those powers and principles, on which
the influence of these objects entirely depends. Our senses
inform us of the colour, weight, and consistence of bread ;
but neither sense nor reason can ever inform us of those
qualities, which fit it for the nourishment and support of a
human body. Sight or feeling conveys an idea of the actual
motion of bodies ; but as to that wonderful force or power,
which would carry on a moving body for ever in a continued
change of place, and which bodies never lose but by commu-
nicating it to others ; of this we cannot form the most
distant conception. But notwithstanding this ignorance of
natural powers 1 and principles, we always presume, when we
see like sensible qualities, that they have like secret powers,
and expect, that effects, similar to those which we have ex-
perienced, will follow from them. If a body of like colour
and consistence with that bread, which we have formerly
eat, be presented to us, we make no scruple of repeating the
experiment, and foresee, with certainty, like nourishment
and support. Now this is a process of the mind or thought,
of which I would willingly know the foundation. It is
1 The word, Power, is here used give additional evidence to this argu-
in a loose and popular sense. The ment. See Sec. 7. [This note was added
more accurate explication of it would in Ed. F.]
30 CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING.
SECT, allowed on all hands, that there is no known connexion
. ^ .. between the sensible qualities and the secret powers; and
Paet II. consequently, that the mind is not led to form such a con-
clusion concerning their constant and regular conjunction,
by any thing which it knows of their nature. As to past
Experience, it can be allowed to give direct and certain infor-
mation of those precise objects only, and that precise period
of time, which fell under its cognizance : But why this expe-
rience should be extended to future times, and to other ob-
jects, which for aught we know, may be only in appearance
similar ; this is the main question on which I would insist.
The bread, which I formerly eat, nourished me ; that is, a body
of such sensible qualities, was, at that time, endued with such
secret powers : But does it follow, that other bread must also
nourish me at another time, and that like sensible qualities
must always be attended with like secret powers ? The con-
sequence seems nowise necessary. At least, it must be
acknowledged, that there is here a consequence drawn by
the mind ; that there is a certain step taken ; a process of
thought, and an inference, which wants to be explained.
These two propositions are far from being the same, I have
found that such an object has always been attended with such an
effect, and I foresee, that other objects, which are, in appearance,
similar, will be attended with similar effects. I shall allow,
if you please, that the one proposition may justly be inferred
from the other : I know in fact, that it always is inferred.
But if you insist, that the inference is made by a chain of
reasoning, I desire you to produce that reasoning. The con-
nexion between these propositions is not intuitive. There is
required a medium, which may enable the mind to draw such
an inference, if indeed it be drawn by reasoning and argu-
ment. What that medium is, I must confess, passes my
comprehension ; and it is incumbent on those to produce it,
who assert, that it really exists, and is the origin of all our
conclusions concerning matter of fact.
This negative argument must certainly, in process of time,
become altogether convincing, if many penetrating and able
philosophers shall turn their enquiries this way ; and no one
be ever able to discover any connecting proposition or inter-
mediate step, which supports the understanding in this con-
clusion. But as the question is yet new, every reader may
not trust so far to his own penetration, as to conclude,
SCEPl'ICAL DOUBTS. 81
because an argument escapes his enquiry, that therefore it SECT,
does not really exist. For this reason it may be requisite to . _ i M
venture upon a more difficult task ; and enumerating all the Past II.
branches of human knowledge, endeavour to shew, that none
of them can afford such an argument.
All reasonings may be divided into two kinds, namely de-
monstrative reasoning, or that concerning relations of ideas,
and moral 1 reasoning, or that concerning matter of fact and
existence. That there are no demonstrative arguments in
the case, seems evident ; since it implies no contradiction,
that the course of nature may change, and that an object,
seemingly like those which we have experienced, may be
attended with different or contrary effects. May I not clearly
and distinctly conceive, that a body, falling from the clouds,
and which, in all other respects, resembles snow, has yet the
taste of salt or feeling of fire ? Is there any more intelligible
proposition than to affirm, that all the trees will flourish in
December and January, and decay in Mat and June ? Now
whatever is intelligible, and can be distinctly conceived,
implies no contradiction, and can never be proved false by
any demonstrative argument or abstract reasoning a 'priori.
If we be, therefore, engaged by arguments to put trust in
past experience, and make it the standard of our future
judgment, these arguments must be probable only, or such
as regard matter of fact and real existence, according to the
division above mentioned. But that there is no argument of
this kind, must appear, if our explication of that species of
reasoning be admitted as solid and satisfactory. We have
said, that all arguments concerning existence are founded on
the relation of cause and effect ; that our knowledge of that
relation is derived entirely from experience ; and that all our
experimental conclusions proceed upon the supposition, that
the future will be conformable to the past. To endeavour,
therefore, the proof of this last supposition by probable argu-
ments, or arguments regarding existence, must be evidently
going in a circle, and taking that for granted, which is the
very point in question.
In reality, all arguments from experience are founded on
the similarity, which we discover among natural objects, and
by which we are induced to expect effects similar to those,
which we have found to follow from such objects. And
1 [Moral or probable : Editions E and F.]
32 CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING
SECT, though none but a fool or madman will ever pretend to dis-
. pute the authority of experience, or to reject that great guide
Part II. of human life ; it may surely be allowed a philosopher to
have so much curiosity at least, as to examine the principle
of human nature, which gives this mighty authority to ex-
perience, and makes us draw advantage from that similarity,
which nature has placed among different objects. From
causes, which appear similar, we expect similar effects. This
is the sum of all our experimental conclusions. Now it seems
evident, that, if this conclusion were formed by reason, it
would be as perfect at first, and upon one instance, as after
ever so long a course of experience. But the case is far
otherwise. Nothing so like as eggs ; yet no one, on account
of this appearing similarity, expects the same taste and
relish in all of them. It is only after a long course of uni-
form experiments in any kind, that we attain a firm reliance
and security with regard to a particular event. Now where
is that process of reasoning, which, from one instance, draws
a conclusion, so different from that which it infers from a
hundred instances, that are nowise different from that single
one ? This question I propose as much for the sake of in-
formation, as with an intention of raising difficulties. I
cannot find, I cannot imagine any such reasoning. But I
keep my mind still open to instruction, if any one will
vouchsafe to bestow it on me.
Should it be said, that, from a number of uniform experi-
ments, we infer a connection between the sensible qualities
and the secret powers ; this, I must confess, seems the same
difficulty, couched in different terms. The question still
recurs, on what process of argument this inference is founded ?
Where is the medium, the interposing ideas, which join pro-
positions so very wide of each other? It is confessed, that
the colour, consistence, and other sensible qualities of bread
appear not, of themselves, to have any connexion with the
secret powers of nourishment and support. For otherwise
we could infer these secret powers from the first appearance
of these sensible qualities, without the aid of experience ;
contrary to the sentiment of all philosophers, and contrary
to plain matter of fact. Here then is our natural state of
ignorance with regard to the powers and influence of all
objects. How is this remedied by experience ? It only shews
us a number of uniform effects, resulting from certain objects,
SCEPTICAL DOUBTS. 33
and teaches us, that those particular objects, at that par- SECT,
ticular time, were endowed with such powers and forces. ._ 1V / .
When a new object, endowed with similar sensible qualities, Part u -
is produced, we expect similar powers and forces, and look
for a like effect. From a body of like colour and consistence
with bread, we expect like nourishment and support. But
this surely is a step or progress of the mind, which wants to
be explained. When a man says, I have found, in all past
instances, such sensible qualities conjoined with such secret
'powers: And when he says, similar sensible qualities will
always be conjoined with similar secret powers ; he is not guilty
of a tautology, nor are these propositions in any respect the
same. You say that the one proposition is an inference from
the other. But you must confess that the inference is not
intuitive ; neither is it demonstrative : Of what nature is it
then ? To say it is experimental, is begging the question.
For all inferences from experience suppose, as their founda-
tion, that the future will resemble the past, and that similar
powers will be conjoined with similar sensible qualities. If
there be any suspicion, that the course of nature may change,
and that the past may be no rule for the future, all experi-
ence becomes useless, and can give rise to no inference or
conclusion. It is impossible, therefore, that any arguments
from experience can prove this resemblance of the past to
the future; since all these arguments are founded on the
supposition of that resemblance. Let the course of things
be allowed hitherto ever so regular ; that alone, without some
new argument or inference, proves not, that, for the future,
it will continue so. In vain do you pretend to have learned
the nature of bodies from your past experience. Their secret
nature, and consequently, all their effects and influence, may
change, without any change in their sensible qualities. This
happens sometimes, and with regard to some objects : Why
may it not happen always, and with regard to all objects ?
What logic, what process of argument secures you against
this supposition ? My practice, you say, refutes my doubts.
But you mistake the purport of my question. As an agent,
I am quite satisfied in the point ; but as a philosopher, who
has some share of curiosity, I will not say scepticism, I want
to learn the foundation of this inference. No reading, no
enquiry has yet been able to remove my difficulty, or give me
satisfaction in a matter of such importance. Can I do better
VOL. IV. D
34 CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING.
SECT, than propose the difficulty to the public, even though, per-
^y- , haps, I have small hopes of obtaining a solution ? We shall
Part ii. at least, by this means, be sensible of our ignorance, if we do
not augment our knowledge.
I must confess, that a man is guilty of unpardonable arro-
gance, who concludes, because an argument has escaped his
own investigation, that therefore it does not really exist. I
must also confess, that, though all the learned, for several
ages, should have employed themselves in fruitless search
upon any subject, it may still, perhaps, be rash to conclude
positively, that the subject must, therefore, pass all human
comprehension. Even though we examine all the sources of
our knowledge, and conclude them unfit for such a subject,
there may still remain a suspicion, that the enumeration is
not compleat, or the examination not accurate. But with
regard to the present subject, there are some considerations,
which seem to remove all this accusation of arrogance or
suspicion of mistake.
It is certain, that the most ignorant and stupid peasants,
nay infants, nay even brute beasts, improve by experience,
and learn the qualities of natural objects, by observing the
effects, which result from them. When a child has felt the
sensation of pain from touching the flame of a candle, he will
be careful not to put his hand near any candle; but will
expect a similar effect from a cause, which is similar in its
sensible qualities and appearance. If you assert, therefore,
that the understanding of the child is led into this conclusion
by any process of argument or ratiocination, I may justly
require you to produce that argument ; nor have you any
pretence to refuse so equitable a demand. You cannot say,
that the argument is abstruse, and may possibly escape your
enquiry ; since you confess, that it is obvious to the capacity
of a mere infant. If you hesitate, therefore, a moment, or
if, after reflection, you produce any intricate or profound
argument, you, in a manner, give up the question, and con-
fess, that it is not reasoning which engages us to suppose the
past resembling the future, and to expect similar effects from
causes, which are, to appearance, similar. This is the pro-
position which I intended to enforce in the present section.
If I be right, I pretend not to have made any mighty dis-
covery. And if I be wrong, I must acknowledge myself to
be indeed a very backward scholar ; since I cannot now dis-
SCEPTICAL DOUBTS. 86
cover an argumeat, which, it seems, was perfectly familiar SECT.
to me, long before I was out of my cradle. - \ ' .
Part II.
Sect. V. Sceptical Solution of these Doubts.
PART I.
The passion for philosophy, like that for religion, seems
liable to this inconvenience, that, though it aims at the
correction of our manners, and extirpation of our vices, it
may only serve, by imprudent management, to foster a
predominant inclination, and push the mind, with more
determined resolution, towards that side, which already
draws too much, by the biass and propensity of the natural
temper. It is certain, that, while we aspire to the magna-
nimous firmness of the philosophic sage, and endeavour to
confine our pleasures altogether within our own minds, we
may, at last, render our philosophy like that of Epictetus,
and other Stoics, only a more refined system of selfishness,
and reason ourselves out of all virtue, as well as social en-
joyment. While we study with attention the vanity of
human life, and turn all our thoughts towards the empty
and transitory nature of riches and honours, we are, perhaps,
all the while, flattering our natural indolence, which, hating
the bustle of the world, and drudgery of business, seeks a
pretence of reason, to give itself a full and uncontrouled
indulgence. There is, however, one species of philosophy,
which seems little liable to this inconvenience, and that be-
cause it strikes in with no disorderly passion of the human
mind, nor can mingle itself with any natural affection or pro-
pensity ; and that is the Academic or Sceptical philosophy.
The academics always talk of doubt and suspense of judg-
ment, of danger in hasty determinations, of confining to very
narrow bounds the enquiries of the understanding, and of
renouncing all speculations which lie not within the limits
of common life and practice. Nothing, therefore, can be
more contrary than such a philosophy to the supine indolence
of the mind, its rash arrogance, its lofty pretensions, and its
superstitious credulity. Every passion is mortified by it,
except the love of truth ; and that passion never is, nor can
be carried to too high a degree. It is surprising, therefore,
:HJ CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING.
SECT, that this philosophy, which, in almost every instance, must
_ ' . be harmless and innocent, should be the subject of so much
Taut I. groundless reproach and obloquy. But, perhaps, the very
circumstance, which renders it so innocent, is what chiefly
exposes it to the public hatred and resentment. By flatter-
ing no irregular passion, it gains few partizans : By oppos-
ing so many vices and follies, it raises to itself abundance
of enemies, who stigmatize it as libertine, profane, and
irreligious.
Nor need we fear, that this philosophy, while it endeavours
to limit our enquiries to common life, should ever undermine
the reasonings of common life, and carry its doubts so far as
to destroy all action, as well as speculation. Nature will
always maintain her rights, and prevail in the end over any
abstract reasoning whatsoever. Though we should conclude,
for instance, as in the foregoing section, that, in all reason-
ings from experience, there is a step taken by the mind,
which is not supported by any argument or process of the
understanding, there is no danger, that these reasonings,
on which almost all knowledge depends, will ever be affected
by such a discovery. If the mind be not engaged by argu-
ment to make this step, it must be induced by some other
principle of equal weight and authority ; and that principle
will preserve its influence as long as human nature remains
the same. What that principle is, may well be worth the
pains of enquiry.
Suppose a person, though endowed with the strongest
faculties of reason and reflection, to be brought on a sudden
into this world; he would, indeed, immediately observe a
continual succession of objects, and one event following
another ; but he would not be able to discover any thing
farther. He would not, at first, by any reasoning, be able
to reach the idea of cause and effect ; since the particular
powers, by which all natural operations are performed, never
appear to the senses ; nor is it reasonable to conclude,
merely because one event, in one instance, precedes another,
that therefore the one is the cause, the other the effect.
Their conjunction may be arbitrary and casual. There may
be no reason to infer the existence of one from the appear-
ance of the other. And in a word, such a person, without
more experience, could never employ his conjecture or rea-
soning concerning any matter of fact, or be assured of any
SCEPTICAL SOLUTION OF THESE DOUBTS. r,7
thing beyond what was immediately present to his memory SECT.
and senses. . T ' _
Suppose again, that he has acquired more experience, and Part *
has lived so long in the world as to have observed similar
objects or events to be constantly conjoined together ; what
is the consequence of this experience? He immediately
infers the existence of one object from the appearance of the
other. Yet he has not, by all his experience, acquired any
idea or knowledge of the secret power, by which the one
object produces the other ; nor is it, by any process of rea-
soning, he is engaged to draw this inference. But still he
finds himself determined to draw it : And though he should
be convinced, that his understanding has no part in the
operation, he would nevertheless continue in the same course
of thinking. There is some other principle, which determines
him to form such a conclusion.
This principle is Custom or Habit. For wherever the
repetition of any particular act or operation produces a pro-
pensity to renew the same act or operation, without being
impelled by any reasoning or process of the understanding ;
we always say, that thi3 propensity is the effect of Custom.
By employing that word, we pretend not to have given the
ultimate reason of such a propensity. We only point out a
principle of human nature, which is universally acknow-
ledged, and which is well known by its effects. Perhaps, we
can push our enquiries no farther, or pretend to give the
cause of this cause ; but must rest contented with it as the
ultimate principle, which we can assign, of all our conclu-
sions from experience. It is sufficient satisfaction, that we
can go so far ; without repining at the narrowness of our
faculties, because they will carry us no farther. And it is
certain we here advance a very intelligible proposition at
least, if not a true one, when we assert, that, after the con-
stant conjunction of two objects, heat and flame, for instance,
weight and solidity, we are determined by custom alone to
expect the one from the appearance of the other. This
hypothesis seems even the only one, which explains the diffi-
culty, why we draw, from a thousand instances, an inference,
which we are not able to draw from one instance, that is, in
no respect, different from them. Reason is incapable of any
such variation. The conclusions, which it draws from con-
sidering one circle, are the same which it would form upon
38
CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING.
SECT.
V.
Paht I.
surveying all the circles in the universe. But no man,
having seen only one body move after being impelled by
another, could infer, that every other body will move after a
like impulse. All inferences from experience, therefore, are
effects of custom, not of reasoning. 1
1 Nothing is more usual than for
writers, even on moral, political, or phy-
sical subjects, to distinguish between
reason and experience, and to suppose,
that these species of argumentation are
entirely different from each other. The
former are taken for the mere result of
our intellectual faculties, which, by con-
sidering d priori the nature of things,
and examining the effects, that must
follow from their operation, establish
particular principles of science and
philosophy. The latter are supposed
to be derived entirely from sense and
observation, by which we learn what
has actually resulted from the opera-
tion of particular objects, and are thence
able to infer, what will, for the future,
result from them. Thus, for instance,
the limitations and restraints of civil
government, and a legal constitution,
may be defended, either from reason,
which reflecting on the great frailty and
corruption of human nature, teaches,
that no man can safely be trusted with
unlimited authority ; or from experience
and history, which inform us of the
enormous abuses, that ambition, in
every age and country, has been found
to make of so imprudent a confidence.
The same distinction between reason
and experience is maintained in all our
deliberations concerning the conduct of
life ; while the experienced statesman,
general, physician, or merchant is
trusted and followed ; and the unprac-
tised novice, with whatever natural
talents endowed, neglected and despised.
Though it be allowed, that reason may
form very plausible conjectures with
regard to the consequences of such a
particular conduct in such particular
circumstances ; it is still supposed im-
perfect, without the assistance of expe-
rience, which is alone able to give
stability and certainty to the maxims,
derived from study and reflection.
But notwithstanding that this dis-
tinction be thus universally received,
both in the active and speculative scenes
of life, I shall not scruple to pronounce,
that it is, at bottom, erroneous, at
least, superficial.
If we examine those arguments
which, in any of the sciences above-
mentioned, are supposed to be the mere
effects of reasoning and reflection, they
will be found to terminate, at last, in
some general principle or conclusion,
for which we can assign no reason but
observation and experience. The only
difference between them . and those
maxims, which are vulgarly esteemed
the result of pure experience, is, that
the former cannot be established with-
out some process of thought, and some
reflection on what we have observed, in
order to distinguish its circumstances,
and trace its consequences : Whereas
in the latter, the experienced event is
exactly and fully similar to that which
we infer as the result of any particular
situation. The history of a Tibekius or
a Nero makes us dread a like tyranny,
were our monarchs freed from the re-
straints of laws and senates : But the ob-
servation of any fraud or cruelty in pri-
vate life is sufficient, with the aid of a
little thought, to give us the same appre-
hension ; while it serves as an instance of
the general corruption of human nature,
and shews us the danger which we must
incur by reposing an entire confidence
in mankind. In both cases, it is expe-
rience which is ultimately the founda-
tion of our inference and conclusion.
There is no man so young and unex-
perienced, as not to have formed, from
observation, many general and just
maxims concerning human affairs and
the conduct of life ; but it must be con-
fessed, that, when a man comes to put.
these in practice, he will be extremely
liable to error, till time and farther
experience both enlarge these maxims,
and teach him their proper use and
application. In every situation or in-
cident, there are many particular and
seemingly minute circumstances, which
the man of greatest, talents is, at first,
apt to overlook, though on them the
justness of his conclusions, and conse-
quently the prudence of his conduct,
entirely depend. Not to mention, that,
to a young beginner, the general obser-
vations and maxims occur not always
on the proper occasions, nor can be im-
mediately applied with due calmness
SCEPTICAL SOLUTION OF THESE DOUBTS. 39
Custom, then, is the great guide of human life. It is that SECT.
principle alone, which renders our experience useful to us, , ;___
and makes us expect, for the future, a similar train of events Paht I
with those which have appeared in the past. Without the
influence of custom, we should be entirely ignorant of every
matter of fact, beyond what is immediately present to the
memory and senses. We should never know how to adjust
means to ends, or to employ our natural powers in the pro-
duction of any effect. There would be an end at once of
all action, as well as of the chief part of speculation.
But here it may be proper to remark, that though our
conclusions from experience carry us beyond our memory
and senses, and assure us of matters of fact, which happened
in the most distant places and most remote ages ; yet some
fact must always be present to the senses or memory, from
which we may first proceed in drawing these conclusions. A
man, who should find in a desert country the remains of
pompous buildings, would conclude, that the country had,
in ancient times, been cultivated by civilized inhabitants ;
but did nothing of this nature occur to him, he could never
form such an inference. We learn the events of former
ages from history ; but then we must peruse the volumes, in
which this instruction is contained, and thence carry up our
inferences from one testimony to another, till we arrive at
the eye-witnesses and spectators of these distant events. In
a word, if we proceed not upon some fact, present to the
memory or senses, our reasonings would be merely hypo-
thetical ; and however the particular links might be con-
nected with each other, the whole chain of inferences would
have nothing to support it, nor could we ever, by its means,
arrive at the knowledge of any real existence. If I ask, why
you believe any particular matter of fact, which you relate,
you must tell me some reason ; and this reason will be some
other fact, connected with it. But as you cannot proceed
after this manner, in infinitum, you must at last terminate in
some fact, which is present to your memory or senses ; or
must allow that your belief is entirely without foundation.
What then is the conclusion of the whole matter? A
and distinction. The truth is, an nnex- meter to any one, we mean it only in a
perienced reasoner could he no roasonor comparative sense, and suppose him
at all, were he absolutely unexpe- possessed of experience, in a smaller
rienccd ; and when we assign that cha- and more imperfect degree.
40 CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING.
SECT, simple one; though, it must be confessed, pretty remote
\' _ , . from the common theories of philosophy. All belief of
Part I. matter of fact or real existence is derived merely from some
object, present to the memory or senses, and a customary
conjunction between that and some other object. Or in
other words ; having found, in many instances, that any two
kinds of objects, flame and heat, snow and cold, have always
been conjoined together ; if flame or snow be presented anew
to the senses, the mind is carried by custom to expect heat
or cold, and to believe, that such a quality does exist, and
will discover itself upon a nearer approach. This belief is
the necessary result of placing the mind in such circum-
stances. It is an operation of the soul, when we are so
situated, as unavoidable as to feel the passion of love, when
we receive benefits : or hatred, when we meet with injuries.
All these operations are a species of natural instincts, which
no reasoning or process of the thought and understanding
is able, either to produce, or to prevent.
At this point, it would be very allowable for us to stop our
philosophical researches. In most questions, we can never
make a single step farther ; and in all questions, we must
terminate here at last, after our most restless and curious
enquiries. But still our curiosity will be pardonable, per-
haps commendable, if it carry us on to still farther researches,
and make us examine more accurately the nature of this
belief, and of the customary conjunction, whence it is derived.
By this means we may meet with some explications and
analogies, that will give satisfaction ; at least to such as love
the abstract sciences, and can be entertained with specula-
tions, which, however accurate, may still retain a degree of
doubt and uncertainty. As to readers of a different taste ;
the remaining part of this section is not calculated for them,
and the following enquiries may well be understood, though
it be neglected.
PART n.
Nothing is more free than the imagination of man ; and
though it cannot exceed that original stock of ideas, furnished
by the internal and external senses, it has unlimited power
of mixing, compounding, separating, and dividing these
ideas, in all the varieties of fiction and vision. It can feign
a train of events, with all the appearance of reality, ascribe
SCEPTICAL SOLUTION OF THESE DOUBTS. 41
to them a particular time and place, conceive them as ex- sect.'
istent, and paint them out to itself with every circumstance, _ ' -
that belongs to any historical fact, which it believes with the Paut IS
greatest certainty. Wherein, therefore, consists the diffe-
rence between such a fiction and belief? It lies not merely
in any peculiar idea, which is annexed to such a conception
as commands our assent, and which is wanting to every
known fiction. For as the mind has authority over all its
ideas, it could voluntarily annex this particular idea to any
fiction, and consequently be able to believe whatever it
pleases ; contrary to what we find by daily experience. We
can, in our conception, join the head of a man to the body
of a horse ; but it is not in our power to believe, that such
an animal has ever really existed.
It follows, therefore, that the difference between fiction
and belief lies in some sentiment or feeling, which is annexed
to the latter, not to the former, and which depends not on
the will, nor can be commanded at pleasure. It must be
excited by nature, like all other sentiments ; and must arise
from the particular situation, in which the mind is placed at
any particular juncture. Whenever any object is presented
to the memory or senses, it immediately, by the force of
custom, carries the imagination to conceive that object, which
is usually conjoined to it ; and this conception is attended
with a feeling or sentiment, different from the loose reveries
of the fancy. In this consists the whole nature of belief.
For as there is no matter of fact which we believe so firmly,
that we cannot conceive the contrary, there would be no
difference between the conception assented to, and that which
is rejected, were it not for some sentiment, which distin-
guishes the one from the other. If I see a billiard-ball
moving towards another, on a smooth table, I can easily con-
ceive it to stop upon contact. This conception implies no
contradiction; but still it feels very differently from that
conception, by which I represent to myself the impulse, and
the communication of motion from one ball to another.
Were we to attempt a definition of this sentiment, we
should, perhaps, find it a very difficult, if not an impossible
task ; in the same manner as if we should endeavour to define
the feeling of cold or passion of anger, to a creature who
never had any experience of these sentiments. Belief is the
true and proper name of this feeling ; and no one is ever at
42 CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING.
SECT, a loss to know the meaning of that term ; because every man
is every moment conscious of the sentiment represented by
PaetII. it. it may not, however, be improper to attempt a descrip-
tion of this sentiment; in hopes we may, by that means,
arrive at some analogies, which may afford a more perfect
explication of it. I say then, that belief is nothing but a
more vivid, lively, forcible, firm, steady conception of an
object, than what the imagination alone is ever able to attain.
This variety of terms, which may seem so unphilosophical, is
intended only to express that act of the mind, which renders
realities, or what is taken for such, more present to us than
fictions, causes them to weigh more in the thought, and
gives them a superior influence on the passions and the ima-
gination. Provided we agree about the thing, it is need-
less to dispute about the terms. The imagination has the
command over all its ideas, and can join and mix and vary
them, in all the ways possible. It may conceive fictitious
objects with all the circumstances of place and time. It may
set them, in a manner, before our eyes, in their true colours,
just as they might have existed. But as it is impossible,
that this faculty of imagination can ever, of itself, reach
belief, it is evident, that belief consists not in the peculiar
nature or order of ideas, but in the manner of their concep-
tion, and in their feeling to the mind. I confess, that it is
impossible perfectly to explain this feeling or manner of con-
ception. We may make use of words, which express some-
thing near it. But its true and proper name, as we observed
before, is belief; which is a term, that every one sufficiently
understands in common life. And in philosophy, we can go
no farther than assert, that belief is something felt by the
mind, which distinguishes the ideas of the judgment from
the fictions of the imagination. It gives them more weight
and influence; makes them appear of greater importance;
inforces them in the mind ; and renders them the governing
principle of our actions. I hear at present, for instance, a
person's voice, with whom I am acquainted ; and the sound
comes as from the next room. This impression of my senses
immediately conveys my thought to the person, together
with all the surrounding objects. I paint them out to myself
as existing at present, with the same qualities and relations,
of which I formerly knew them possessed. These ideas take
faster hold of my mind, than ideas of an enchanted castle.
V.
Part IL
SCEPTICAL SOLUTION OF THESE DOUBTS. 43
Ihey are very different to the feeling, and have a much SECT,
greater influence of every kind, either to give pleasure or
pain, joy or sorrow.
Let us, then, take in the whole compass of this doctrine,
and allow, that the sentiment of belief is nothing but a con-
ception more intense and steady than what attends the mere
fictions of the imagination, and that this manner of concep-
tion arises from a customary conjunction of the object with
something present to the memory or senses : I believe that
it will not be difficult, upon these suppositions, to find other
operations of the mind analogous to it, and to trace up these
phenomena to principles still more general.
We have already observed, that nature has established
connexions among particular ideas, and that no sooner one
idea occurs to our thoughts than it introduces its correlative,
and carries our attention towards it, by a gentle and insen-
sible movement. These principles of connexion or association
we have reduced to three, namely, Resemblance, Contiguity,
and Causation', which are the only bonds, that unite our
thoughts together, and beget that regular train of reflection
or discourse, which, in a greater or less degree, takes place
among all mankind. Now here arises a question, on which
the solution of the present difficulty will depend. Does it
happen, in all these relations, that, when one of the objects
is presented to the senses or memory, the mind is not only
carried to the conception of the correlative, but reaches a
steadier and stronger conception of it than what otherwise
it would have been able to attain ? This seems to be the
case with that belief, which arises from the relation of cause
and effect. And if the case be the same with the other rela-
tions or principles of association, this may be established as
a general law, which takes place in all the operations of the
mind.
We may, therefore, observe, as the first experiment to our
present purpose, that, upon the appearance of the picture of
an absent friend, our idea of him is evidently enlivened by
the resemblance, and that every passion, which that idea
occasions, whether of joy or sorrow, acquires new force and
vigour. In producing this effect, there concur both a rela-
tion and a present impression. Where the picture bears him
no resemblance, at least was not intended for him, it never
so much as conveys our thought to him : And where it is
44 CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING.
SECT. absent, as well as the person ; though the mind may pass
- from the thought of the one to that of the other ; it feels its
Vabt II. idea to be rather weakened than enlivened by that transition.
We take a pleasure in viewing the picture of a friend, when
it is set before us ; but when it is removed, rather chuse to
consider him directly, than by reflection in an image, which
is equally distant and obscure.
The ceremonies of the Roman Catholic religion may be
considered as instances of the same nature. The devotees
of that * superstition usually plead in excuse for the mumme-
ries, with which they are upbraided, that they feel the good
effect of those external motions, and postures, and actions,
in enlivening their devotion and quickening their fervour,
which otherwise would decay, if directed entirely to distant
and immaterial objects. We shadow out the objects of our
faith, say they, in sensible types and images, and render
them more present to us by the immediate presence of these
types, than it is possible for us to do, merely by an intellec-
tual view and contemplation. Sensible objects have always
a greater influence on the fancy than any other ; and this
influence they readily convey to those ideas, to which they
are related, and which they resemble. I shall only infer
from these practices, and this reasoning, that the effect of
resemblance in enlivening the ideas is very common ; and as
in every case a resemblance and a present impression must
concur, we are abundantly supplied with experiments to prove
the reality of the foregoing principle.
We may add force to these experiments by others of a
different kind, in considering the effects of contiguity as well
as of resemblance. It is certain, that distance diminishes the
force of every idea, and that, upon our approach to any ob-
ject ; though it does not discover itself to our senses ; it
operates upon the mind with an influence, which imitates an
immediate impression. The thinking on any object readily
transports the mind to what is contiguous ; but it is only the
actual presence of an object, that transports it with a superior
vivacity. When I am a few miles from home, whatever
relates to it touches me more nearly than when 1 am two
hundred leagues distant ; though even at that distance the
reflecting on any thing in the neighbourhood of my friends
or family naturally produces an idea of them. But as in
1 [That strange superstition : Editions E and F.]
SCEPTICAL SOLUTION OF THESE DOUBTS. 45
this latter case, both the objects of the mind are ideas ; not-
withstanding there is an easy transition between them ; that
transition alone is not able to give a superior vivacity to any ^ AMT 1L
of the ideas, for want of some immediate impression. 1
No one can doubt but causation has the same influence
as the other two relations of resemblance and contiguity.
Superstitious people are fond of the reliques of saints and
holy men, for the same reason, that they seek after types or
images, in order to enliven their devotion, and give them a
more intimate and strong conception of those exemplary
lives, which they desire to imitate. Now it is evident, that
one of the best reliques, which a devotee could procure,
would be the handywork of a saint ; and if his cloaths and
furniture are ever to be considered in this light, it is because
they were once at his disposal, and were moved and affected
by him ; in which respect they are to be considered as im-
perfect effects, and as connected with him by a shorter chain
of consequences than any of those, by which we learn the
reality of his existence.
Suppose, that the son of a friend, who had been long dead
or absent, were presented to us ; it is evident, that this object
would instantly revive its correlative idea, and recal to our
thoughts all past intimacies and familiarities, in more lively
colours than they would otherwise have appeared to us.
This is another phenomenon, which seems to prove the
principle above-mentioned.
We may observe, that, in these phenomena, the belief of
the correlative object is always presupposed ; without which
the relation could have no effect. The influence of the
picture supposes, that we believe our friend to have once ex-
isted. Contiguity to home can never excite our ideas of
home, unless we believe that it really exists. Now I assert,
that this belief, where it reaches beyond the memory or
1 ' Naturane nobis, inquit, datum conspectu meo hie ponere. Hie Spbu-
dicam, an errore quoclam, ut, cum ea sipfcs, hie Xenockates, hie ejus auditor
loca videamus, in quibus memoria dig- Polemo ; cujus ipsa ilia sessio fuit, quam
nos viros acceperimus multum esse ver- videamus. Equidem etiam curiam nos-
satos, magis moveamur, quam siquando tram Hostiliam dico, non hanc novam,
eorum ipsorum aut facta audiamus aut quae mihi minor esse videtur postquam
scriptum aliquod legamus? Velut ego est major, solebam intuens, Scipionem,
nunc moveor. Venit enim mihi Plato- Catonkm, Ljelium, nostrum vero in
nis in mentem, quern accepimus primum primis arum cogitare. Tanta vis ad-
hic disputare solitum: Cujus etiam ill! monitionis est in locis; ut non sine
hortuli propinqui non memoriam solum causa ex his memoriae deducta sit dis-
mihi aifurunt, sed ipsum videntur in ciplina.' Ciceko de FinUma. Lib. v. 2.
46 CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING.
SECT, senses, is of a similar nature, and arises from similar causes,
k . with the transition of thought and vivacity of conception here
Part II. explained. When I throw a piece of dry wood into a fire,
my mind is immediately carried to conceive, that it augments,
not extinguishes the flame. This transition of thought from
the cause to the effect proceeds not from reason. It derives
its origin altogether from custom and experience. And as it
first begins from an object, present to the senses, it renders
the idea or conception of flame more strong and lively than
any loose, floating reverie of the imagination. That idea
arises immediately. The thought moves instantly towards
it, and conveys to it all that force of conception, which is
derived from the impression present to the senses. "When a
sword is levelled at my breast, does not the idea of wound
and pain strike me more strongly, than when a glass of wine
is presented to me, even though by accident this idea should
occur after the appearance of the latter object ? But what
is there in this whole matter to cause such a strong concep-
tion, except only a present object and a customary transition
to the idea of another object, which we have been accustomed
to conjoin with the former ? This is the whole operation of
the mind, in all our conclusions concerning matter of fact
and existence ; and it is a satisfaction to find some analogies,
by which it may be explained. The transition from a present
object does in all cases give strength and solidity to the re-
lated idea.
Here, then, is a kind of pre-established harmony between
the course of nature and the succession of our ideas ; and
though the powers and forces, by which the former is go-
verned, be wholly unknown to us ; yet our thoughts and con-
ceptions have still, we find, gone on in the same train with
the other works of nature. Custom is that principle, by
which this correspondence has been effected ; so necessary to
the subsistence of our species, and the regulation of our con-
duct, in every circumstance and occurrence of human life.
Had not the presence of an object instantly excited the idea
of those objects, commonly conjoined with it, all our know-
ledge must have been limited to the narrow sphere of our
memory and senses ; and we should never have been able to
adjust means to ends, or employ our natural powers, either
to the producing of good, or avoiding of evil. Those, who
delight in the discovery and contemplation of final causes,
SCEPTICAL SOLUTION OF THESE DOUBTS. 47
have here ample subject to employ their wonder and ad- SECT,
miration. ' ~
I shall add, for a further confirmation of the foregoing PaetIL
theory, that, as this operation of the mind, by which we
infer like effects from like causes, and vice versa, is so essen-
tial to the subsistence of all human creatures, it is not pro-
bable, that it could be trusted to the fallacious deductions of
our reason, which is slow in its operations ; appears not, in
any degree, during the first years of infancy ; and at best is,
in every age and period of human life, extremely liable to
error and mistake. It is more conformable to the ordinary
wisdom of nature to secure so necessary an act of the mind,
by some instinct or mechanical tendency, which may be in-
fallible in its operations, may discover itself at the first ap-
pearance of life and thought, and may be independent of all
the laboured deductions of the understanding. As nature
has taught us the use of our limbs, without giving us the
knowledge of the muscles and nerves, by which they are
actuated ; so has she implanted in us an instinct, which
carries forward the thought in a correspondent course to
that which she has established among external objects :
though we are ignorant of those powers and forces, on which
this regular course and succession of objects totally depends.
Section VI. Of Probability. 1
Though there be no such thing as Chance in the world ; our
ignorance of the real cause of any event has the same in-
fluence on the understanding, and begets a like species of
belief or opinion.
There is certainly a probability, which arises from a supe-
riority of chances on any side ; and according as this supe-
riority encreases, and surpasses the opposite chances, the
probability receives a proportionable encrease, and begets
still a higher degree of belief or assent to that side, in which
we discover the superiority. If a dye were marked with one
figure or number of spots on four sides, and with another
1 Mr. Locke divides all arguments we ought to divide arguments into rfe-
into demonstrative and probable. In momtrations, proofs, and probabilities.
this view, we must say, that it is only By proofs meaning such arguments
probable all men must die, or that the from experience as leave no room for
sun will rise to-morrow. But to con- doubt or opposition,
form our language more to common use,
48 CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING.
figure or number of spots on the two remaining sides, it
would be more probable, that the former would turn up than
the latter ; though, if it had a thousand sides marked in the
same manner, and only one side different, the probability
would be much higher, and our belief or expectation of the
event more steady and secure. This process of the thought
or reasoning may seem trivial and obvious ; but to those who
consider it more narrowly, it may, perhaps, afford matter for
curious speculation.
It seems evident, that, when the mind looks forward to
discover the event, which may result from the throw of such
a dye, it considers the turning up of each particular side as
alike probable ; and this is the very nature of chance, to
render all the particular events, comprehended in it, entirely
equal. But finding a greater number of sides concur in the
one event than in the other, the mind is carried more fre-
quently to that event, and meets it oftener, in revolving the
various possibilities or chances, on which the ultimate result
depends. This concurrence of several views in one particular
event begets immediately, by an inextricable contrivance of
nature, the sentiment of belief, and gives that event the
advantage over its antagonist, which is supported by a smaller
number of views, and recurs less frequently to the mind. If
we allow, that belief is nothing but a firmer and stronger
conception of an object than what attends the mere fictions
of the imagination, this operation may, perhaps, in some
measure be accounted for. The concurrence of these several
views or glimpses imprints the idea more strongly on the
imagination ; gives it superior force and vigour ; renders its
influence on the passions and affections more sensible ; and
in a word, begets that reliance or security, which constitutes
the nature of belief and opinion.
The case is the same with the probability of causes, as
with that of chance. There are some causes, which are en-
tirely uniform and constant in producing a particular effect ;
and no instance has ever yet been found of any failure or
irregularity in their operation. Fire has always burned, and
water suffocated every human creature : The production of
motion by impulse and gravity is an universal law, which has
hitherto admitted of no exception. But there are other
causes, which have been found more irregular and uncertain ;
nor has rhubarb always proved a purge, or opium a soporific
to every one, who has taken these medicines. It is true?
OF PROBABILITY. 49
when any cause fails of producing its usual effect, philosophers SECT,
ascribe not this to any irregularity in nature ; but suppose, . VL
that some secret causes, in the particular structure of parts,
have prevented the operation. Our reasonings, however,
and conclusions concerning the event are the same as if this
principle had no place. Being determined by custom to
transfer the past to the future, in all our inferences ; where
the past has been entirely regular and uniform, we expect
the event with the greatest assurance, and leave no room for
any contrary supposition. But where different effects have
been found to follow from causes, which are to appearance
exactly similar, all these various effects must occur to the
mind in transferring the past to the future, and enter into
our consideration, when we determine the probability of the
event. Though we give the preference to that which has
been found most usual, and believe that this effect will exist,
we must not overlook the other effects, but must assign to
each of them a particular weight and authority, in proportion
as we have found it to be more or less frequent. It is more
probable, in almost every country of Europe, that there will
be frost sometime in January, than that the weather will
continue open throughout that whole month ; though this
probability varies according to the different climates, and
approaches to a certainty in the more northern kingdoms.
Here then it seems evident, that, when we transfer the past
to the future, in order to determine the effect, which will
result from any cause, we transfer all the different events, in
the same proportion as they have appeared in the past, and
conceive one to have existed a hundred times, for instance,
another ten times, and another once. As a great number of
views do here concur in one event, they fortify and confirm
it to the imagination, beget that sentiment which we call
belief, and give its object the preference above the contrary
event, which is not supported by an equal number of experi-
ments, and recurs not so frequently to the thought in trans-
ferring the past to the future. Let any one try to account
for this operation of the mind upon any of the received sys-
tems of philosophy, and he will be sensible of the difficulty.
For my part, I shall think it sufficient, if the present hints
excite the curiosity of philosophers, and make them sensible
how defective all common theories are in treating of such
curious and such sublime subjects.
VOL. IV. E
50 CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING.
V jj ' Sect. VII. Of the Idea 1 of Necessary Connexion.
Part I.
PART I.
The great advantage of the mathematical sciences above the
moral consists in this, that the ideas of the former, being
sensible, are always clear and determinate, the smallest dis-
tinction between them is immediately perceptible, and the
same terms are still expressive of the same ideas, without
ambiguity or variation. An oval is never mistaken for a
circle, nor an hyperbola for an ellipsis. The isosceles and
scalenum are distinguished by boundaries more exact than
vice and virtue, right and wrong. If any term be defined
in geometry, the mind readily, of itself, substitutes, on all
occasions, the definition for the term defined : Or even when
no definition is employed, the object itself may be presented
to the senses, and by that means be steadily and clearly
apprehended. But the finer sentiments of the mind, the
operations of the understanding, the various agitations of
the passions, though really in themselves distinct, easily
escape us, when surveyed by reflection; nor is it in our
power to recal the original object, as often as we have occa-
sion to contemplate it. Ambiguity, by this means, is
gradually introduced into our reasonings : Similar objects
are readily taken to be the same : And the conclusion be-
comes at last very wide of the premises.
One may safely, however, affirm, that, if we consider these
sciences in a proper light, their advantages and disadvan-
tages nearly compensate each other, and reduce both of them
to a state of equality. If the mind, with greater facility,
retains the ideas of geometry clear and determinate, it must
carry on a much longer and more intricate chain of reason-
ing, and compare ideas much wider of each other, in order
to reach the abstruser truths of that science. And if moral
ideas are apt, without extreme care, to fall into obscurity
and confusion, the inferences are always much shorter in
these disquisitions, and the intermediate steps, which
lead to the conclusion, much fewer than in the sciences
which treat of quantity and number. In reality, there is
scarcely a proposition in Euclid so simple, as not to consist
1 [Of Power or, &c. : Editions E and F.]
OF THE IDEA OF NECESSARY CONNEXION. 61
of more parts, than are to be found in any moral reasoning SECT.
which runs not into chimera and conceit. Where we trace . JiL.
the principles of the human mind through a few steps, we Paut *
may be very well satisfied with our progress; considering
how soon nature throws a bar to all our enquiries concern-
ing causes, and reduces us to an acknowledgment of our
ignorance. The chief obstacle, therefore, to our improve-
ment in the moral or metaphysical sciences is the obscurity
of the ideas, and ambiguity of the terms. The principal
difficulty in the mathematics is the length of inferences and
compass of thought, requisite to the forming of any conclusion.
And, perhaps, our progress in natural philosophy is chiefly
retarded by the want of proper experiments and phenomena,
which are often discovered by chance, and cannot always be
found, when requisite, even by the most diligent and prudent
enquiry. As moral philosophy seems hitherto to have re-
ceived less improvement than either geometry or physics,
we may conclude, that, if there be any difference in this re-
spect among these sciences, the difficulties, which obstruct
the progress of the former, require superior care and capacity
to be surmounted.
There are no ideas, which occur in metaphysics, more
obscure and uncertain, than those of power, force, energy, or
necessary connexion, of which it is every moment necessary
for us to treat in all our disquisitions. We shall, therefore,
endeavour, in this section, to fix, if possible, the precise
meaning of these terms, and thereby remove some part of
that obscurity, which is so much complained of in this species
of philosophy.
It seems a proposition, which will not admit of much dis-
pute, that all our ideas are nothing but copies of our im-
pressions, or, in other words, that it is impossible for us to
think of any thing, which we have not antecedently felt,
either by our external or internal senses. I have en-
deavoured ' to explain and prove this proposition, and have
expressed my hopes, that, by a proper application of it, men
may reach a greater clearness and precision in philosophical
reasonings, than what they have hitherto been able to attain.
Complex ideas may, perhaps, be well known by definition,
which is nothing but an enumeration of those parts or
simple ideas, that compose them. But when we have pushed
1 Section II. Of the Origin of Ideas.
2
52 CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING.
SECT, up definitions to the most simple ideas, and find still some
v ^ . ambiguity and obscurity ; what resource are we then pos-
PajitI. sessed of? By what invention can we throw light upon
these ideas, and render them altogether precise and deter-
minate to our intellectual view ? Produce the impressions
or original sentiments, from which the ideas are copied.
These impressions are all strong and sensible. They admit
not of ambiguity. They are not only placed in a full light
themselves, but may throw light on their correspondent
ideas, which lie in obscurity. And by this means, we may,
perhaps, attain a new microscope or species of optics, by
which, in the moral sciences, the most minute, and most
simple ideas may be so enlarged as to fall readily under our
apprehension, and be equally known with the grossest and
most sensible ideas, that can be the object of our enquiry.
To be fully acquainted, therefore, with the idea of power
or necessary connexion, let us examine its impression ; and
in order to find the impression with greater certainty, let us
search for it in all the sources, from which it may possibly
be derived.
When we look about us towards external objects, and con-
sider the operation of causes, we are never able, in a single
instance, to discover any power or necessary connexion;
any quality, which binds the effect to the cause, and renders
the one an infallible consequence of the other. We only
find, that the one does actually, in fact, follow the other.
The impulse of one billiard-ball is attended with motion in
the second. This is the whole that appears to the outward
senses. The mind feels no sentiment or inward impression
from this succession of objects : Consequently, there is not,
in any single, particular instance of cause and effect, any
thing which can suggest the idea of power or necessary con-
nexion.
From the first appearance of an object, we never can con-
jecture what effect will result from it. But were the power
or energy of any cause discoverable by the mind, we could
foresee the effect, even without experience ; and might, at
first, pronounce with certainty concerning it, by the mere
dint of thought and reasoning.
In reality, there is no part of matter, that does ever, by
its sensible qualities, discover any power or energy, or give
OF THE IDEA OF NECESSARY CONNEXIO 63
ns ground to imagine, that it could produce any thing, or be SECT.
followed by any other object, which we could denominate ^ . , ' ..
its effect. Solidity, extension, motion ; these qualities are Pabt *
all complete in themselves, and never point out any other
event which may result from them. The scenes of the
universe are continually shifting, and one object follows
another in an uninterrupted succession ; but the power or
force, which actuates the whole machine, is entirely con-
cealed from us, and never discovers itself in any of the
sensible qualities of body. We know, that, in fact, heat is
a constant attendant of flame ; but what is the connexion
between them, we have no room so much as to conjecture or
imagine. It is impossible, therefore, that the idea of power
can be derived from the contemplation of bodies, in single
instances of their operation; because no bodies ever dis-
cover any power, which can be the original of this idea. 1
Since, therefore, external objects as they appear to the
senses, give us no idea of power or necessary connexion, by
their operation in particular instances, let us see, whether
this idea be derived from reflection on the operations of our
own minds, and be copied from any internal impression. It
may be said, that we are every moment conscious of internal
power ; while we feel, that, by the simple command of our
will, we can move the organs of our body, or direct the
faculties of our mind. An act of volition produces motion
in our limbs, or raises a new idea in our imagination. This
influence of the will we know by consciousness. Hence we
acquire the idea of power or energy ; and are certain, that
we ourselves and all other intelligent beings are possessed
of power. 2 This idea, then, is an idea of reflection, since it
arises from reflecting on the operations of our own mind,
and on the command which is exercised by will, both over
the organs of the body and faculties of the 3 soul.
"We shall proceed to examine this pretension ; 4 and first
with regard to the influence of volition over the organs of
1 Mr. Locke, in his chapter of power sopher himself confesses. This, there-
says, that, finding from experience, fore, can never be the origin of that idea,
that there are several new productions 2 [Editions E and F add : However
in matter, and concluding that there this may be, the Operations and mutual
must somewhere be a power capable of Influence of Bodies are, perhaps, suf-
producing them, we arrive at last by ficient to prove, that they also are pos-
this reasoning at the idea of power. But sess'd of it.]
no reasoning can ever give us a new, * [Of the Mind : Editions E to Q.]
original simple idea; as this philo- * [Editions B and F read : Wo shall
54 CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING.
SECT, the body. This influence, we may observe, is a fact, which,
, J , like all other natural events, can be known only by experi-
PartI. ence, and can never be foreseen from any apparent energy
or power in the cause, which connects it with the effect, and
renders the one an infallible consequence of the other. The
motion of our body follows t upon the command of our will.
Of this we are every moment conscious. But the means,
by which this is effected; the energy, by which the will
performs so extraordinary an operation ; of this we are so
far from being immediately conscious, that it must for ever
escape our most diligent enquiry.
For first ; is there any principle in all nature more mys-
terious than the union of soul with body ; by which a sup-
posed spiritual substance acquires such an influence over a
material one, that the most refined thought is able to actuate
the grossest matter? Were we empowered, by a secret
wish, to remove mountains, or control the planets in their
orbit; this extensive authority would not be more extra-
ordinary, nor more beyond our comprehension. But if by
consciousness we perceived any power or energy in the will,
we must know this power ; we must know its connexion
with the effect ; we must know the secret union of soul and
body, and the nature of both these substances ; by which the
one is able to operate, in so many instances, upon the other.
Secondly, We are not able to move all the organs of the
body with a like authority ; though we cannot assign any
reason besides experience, for so remarkable a difference
between one and the other. Why has the will an influence
over the tongue and fingers, not over the heart or liver ?
This question would never embarrass us, were we conscious
of a power in the former case, not in the latter. We should
then perceive, independent of experience, why the authority
of will over the organs of the body is circumscribed within
such particular limits. Being in that case fully acquainted
with the power or force, by which it operates, we should
also know, why its influence reaches precisely to such boun-
daries, and no farther.
proceed to examine this Pretension, and found Subjects.
shall endeavour to avoid, as far as we I assert, then,' in the first Place, that
are able, all Jargon and Confusion, in the Influence of Volition over the Organs
treating of such subtile and such pro- of the Body, is a Fact, &c]
[Ed. F omits : in the first Place.]
OF THE IDEA OF NECESSARY CONNEXION. 66
A man, suddenly struck with a palsy in the leg or arm, SECT.
or who had newly lost those members, frequently endeavours, - _ , ' _
at first, to move them, and employ them in their usual PabtI.
offices. Here he is as much conscious of power to command
such limbs, as a man in perfect health is conscious of
power to actuate any member which remains in its natural
state and condition. But consciousness never deceives.
Consequently, neither in the one case nor in the other, are
we ever conscious of any power. We learn the influence of
our will from experience alone. And experience only teaches
us, how one event constantly follows another ; without in-
structing us in the secret connexion, which binds them
together, and renders them inseparable.
Thirdly, We learn from anatomy, that the immediate
object of power in voluntary motion, is not the member
itself which is moved, but certain muscles, and nerves, and
animal spirits, and, perhaps, something still more minute
and more unknown, through which the motion is successively
propagated, ere it reach the member itself whose motion is
the immediate object of volition. Can there be a more
certain proof, that the power, by which this whole operation
is performed, so far from being directly and fully known by
an inward sentiment or consciousness, is, to the last degree,
mysterious and unintelligible ? Here the mind wills a cer-
tain event : Immediately another event, unknown to our-
selves, and totally different from the one intended, is
produced : This event produces another, equally unknown t
Till at last, through a long succession, the desired event is
produced. But if the original power were felt, it must be
known : Were it known, its effect must also be known ; since
all power is relative to its effect. And vice versa, if the
effect be not known, the power cannot be known nor felt.
How indeed can we be conscious of a power to move our
limbs, when we have no such power ; but only that to move
certain animal spirits, which, though they produce at last
the motion of our limbs, yet operate in such a manner as is
wholly beyond our comprehension ?
We may, therefore, conclude from the whole, I hope,
without any temerity, though with assurance ; that our idea
of power is not copied from any sentiment or consciousness
of power within ourselves, when we give rise to animal
motion, or apply our limbs to their proper use and office.
56 CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING.
SECT. That their motion follows the command of the will is a
. . . , ' ^ matter of common experience, like other natural events:
Part I. g u ^ the power or energy by which this is effected, like that
in other natural events, is unknown and inconceivable. 1
Shall we then assert, that we are conscious of a power
or energy in our own minds, when, by an act or command
of our will, we raise up a new idea, fix the mind to the con-
templation of it, turn it on all sides, and at last dismiss it
for some other idea, when we think that we have surveyed
it with sufficient accuracy ? I believe the same arguments
will prove, that even this command of the will gives us no
real idea of force or energy.
First, It must be allowed, that, when we know a power,
we know that very circumstance in the cause, by which it is
enabled to produce the effect : For these are supposed to be
synonimous. We must, therefore, know both the cause and
effect, and the relation between them. But do we pre-
tend to be acquainted with the nature of the human soul
and the nature of an idea, or the aptitude of the one to pro-
duce the other ? This is a real creation ; a production of
something out of nothing : Which implies a power so great,
that it may seem, at first sight, beyond the reach of any
being, less than infinite. At least it must be owned, thai
such a power is not felt, nor known, nor even conceivable by
the mind. We only feel the event, namely, the existence
of an idea, consequent to a command of the will : But the
manner, in which this operation is performed ; the power, by
which it is produced; is entirely beyond our comprehension.
Secondly, The command of the mind over itself is limited,
as well as its command over the body ; and these limits are
1 It may be pretended, that the re- follows immediately upon the will,
sistance which we meet with in bodies, without any exertion or summoning up
obliging us frequently to exert our force, of force ; to inanimate matter, Which is
and call up all our power, this gives lis not capable of this sentiment. Secondly,
the idea of force and power. It is this This sentiment- of an endeavour to over-
nisus or strong endeavour, of which we come resistance has no known connexion
are conscious, that is the original im- with any event: What follows it, we
pression from which this idea is copied. know by experience ; but could not
But, first, we attribute power to a vast know it a priori. It must, however, be
number of objects, where we never can confessed, that the animal nisus, which
suppose this resistance or exertion of we experience, though it can afford no
force to take place; to the Supreme accurate precise idea of power, enters
Being, who never meets with any re- very much into that vulgar, inaccurate
sistance ; to the mind in its command idea, which is formed of it. [The last
over its ideas and limbs, in common sentence is not in Editions E and F.]
thinking and motion, where the effect
OF THE IDEA OF NECESSARY CONNEXION. 57
not known by reason, or any acquaintance with the nature SECT.
of cause and effect ; but only by experience and observation, , , ' . .
as in all other natural events and in the operation of ex- Paut *
ternal objects. Our authority over our sentiments and
passions is much weaker than that over our ideas ; and even
the latter authority is circumscribed within very narrow
boundaries. Will any one pretend to assign the ultimate
reason of these boundaries, or show why the power is defi-
cient in one case and not in another.
Thirdly, This self-command is very different at different
times. A man in health possesses more of it, than one lan-
guishing with sickness. We are more master of our thoughts
in the morning than in the evening : Fasting, than after a
full meal. Can we give any reason for these variations,
except experience ? Where then is the power, of which we
pretend to be conscious? Is there not here, either in a
spiritual or material substance, or both, some secret mecha-
nism or structure of parts, upon which the effect depends,
and which, being entirely unknown to us, renders the power
or energy of the will equally unknown and incomprehensible ?
Volition is surely an act of the mind, with which we are
sufficiently acquainted. Eeflect upon it. Consider it on all
sides. Do you find anything in it like this creative power,
by which it raises from nothing a new idea, and with a kind
of Fiat, imitates the omnipotence of its Maker, if I may be
allowed so to speak, who called forth into existence all the
various scenes of nature ? So far from being conscious of
this energy in the will, it requires as certain experience, as
that of which we are possessed, to convince us, that such
extraordinary effects do ever result from a simple act of
volition.
The generality of mankind never find any difficulty in
accounting for the more common and familiar operations of
nature ; such as the descent of heavy bodies, the growth of
plants, the generation of animals, or the nourishment of
bodies by food : But suppose, that, in all these cases, they
perceive the very force or energy of the cause, by which it is
connected with its effect, and is for ever infallible in its ope-
ration. They acquire, by long habit, such a turn of mind,
that, upon the appearance of the cause, they immediately
expect with assurance its usual attendant, and hardly con-
ceive it possible, that any other event could result from it.
58 CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING.
SECT. It is only on the discovery of extraordinary phenomena,
,_!_ such as earthquakes, pestilence, and prodigies of any kind,
Paut l that they find themselves at a loss to assign a proper cause,
and to explain the manner, in which the effect is produced
by it. It is usual for men, in such difficulties, to have re-
source to some invisible intelligent principle, 1 as the imme-
diate cause of that event, which surprises them, and which,
they think, cannot be accounted for from the common powers
of nature. But philosophers, who carry their scrutiny a
little farther, immediately perceive, that, even in the most
familiar events, the energy of the- cause is as unintelligible
as in the most unusual, and that we only learn by experience
the frequent Conjunction of objects, without being ever
able to comprehend any thing like Connexion between them.
Here then, many philosophers think themselves obliged by
reason to have recourse, on all occasions, to the same prin-
ciple, which the vulgar never appeal to but in cases, that
appear miraculous and supernatural. They acknowledge
mind and intelligence to be, not only the ultimate and
original cause of all things, but the immediate and sole cause
of every event, which appears in nature. They pretend, that
those objects, which are commonly denominated causes, are
in reality nothing but occasions ; and that the true and direct
principle of every effect is not any power or force in nature,
but a volition of the Supreme Being, who wills, that such
particular objects should, for ever, be conjoined with each
other. Instead of saying, that one billiard-ball moves
another, by a force, which it has derived from the author of
nature ; it is the Deity himself, they say, who, by a particular
volition, moves the second ball, being determined to this
operation by the impulse of the first ball : in consequence of
those general laws, which he has laid down to himself in the
government of the universe. But philosophers advancing
still in their enquiries, discover, that, as we are totally igno-
rant of the power, on which depends the mutual operation
of bodies, we are no less ignorant of that power, on which
depends the operation of mind on body, or of body on mind ;
nor are we able, either from our senses or consciousness, to
assign the ultimate principle in one case, more than in the
other. The same ignorance, therefore, reduces them to the
1 Gebs airb firixavTJs. [Ed. E reads : Quasi Dcus ex machma. F adds the re-
ference : Cic. de Nat. Deorum.]*
OF THE IDEA OF NECESSARY CONNEXION. 59
same conclusion. They assert, that the Deity is the imme- SECT
diate cause of the union between soul and body ; and that . , ' ^
they are not the organs of sense, which, being agitated by Pabt l
external objects, produce sensations in the mind ; but that
it is a particular volition of our omnipotent Maker, which
excites such a sensation, in consequence of such a motion in
the organ. In like manner, it is not any energy in the will,
that produces local motion in our members : It is God him-
self, who is pleased to second our will, in itself impotent,
and to command that motion, which we erroneously attribute
to our own power and efficacy. Nor do philosophers stop at
this conclusion. They sometimes extend the same inference
to tne mind itself, in its internal operations. Our mental
vision or conception of ideas is nothing but a revelation made
to us by our Maker. When we voluntarily turn our thoughts
to any object, and raise up its image in the fancy ; it is not
the will which creates that idea : It is the universal Creator,
who discovers it to the mind, and renders it present to us.
Thus, according to these philosophers, every thing is full
of God. Not content with the principle, that nothing exists
but by his will, that nothing possesses any power but by his
concession : They rob nature, and all created beings, of every
power, in order to render their dependence on the Deity still
more sensible and immediate. They consider not, that, by
this theory, they diminish, instead of magnifying, the gran-
deur of those attributes, which they affect so much to cele-
brate. It argues surely more power in the Deity to delegate
a certain degree of power to inferior creatures, than to pro-
duce every thing by his own immediate volition. It argues
more wisdom to contrive at first the fabric of the world with
such perfect foresight, that, of itself, and by its proper
operation, it may serve all the purposes of providence, than
if the great Creator were obliged every moment to adjust its
parts, and animate by his breath all the wheels of that stu-
pendous machine.
But if we would have a more philosophical confutation of
this theory, perhaps the two following reflections may
suffice.
First, It seems to me, that this theory of the universal
energy and operation of the Supreme Being, is too bold ever
to carry conviction with it to a man, sufficiently apprized of
the weakness of human reason, and the narrow limits, to
60 CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING.
SECT, which it is confined in all its operations. Though the chain
'_. of arguments, which conduct to it, were ever so logical, there
Pakt I. must arise a strong suspicion, if not an absolute assurance,
that it has carried us quite beyond the reach of our faculties,
when it leads to conclusions so extraordinary, and so remote
from common life and experience. We are got into fairy
laud, long ere we have reached the last steps of our theory ;
and there we have no reason to trust our common method of
argument, or to think that our usual analogies and pro-
babilities have any authority. Our line is too short to fathom
such immense abysses. And however we may flatter our-
selves, that we are guided, in every step which we take, by
a kind of verisimilitude and experience ; we may be assured,
that this fancied experience has no authority, when we thus
apply it to subjects, that lie entirely out of the sphere of
experience. But on this we shall have occasion to touch
afterwards. 1
Secondly, I cannot perceive any force in the arguments, on
which this theory is founded. We are ignorant, it is true,
of the manner in which bodies operate on each other : Their
force or energy is entirely incomprehensible : But are we not
equally ignorant of the manner or force by which a mind,
even the supreme mind, operates either on itself or on body ?
Whence, I beseech you, do we acquire any idea of it ? We
have no sentiment or consciousness of this power in our-
selves. We have no idea of the Supreme Being but what
we learn from reflection on our own faculties. Were our
ignorance, therefore, a good reason for rejecting any thing,
we should be led into that principle of denying all energy in
the Supreme Being as much as in the grossest matter. We
surely comprehend as little the operations of one as of the
other. Is it more difficult to conceive, that motion may arise
from impulse, than that it may arise from volition ? All we
know is our profound ignorance in both cases. 2
1 Section XII. acquires itself. These are facts. When
2 I need not examine at length the we call this a vis inertia, we only mark
vis inertia which is so much talked of these facts, without pretending to have
in the new philosophy, and which is any idea of the inert power; in the same
ascribed to matter. We find by expe- manner as, when we talk of gravity, we
rience, that a body at rest or in motion mean certain effects without compre-
continues for ever in its present state, hending that active power. It was
till put from it by some new cause : And never the meaning of Sir Isaac Nkw-
that a body impelled takes as much ton to rob second causes of all force
motion from the impelling body as it or energy ; though some of his followers
1 [Matter : Edition E and F.]
OF THE IDEA OF NECESSARY CONNEXION. 61
PART II. SECT#
But to hasten to a conclusion of this argument, which is . ,_!_
already drawn out to too great a length : We have sought Paet u '
in vain for an idea of power or necessary connexion, in all
the sources from which we could suppose it to be derived.
It appears, that, in single instances of the operation of
bodies, we never can, by our utmost scrutiny, discover any
thing but one event following another ; without being able to
comprehend any force or power, by which the cause operates,
or any connexion between it and its supposed effect. The
same difficulty occurs in contemplating the operations of mind
on body ; where we observe the motion of the latter to fol-
low upon the volition of the former ; but are not able to
observe or conceive the tye, which binds together the motion
and volition, or the energy by which the mind produces this
effect. The authority of the will over its own faculties and
ideas is not a whit more comprehensible : So that, upon the
whole, there appears not, throughout all nature, any one in-
stance of connexion, which is conceivable by us. All events
seem entirely loose and separate. One event follows another ;
but we never can observe any tye between them. They seem
conjoined, but never connected. And as we can have no idea
of any thing, which never appeared to our outward sense or
inward sentiment, the necessary conclusion seems to be, that
we have no idea of connexion or power at all, and that these
words are absolutely without any meaning, when employed
either in philosophical reasonings, or common life.
But there still remains one method of avoiding this con-
clusion, and one source which we have not yet examined.
When any natural object or event is presented, it is impos-
sible for us, by any sagacity or penetration, to discover, or
even conjecture, without experience, what event will result
have endeavoured to establish that and sole efficacy of the Deity, without
theory upon his authority. On the insisting on it. Malebranchb and
contrary, that great philosopher had other Cartesians made it the founda-
recourse to an etherial active fluid to tion of all their philosophy. It had,
explain his universal attraction ; though however, no authority in England.
he was so cautious and modest as to Locke, Clarke, and Cudwobth, never
allow, that it was a mere hypothesis, so much as take notice of it, but sup-
not to be insisted on, without more ex- posed all along, that matter has a real,
perimente. I must confess, that there though subordinate and derived power,
is something in the fatf of opinions a By what means has it become so prc-
little extraordinary. Dks Caetks in- valent among our modern motaphysi-
siuuated that doctrine of the universal cians ?
82 CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING.
SECT, from it, or to carry our foresight beyond that object, which
^ v f L _^ is immediately present to the memory and senses. Even
Pabt II. after one instance or experiment, where we have observed a
particular event to follow upon another, we are not entitled
to form a general rule, or foretel what will happen in like
cases ; it being justly esteemed an unpardonable temerity to
judge of the whole course of nature from one single experi-
ment, however accurate or certain. But when one particular
species of event has always, in all instances, been conjoined
with another, we make no longer any scruple of foretelling
one upon the appearance of the other, and of employing that
reasoning, which can alone assure us of any matter of fact or
existence. We then call the one object, Cause; the other,
Effect. We suppose, that there is some connection between
them; some power in the one, by which it infallibly pro-
duces the other, and operates with the greatest certainty and
strongest necessity.
It appears, then, that this idea of a necessary connexion
among events arises from a number of similar instances,
which occur, of the constant conjunction of these events ; nor
can that idea ever be suggested by any one of these instances,
surveyed in all possible lights and positions. But there is
nothing in a number of instances, different from every single
instance, which is supposed to be exactly similar; except
only, that after a repetition of similar instances, the mind is
carried by habit, upon the appearance of one event, to expect
its usual attendant, and to believe, that it will exist. This
connexion, therefore, which we feel in the mind, this custo-
mary transition of the imagination from one object to its
usual attendant, is the sentiment or impression, from which
we form the idea of power or necessary connexion. Nothing
farther is in the case. Contemplate the subject on all sides ;
you will never find any other origin of that idea. This is
the sole difference between one instance, from which we can
never receive the idea of connexion, and a number of similar
instances, by which it is suggested. The first time a man
saw the communication of motion by impulse, as by the
shock of two billiard-balls, he could not pronounce that the
one event was connected : but only that it was conjoined with
the other. After he had observed several instances of this
nature, he then pronounces them to be connected. What
alteration has happened to give rise to this new idea of con-
01' THE IDEA OF NECESSARY CONNEXION. 63
nexion ? Nothing but that he now feels these events to be SECT.
connected in his imagination, and can readily foretel the ex- , _ , ,-
istence of one from the appearance of the other. When we t^t u -
say, therefore, that one object is connected with another, we
mean only, that they have acquired a connexion in our
thought, and give rise to this inference, by which they be-
come proofs of each other's existence : A conclusion, which
is somewhat extraordinary ; but which seems founded on
sufficient evidence. Nor will its evidence be weakened by
any general diffidence of the understanding, or sceptical sus-
picion concerning every conclusion, which is new and extra-
ordinary. No conclusions can be more agreeable to scepticism
than such as make discoveries concerning the weakness and
narrow limits of human reason and capacity.
And what stronger instance can be produced of the sur-
prising ignorance and weakness of the understanding, than
the present ? For surely, if there be any relation among
objects, which it imports to us to know perfectly, it is that
of cause and effect. On this are founded all our reasonings
concerning matter of fact or existence. By means of it alone
we attain any assurance concerning objects, which are re-
moved from the present testimony of our memory and senses.
The only immediate utility of all sciences, is to teach us, how
to control and regulate future events by their causes. Our
thoughts and enquiries are, therefore, every moment, em-
ployed about this relation : Yet so imperfect are the ideas
which we form concerning it, that it is impossible to give
any just definition of cause, except what is drawn from some-
thing extraneous and foreign to it. Similar objects are always
conjoined with similar. Of this we have experience. Suitably
to this experience, therefore, we may define a cause to be an
object, followed by another, and where all the objects, similar to
the first, are followed by objects similar to the second. * Or, in
other words, where, if the first object had not been, the second
never had existed. The appearance of a cause always conveys
the mind, by a customary transition, to the idea of the effect.
Of this also we have experience. We may, therefore, suit-
ably to this experience, form another definition of cause ; and
call it, an object followed by another, and whose appearance
always conveys the thought to that other. But though both
these definitions be drawn from circumstances foreign to the
1 [This sentence was added in Edition K.]
64
CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING.
SECT.
VII.
Part II.
cause, we cannot remedy this inconvenience, or attain any
more perfect definition, which may point out that circum-
stance in the cause, which gives it a connexion with its effect.
We have no idea of this connexion ; nor even any distinct
notion what it is we desire to know, when we endeavour at a
conception of it. We say, for instance, that the vibration of
this string is the cause of this particular sound. But what
do we mean by that affirmation ? We either mean, that this
vibration is followed by this sound, and that all similar vibra-
tions have been followed by similar sounds : Or, that this vibra-
tion is followed by this sound, and that upon the appearance of
one, the mind anticipates the senses, and forms immediately an
idea of the other. We may consider the relation of cause and
effect in either of these two lights ; but beyond these, we
have no idea of it. 1
To recapitulate, therefore, the reasonings of this section :
Every idea is copied from some preceding impression or sen-
timent ; and where we cannot find any impression, we may
be certain that there is no idea. In all single instances of
the operation of bodies or minds, there is nothing that pro-
1 According to these explications and
definitions, the idea of power is relative
as much as that of cause ; and both have
a reference to an effect, or some other
event constantly conjoined with the for-
mer. When we consider the unknown
circumstance of an object, by which the
degree or quantity of its effect is fixed
and determined, we call that its power :
And accordingly, it is allowed by all
philosophers, that the effect is the mea-
sure of the power. But if they had
any idea of power, as it is in itself, why
could not they measure it in itself?
The dispute whether the force of a body
in motion be as its velocity, or the square
T)f its velocity; this dispute, I say,
needed not be decided by comparing
its effects in equal or unequal times;
but by a direct mensuration and com-
parison.
As to the frequent use of the words,
Force, Power, Energy, &c. which every
where occur in common conversation, U
well as in philosophy ; that is no proof,
that we are acquainted, in any instance,
with the connecting principle between
cause and effect, or can account ulti-
mately for the production of one thing
by another. These words, as commonly
used, have very loose meanings an-
nexed to them ; and their ideas are very
uncertain and confused. No animal
can put external bodies in motion with-
out the sentiment of a nisus or endea-
vour ; and every animal has a sentiment
or feeling from the stroke or blow of
an external object, that is in motion.
These sensations, which are merely
animal, and from which we can a priori
draw no inference, we are apt to transfer
to inanimate objects, and to suppose,
that they have some such feelings,
whenever they transfer or receive motion.
With regard to energies, which are ex-
erted, without our annexing to them
any idea of communicated motion, we
consider only the constant experienced
conjunction of the events ; and as we
feel a customary connexion between the
ideas, we transfer that feeling to the
objects ; as nothing is more usual than
to apply to external bodies every in-
ternal sensation, which they occasion.
[This note was added in Ed. F:
which, however, reads in place of the
second paragraph :
A Caitse is different from a Sign ; as
it implies Precedency and Contiguity
in Time and Place, as well as constant
Conjunction. A Sign is nothing but a
correlative Effect from the same Cause.]
OF THE IDEA OF NECESSARY CONNEXION. Go
duces any impression, nor consequently can suggest any SECT,
idea, of power or necessary connexion. But when many ._ V * I, _ , .
uniform instances appear, and the same object is always fol- Part II.
lowed by the same event ; we then begin to entertain the
notion of cause and connexion. We then feel a new senti-
ment or impression, to wit, a customary connexion in the
thought or imagination between one object and its usual
attendant ; and this sentiment is the original of that idea
which we seek for. For as this idea arises from a number of
similar instances, and not from any single instance ; it must
arise from that circumstance, in which the number of in-
stances differ from every individual instance. But this cus-
tomary connexion or transition of the imagination is the only
circumstance, in which they differ. In every other particular
they are alike. The first instance which we saw of motion,
communicated by the shock of two billiard-balls (to return
to this obvious illustration) is exactly similar to any instance
that may, at present, occur to us ; except only, that we could
not, at first, infer one event from the other ; which we are
enabled to do at present, after so long a course of uniform
experience. I know not, whether the reader will readily ap-
prehend this reasoning. I am afraid, that, should I multiply
words about it, or throw it into a greater variety of lights, it
would only become more obscure and intricate. In all ab-
stract reasonings, there is one point of view, which, if we can
happily hit, we shall go farther towards illustrating the sub-
ject, than by all the eloquence and copious expression in the
world. This point of view we should endeavour to reach,
and reserve the flowers of rhetoric for subjects which are
more adapted to them.
Section YIII. Of Liberty and Necessity.
PAETL
It might reasonably be expected, in questions, which have
been canvassed and disputed with great eagerness, since the
first origin of science and philosophy, that the meaning of
all the terms, at least, should have been agreed upon among
the disputants ; and our enquiries, in the course of two
thousand years, been able to pass from words to the true and
real subject of the controversy. For how easy may it seem
VOL. IV. p
60 CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING.
SECT, to give exact definitions of the terms employed in reasoning,
J VI i .^ and make these definitions, not the mere sound of words, the
Part 1. object of future scrutiny and examination ? But if we con-
sider the matter more narrowly, we shall be apt to draw a
quite opposite conclusion. From this circumstance alone,
that a controversy has been long kept on foot, and remains
still undecided, we may presume, that there is some ambiguity
in the expression, and that the disputants affix different ideas
to the terms employed in the controversy. For as the facul-
ties of the mind are supposed to be naturally alike in every
individual ; otherwise nothing could be more fruitless than
to reason or dispute together ; it were impossible, if men
affix the same ideas to their terms, that they could so long
form different opinions of the same subject ; especially when
they communicate their views, and each party turn them-
selves on all sides, in search of arguments, which may give
them the victory over their antagonists. It is true ; if men
attempt the discussion of questions, which lie entirely beyond
the reach of human capacity, such as those concerning the
origin of worlds, or the ceconomy of the intellectual system or
region of spirits, they may long beat the air in their fruitless
contests, and never arrive at any determinate conclusion.
But if the question regard any subject of common life and
experience ; nothing, one would think, could preserve the
dispute so long undecided, but some ambiguous expressions,
which keep the antagonists still at a distance, and hinder
them from grappling with each other.
This has been the case in the long disputed question
concerning liberty and necessity; and to so remarkable a
degree, that, if I be not much mistaken, we shall find, that
all mankind, both learned and ignorant, have always been of
the same opinion with regard to this subject, and that a few
intelligible definitions would immediately have put an end
to the whole controversy. I own, that this dispute has been
so much canvassed on all hands, and has led philosophers
into such a labyrinth of obscure sophistry, that it is no
wonder, if a sensible reader indulge his ease so far as to turn
a deaf ear to the proposal of such a question, from which he
can expect neither instruction nor entertainment. But the
state of the argument here proposed may, perhaps, serve to
renew his attention ; as it has more novelty, promises at least
some decision of the controversy, and will not much disturb
his ease by any intricate or obscure reasoning.
OF LIBERTY AND NECESSITY. 67
I hope, therefore, to make it appear, that all men have sect.
ever agreed in the doctrine both of necessity and of liberty, . VI ^'
according to any reasonable sense, which can be put on these Part I.
terms ; and that the whole controversy has hitherto turned
merely upon words. We shall begin with examining the
doctrine of necessity.
It is universally allowed, that matter, in all its operations,
is actuated by a necessary force, and that every natural effect
is so precisely determined by the energy of its cause, that no
other effect, in such particular circumstances, could possibly
have resulted from it. The degree and direction of every
motion is, by the laws of nature, prescribed with such exact-
ness, that a living creature may as soon arise from the shock
of two bodies, as motion, in any other degree or direction
than what is actually produced by it. Would we, there-
fore, form a just and precise idea of necessity, we must con-
sider whence that idea arises, when we apply it to the
operation of bodies.
It seems evident, that, if all the scenes of nature were
continually shifted in such a manner, that no two events bore
any resemblance to each other, but every object was entirely
new, without any similitude to whatever had been seen before,
we should never, in that case, have attained the least idea of
necessity, or of a connexion among these objects. We might
say, upon such a supposition, that one object or event has
followed another ; not that one was produced by the other.
The relation of cause and effect must be utterly unknown to
mankind. Inference and reasoning concerning the opera-
tions of nature would, from that moment, be at an end ; and
the memory and senses remain the only canals, by which the
knowledge of any real existence could possibly have access
to the mind. Our idea, therefore, of necessity and causation
arises entirely from the uniformity, observable in the opera-
tions of nature ; where similar objects are constantly con-
joined together, and the mind is determined by custom to
infer the one from the appearance of the other. These two
circumstances form the whole of that necessity, which we
ascribe to matter. Beyond the constant conjunction of similar
objects, and the consequent inference from one to the other,
we have no notion of any necessity, or connexion.
If it appear, therefore, that all mankind have ever allowed,
without any doubt or hesitation, that these two circumstances
F 2
68 CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING.
SECT, take place in the voluntary actions of men, and in the opera-
^ I * 1 ' _. tions of mind ; it must follow, that all mankind have ever
PabtI. agreed in the doctrine of necessity, and that they have
hitherto disputed, merely for not understanding each other.
As to the first circumstance, the constant and regular con-
junction of similar events ; we may possibly satisfy ourselves
by the following considerations. It is universally acknow-
ledged, that there is a great uniformity among the actions
of men, in all nations and ages, and that human nature re-
mains still the same, in its principles and operations. The
same motives always produce the same actions : The same
events follow from the same causes. Ambition, avarice, self-
love, vanity, friendship, generosity, public spirit; these pas-
sions, mixed in various degrees, and distributed through
society, have been, from the beginning of the world, and still
are, the source of all the actions and enterprizes, which have
ever been observed among mankind. Would you know the
sentiments, inclinations, and course of life of the Geeeks
and Romans ? Study well the temper and actions of the
Feench and English: You cannot he much mistaken in
transferring to the former most of the observations, which
you have made with regard to the latter. Mankind are so
much the same, in all times and places, that history informs
us of nothing new or strange in this particular. Its chief
use is only to discover the constant and universal principles
of human nature, by shewing men in all varieties of circum-
stances and situations, and furnishing us with materials,
from which we may form our observations, and become ac-
quainted with the regular springs of human action and
behaviour. These records of wars, intrigues, factions, and
revolutions, are so many collections of experiments, by which
the politician or moral philosopher fixes the principles of his
science ; in the same manner as the physician or natural
philosopher becomes acquainted with the nature of plants,
minerals, and other external objects, by the experiments, which
he forms concerning them. Nor are the earth, water, and
other elements, examined by Aeistotle, and Hippoceates,
more like to those, which at present lie under our observa-
tion, than the men, described by Poltbius and Tacitus, are
to those, who now govern the world.
Should a traveller, returning from a far country, bring us
an account of men, wholly different from any, with whom we
OF LIBERTY AND NECESSITY. 69
were ever acquainted; men, who were entirely divested of SECT.
avarice, ambition, or revenge ; who knew no pleasure but , ,__!
friendship, generosity, and public spirit; we should imme- PabtI.
diately, from these circumstances, detect the falsehood, and
prove him a liar, with the same certainty as if he had stuffed
his narration with stories of centaurs and dragons, miracles
and prodigies. And if we would explode any forgery in his-
tory, we cannot make use of a more convincing argument,
than to prove, that the actions, ascribed to any person, are
directly contrary to the course of nature, and that no human
motives, in such circumstances, could ever induce him to such
a conduct. The veracity of Quintus Cubtius is as much to
be suspected, when he describes the supernatural courage of
Alexander, by which he was hurried on singly to attack
multitudes, as when he describes his supernatural force and
activity, by which he was able to resist them. So readily and
universally do we acknowledge a uniformity in human mo-
tives and actions as well as in the operations of body.
Hence likewise the benefit of that experience, acquired by
long life and a variety of business and company, in order to
instruct us in the principles of human nature, and regulate
our future conduct, as well as speculation. By means of this
guide, we mount up to the knowledge of men's inclinations
and motives, from their actions, expressions, and even ges-
tures; and again, descend to the interpretation of their
actions from our knowledge of their motives and inclinations.
The general observations, treasured up by a course of expe-
rience, give us the clue of human nature, and teach us to
unravel all its intricacies. Pretexts and appearances no
longer deceive us. Public declarations pass for the specious
colouring of a cause. And though virtue and honour be
allowed their proper weight and authority, that perfect disin-
terestedness, so often pretended to, is never expected in mul-
titudes and parties ; seldom in their leaders ; and scarcely
even in individuals of any rank or station. But were there
no uniformity in human actions, and were every experiment,
which we could form of this kind, irregular and anomalous,
it were impossible to collect any general observations con-
cerning mankind; and no experience, however accurately
digested by reflection, would ever serve to any purpose. Why
is the aged husbandman more skilful in his calling than the
young beginner, but because there is a certain uniformity in
70 CONCERNING IIUMAN UNDERSTANDING.
sect, the operation of the sun, rain, and earth, towards the pro-
, '.- duction of vegetables ; and experience teaches the old prac-
Part I. titioner the rules, by which this operation is governed and
directed ?
We must not, however, expect, that this uniformity of
human actions should be carried to such a length, as that all
men, in the same circumstances, will always act precisely in
the same manner, without making any allowance for the
diversity of characters, prejudices, and opinions. Such a
uniformity in every particular, is found in no part of nature.
On the contrary, from observing the variety of conduct in
different men, we are enabled to form a greater variety of
maxims, which still suppose a degree of uniformity and
regularity.
Are the manners of men different in different ages and
countries ? We learn thence the great force of custom and
education, which mould the human mind from its infancy,
and form it into a fixed and established character. Is the
behaviour and conduct of the one sex very unlike that of the
other ? It is thence we become acquainted with the different
characters, which nature has impressed upon the sexes, and
which she preserves with constancy and regularity. Are the
actions of the same person much diversified in the different
periods of his life, from infancy to old age ? This affords
room for many general observations concerning the gradual
change of our sentiments and inclinations, and the different
maxims, which prevail in the different ages of human crea-
tures. Even the characters, which are peculiar to each
individual, have a uniformity in their influence ; otherwise
our acquaintance with the persons and our observation of
their conduct, could never teach us their dispositions, or serve
to direct our behaviour with regard to them.
I grant it possible to find some actions, which seem to have
no regular connexion with any known motives, and are ex-
ceptions to all the measures of conduct, which have ever
been established for the government of men. But if we would
willingly know, what judgment should be formed of such irre-
gular and extraordinary actions ; we may consider the senti-
ments, commonly entertained with regard to those irregular
events, which appear in the course of nature, and the
operations of external objects. All causes are not conjoined
to their usual effects, with like uniformity. An artificer, who
OF LIBERTY AND NECESSITY. 71
handles only dead matter, may be disappointed of his aim, as SECT
well as the politician, who directs the conduct of sensible and , ,_!_
intelligent agents. Paet i#
The vulgar, who take things according to their first
appearance, attribute the uncertainty of events to such an
uncertainty in the causes as makes the latter often fail of
their usual influence ; though they meet with no impediment
in their operation. But philosophers, observing, that, almost
in every part of nature, there is contained a vast variety of
springs and principles, which are hid, by reason of their
minuteness or remoteness, find, that it is at least possible the
contrariety of events may not proceed from any contingency
in the cause, but from the secret operation of contrary causes.
This possibility is converted into certainty by farther obser-
vation ; when they remark, that, upon an exact scrutiny, a
contrariety of effects always betrays a contrariety of causes,
and proceeds from their mutual opposition. A peasant can
give no better reason for the stopping of any clock or watch
than to say that it does not commonly go right : But an
artist easily perceives, that the same force in the spring or
pendulum has always the same influence on the wheels ; but
fails of its usual effect, perhaps by reason of a grain of dust,
which puts a stop to the whole movement. From the obser-
vation of several parallel instances, philosophers form a
maxim, that the connexion between all causes and effects is
equally necessary, and that its seeming uncertainty in some in-
stances proceeds from the secret opposition of contrary causes.
Thus for instance, in the human body, when the usual
symptoms of health or sickness disappoint our expectation;
when medicines operate not with their wonted powers ; when
irregular events follow from any particular cause ; the philo-
sopher and physician are not surprized at the matter, nor
are ever tempted to deny, in general, the necessity and uni-
formity of those principles, by which the animal ceconomy is
conducted. They know, that a human body is a mighty
complicated machine : That many secret powers lurk in it,
which are altogether beyond our comprehension : That to us
t must often appear very uncertain in its operations : And
that therefore the irregular events, which outwardly discover
themselves, can be no proof, that the laws of nature are not
observed with the greatest regularity in its internal opera-
tions and government.
72 CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING.
SECT. The philosopher, if he be consistent, must apply the same
__ i _^ reasoning to the actions and volitions of intelligent agents.
Pabt I. The most irregular and unexpected resolutions of men may
frequently be accounted for by those, who know every parti-
cular circumstance of their character and situation. A person
of an obliging disposition gives a peevish answer : But he
has the tooth ake, or has not dined. A stupid fellow dis-
covers an uncommon alacrity in his carriage : But he has
met with a sudden piece of good fortune. Or even when an
action, as sometimes happens, cannot be particularly ac-
counted for, either by the person himself or by others ; we
know, in general, that the characters of men are, to a certain
degree, inconstant and irregular. This is, in a manner, the
constant character of human nature ; though it be applicable,
in a more particular manner, to some persons, who have no
fixed rule for their conduct, but proceed in a continued
course of caprice and inconstancy. The internal principles
and motives may operate in a uniform manner, notwithstand-
ing these seeming irregularities ; in the same manner as the
winds, rain, clouds, and other variations of the weather are
supposed to be governed by steady principles; though not
easily discoverable by human sagacity and enquiry.
Thus it appears, not only that the conjunction between
motives and voluntary actions is as regular and uniform, as
that between the cause and effect in any part of nature ; but
also that this regular conjunction has been universally ac-
knowledged among mankind, and has never been the subject
of dispute, either in philosophy or common life. Now, as it
is from past experience, that we draw all inferences concern-
ing the future, and as we conclude, that objects will always
be conjoined together, which we find to have always been
conjoined ; it may seem superfluous to prove, that this expe-
rienced uniformity in human actions is a l source, whence we
draw inferences concerning them. But in order to throw the
argument into a greater variety of lights, we shall also insist,
though briefly, on this latter topic.
The mutual dependence of men is so great, in all societies,
that scarce any human action is entirely compleat in itself,
or is performed without some reference to the actions of
others, which are requisite to make it answer fully the inten-
1 [Tho boutcc of all the inferences, which wo form concerning thom. Editions
EtoP.]
OF LIBERTY AND NECESSITY. 73
tion of the agent. The poorest artificer, who labours alone, SECT.
expects at least the protection of the magistrate, to ensure ,_!_.
him the enjoyment of the fruits of his labour. He also ex- Pakt *
pects, that, when he carries his goods to market, and offers
them at a reasonable price, he shall find purchasers ; and
shall be able, by the money he acquires, to engage others to
supply him with those commodities, which are requisite for
his subsistence. In proportion as men extend their dealings,
and render their intercourse with others more complicated,
they always comprehend, in their schemes of life, a greater
variety of voluntary actions, which they expect, from the
proper motives, to co-operate with their own. In all these
conclusions, they take their measures from past experience,
in the same manner as in their reasonings concerning exter-
nal objects ; and firmly believe, that men, as well as all the
elements, are to continue, in their operations, the same, that
they have ever found them. A manufacturer reckons upon
the labour of his servants, for the execution of any work, as
much as upon the tools, which he employs, and would be
equally surprized, were his expectations disappointed. In
short, this experimental inference and reasoning concerning
the actions of others enters so much into human life, that no
man, while awake, is ever a moment without employing it.
Have we not reason, therefore, to affirm, that all mankind
have always agreed in the doctrine of necessity, according to
the foregoing definition and explication of it ?
Nor have philosophers ever entertained a different opinion
from the people in this particular. For not to mention, that
almost every action of their life supposes that opinion ; there
are even few of the speculative parts of learning, to which it
is not essential. What would become of history, had we not
a dependence on the veracity of the historian, according to
the experience; which we have had of mankind ? How could
politics be a science, if laws and forms of government had
not a uniform influence upon society ? Where would be the
foundation of morals, if particular characters had no certain or
determinate power to produce particular sentiments, and if
these sentiments had no constant operation on actions ? And
with what pretence could we employ our criticism upon any
poet or polite author, if we could not pronounce the conduct
and sentiments of his actors, either natural or unnatural, to
such characters, and in such circumstances ? It seems
74 CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING.
SECT, ^almost impossible, therefore, to engage, either in science or
,_ , ' , action of any kind, without acknowledging the doctrine of
PartI. necessity, and this inference from motives to voluntary
actions ; from characters to conduct.
And indeed, when we consider how aptly natural and moral
evidence link together, and form only one chain of argument,
we shall make no scruple to allow, that they are of the same
nature, and derived from the same principles. A prisoner,
who has neither money nor interest, discovers the impossi-
bility of his escape, as well when he considers the obstinacy
of the gaoler, as the walls and bars, with which he is sur-
rounded ; and, in all attempts for his freedom, chuses rather
to work upon the stone and iron of the one, than upon the
inflexible nature of the other. The same prisoner, when
conducted to the scaffold, foresees his death as certainly
from the constancy and fidelity of his guards, as from the
operation of the ax or wheel. His mind runs along a certain
train of ideas : The refusal of the soldiers to consent to his
escape ; the action of the executioner ; the separation of the
head and body; bleeding, convulsive motions, and death.
Here is a connected chain of natural causes and voluntary
actions ; but the mind feels no difference between them, in
passing from one link to another : Nor is it less certain of the
future event than if it were connected with the objects present
to the memory or senses, by a train of causes, cemented
together by what we are pleased to call a physical necessity.
The same experienced union has the same effect on the mind,
whether the united objects be motives, volition, and actions ;
or figure and motion. We may change the names of things ;
but their nature and their operation on the understanding
never change.
1 Were a man, whom I know to be honest and opulent, and
with whom I live in intimate friendship, to come into my
house, where I am surrounded with my servants, I rest
assured, that he is not to stab me before he leaves it, in order
to rob me of my silver standish ; and I no more suspect this
event, than the falling of the house itself which is new, and
solidly built and founded. But he may have been seized with a
sudden and unknown frenzy. So may a sudden earthquake
arise, and shake and tumble my house about my ears. I
shall therefore change the suppositions. I shall say, that
1 [This paragraph was added in Edition R.]
' OF LIBERTY AND NECESSITY. 75
I know with certainty, that he is not to put his hand into SECT.
the lire, and hold it there, till it be consumed: And this , ,_L
event, I think I can foretell with the same assurance, as PahtI.
that, if he throw himself out at the window, and meet with
no obstruction, he will not remain a moment suspended in
the air. No suspicion of an unknown frenzy can give the
least possibility to the former event, which is so contrary to
all the known principles of human nature. A man who at
noon leaves his purse full of gold on the pavement at
Charing-Cross, may as well expect that it will fly away like
a feather, as that he will find it untouched an hour after.
Above one half of human reasonings contain inferences of a
similar nature, attended with more or less degrees of cer-
tainty, proportioned to our experience of the usual conduct
of mankind in such particular situations.
I have frequently considered, what could possibly be the
reason, why all mankind, though they have ever, without
hesitation, acknowledged the doctrine of necessity, in their
whole practice and reasoning, have yet discovered such a
reluctance to acknowledge it in words, and have rather
shewn a propensity, in all ages, to profess the contrary
opinion. The matter, I think, may be accounted for, after
the following manner. If we examine the operations of body,
and the production of effects from their causes, we shall
find, that all our faculties can never carry us farther in our
knowledge of this relation, than barely to observe, that par-
ticular objects are constantly conjoined together, and that the
mind is carried, by a customary transition, from the appearance
of one to the belief of the other. But though this conclusion
concerning human ignorance be the result of the strictest
scrutiny of this subject, men still entertain a strong propen-
sity to believe, that they penetrate farther into the powers of
nature, and perceive something like a necessary connexion
between the cause and the effect. When again they turn
their reflections towards the operations of their own minds,
and feel no such connexion of the motive and the action ;
they are thence apt to suppose, that there is a difference
between the effects, which result from material force, and
those which arise from thought and intelligence. But being
once convinced, that we know nothing farther of causation
of any kind, than merely the constant conjunction of objects,
and the consequent inference of the mind from one to another.
76 CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING.
SECT, and finding, that these two circumstances are universally
- , '_, allowed to have place in voluntary actions ; we may be more
Part I. easily led to own the same necessity common to all causes.
And though this reasoning may contradict the systems of
many philosophers, in ascribing necessity to the determina-
tions of the will, we shall find, upon reflection, that they
dissent from it in words only, not in their real sentiment.
Necessity, according to the sense, in which it is here taken,
has never yet been rejected, nor can ever, I think, be rejected
by any philosopher. It may only, perhaps, be pretended,
that the mind can perceive, in the operations of matter, some
farther connexion between the cause and effect ; and a con-
nexion that has not place in the voluntary actions of intelli-
gent beings. Now whether it be so or not, can only appear
upon examination ; and it is incumbent on these philosophers
to make good their assertion, by defining or describing that
necessity, and pointing it out to us in the operations of mate-
rial causes.
It would seem, indeed, that men begin at the wrong end
of this question concerning liberty and necessity, when they
enter upon it by examining the faculties of the soul, the
influence of the understanding, and the operations of the will.
Let them first discuss a more simple question, namely, the
operations of body and of brute unintelligent matter ; and
try whether they can there form any idea of causation and
necessity, except that of a constant conjunction of objects,
and subsequent inference of the mind from one to another.
If these circumstances form, in reality, the whole of that
necessity, which we conceive in matter, and if these circum-
stances be also universally acknowledged to take place in the
operations of the mind, the dispute is at an end ; at least,
must be owned to be thenceforth merely verbal. But as long
as we will rashly suppose, that we have some farther idea of
necessity and causation in the operations of external objects ;
at the same time, that we can find nothing farther, in the
voluntary actions of the mind ; there is no possibility of
bringing the question to any determinate issue, while we
proceed upon so erroneous a supposition. The only method
of undeceiving us, is, to mount up higher ; to examine the
narrow extent of science when applied to material causes ;
and to convince ourselves, that all we know of them, is, the
constant conjunction and inference above mentioned. We
OF LIBERTY AND NECESSITY.
77
may, perhaps, find, that it is with difficulty we are induced
to fix such narrow limits to human understanding : But we
can afterwards find no difficulty when we come to apply this
doctrine to the actions of the will. For as it is evident, that
these have a regular conjunction with motives and circum-
stances and characters, and as we always draw inferences
from one to the other, we must be obliged to acknowledge in
words, that necessity, which we have already avowed, in
every deliberation of our lives, and in every step of our con-
duct and behaviour. 1
But to proceed in this reconciling project with regard to
the question of liberty and necessity ; the most contentious
question, of metaphysics, the most contentious science ; it
will not require many words to prove, that all mankind have
ever agreed in the doctrine of liberty as well as in that of
necessity, and that the whole dispute, in this respect also,
has been hitherto merely verbal. For what is meant by
liberty, when applied to voluntary actions? We cannot
surely mean, that actions have so little connexion with
motives, inclinations, and circumstances, that one does not
SECT.
VIII.
Paut I.
1 The prevalence of the doctrine of
liberty may be accounted for, from
another cause, viz. a false sensation or
seeming experience which we have, or
may have, of liberty or indifference, in
many of our actions. The necessity of
any action, whether of matter or of
mind, is not, properly speaking, a
quality in the agent, but in any thinking
or intelligent being, who may consider
the action ; and it consists chiefly in
the determination of his thoughts to
infer the existence of that action from
some preceding objects ; as liberty, when
opposed to necessity, is nothing but the
want of that determination, and a cer-
tain looseness or indifference, which we
feel, in passing, or not passing, from the
idea of one object to that of any suc-
ceeding one. Now we may observe,
that, though, in reflecting on human
actions, we seldom feel such a looseness
or indifference, but are commonly able
to infer them with considerable cer-
tainty from their motives, and from the
dispositions of the agent ; yet it fre-
quently happens, that, in performing
the actions themselves, we are sensible
of something like it : And as all resem-
bling objects are readily taken for each
other, this has been employed as a
demonstrative and even intuitive proof
of human liberty. We feel, that our
actions are subject to our will, on most
occasions ; and imagine we feel, that the
will itself is subject to nothing, because,
when by a denial of it we are provoked
to try, we feel, that it moves easily
every way, and produces an image of
itself, (or a Velleity, as it is called in the
schools) even on that side, on which it
did not settle. This image, or faint
motion, wo persuade ourselves, could,
at that time, have been compleated into
the thing itself; because, should that
be denied, we find, upon a second trial,
that, at present, it can. We consider
not, that the fantastical desire of shew-
ing liberty, is here the motive of our
actions. And it seems certain, that,
however we may imagine we feel a
liberty within ourselves, a spectator can
commonly infer our actions from our
motives and character ; and even where
he cannot, he concludes in general, that
he might, were he perfectly acquainted
with every circumstance of our situa-
tion and temper, and the most secret
springs of our complexion and dis-
position. Now this is the very essence
of necessity, according to the foregoing
doctrine.
78 CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING.
SECT, follow with a certain degree of uniformity from the other,
VI * L . . and that one affords no inference by which we can conclude
Part i. the existence of the other. For these are plain and acknow-
ledged matters of fact. By liberty, then, we can only mean
a power of acting or not acting, according to the determinations
of the will ; that is, if we chuse to remain at rest, we may ; if
we chuse to move, we also may. Now this hypothetical
liberty is universally allowed to belong to every one, who
is not a prisoner and in chains. Here then is no subject of
dispute.
Whatever definition we may give of liberty, we should be
careful to observe two requisite circumstances ; first, that it
be consistent with plain matter of fact ; secondly, that it be
consistent with itself. If we observe these circumstances,
and render our definition intelligible, I am persuaded that
all mankind will be found of one opinion with regard to it.
It is universally allowed, that nothing exists without a
cause of its existence, and that chance, when strictly ex-
amined, is a mere negative word, and means not any real
power, which has any where, a being in nature. But it is
pretended, that some causes are necessary, some not neces-
sary. Here then is the advantage of definitions. Let any
one define a cause, without comprehending, as a part of the
definition, a necessary connexion with its effect ; and let him
shew distinctly the origin of the idea, expressed by the defi-
nition ; and I shall readily give up the whole controversy.
But if the foregoing explication of the matter be received,
this must be absolutely impracticable. Had not objects a
regular conjunction with each other, we should never have
entertained any notion of cause and effect ; and this regular
conjunction produces that inference of the understanding,
which is the only connexion, that we can have any compre-
hension of. Whoever attempts a definition of cause, exclu-
sive of these circumstances, will be obliged, either to employ
unintelligible terms, or such as are synonimous to the term,
which he endeavours to define. 1 And if the definition above
* Thus, if a cause be defined, that Had it been said, that a cause is that
which produces any thing ; it is easy to after -which anything constantly exists ;
observe, that producing is synonimous we should have understood the terms,
to causing. In like manner, if a cause For this is, indeed, all we know of tho
be defined, that by which anything exists ; matter. And this constancy forms tho
this is liable to the same objection. For very essence of necessity, nor have we
what is meant by these words, by which ? any other idea of it.
OF LIBERTY AND NECESSITY. 79
mentioned be admitted ; liberty, when opposed to necessity, SECT.
not to constraint, is the same thing with chance ; which is _ ,
universally allowed to have no existence. PAttT !
PAET II.
There is no method of reasoning more common, and yet
none more blameable, than, in philosophical disputes, to en-
deavour the refutation of any hypothesis, by a pretence of its
dangerous consequences to religion and morality. When
any opinion leads to absurdities, it is certainly false ; but it
is not certain that an opinion is false, because it is of dan-
gerous consequence. Such topics, therefore, ought entirely
to be forborne ; as serving nothing to the discovery of truth,
but only to make the person of an antagonist odious. This
I observe in general, without pretending to draw any advan-
tage from it. I frankly submit to an examination of this
kind, and shall venture to affirm, that the doctrines, both of
necessity and of liberty, as above explained, are not only
consistent with l morality, but are absolutely essential to its
support.
Necessity may be denned two ways, conformably to the
two definitions of cause, of which it makes an essential part.
It consists either in the constant conjunction of like objects,
or in the inference of the understanding from one object to
another. Now necessity, in both these senses, (which, indeed,
are, at bottom, the same) has universally, though tacitly, in
the schools, in the pulpit, and in common life, been allowed
to belong to the will of man ; and no one has ever pretended
to deny, that we can draw inferences concerning human
actions, and that those inferences are founded on the expe-
rienced union of like actions, with like motives, inclinations,
and circumstances. The only particular, in which any one
can differ, is, that either, perhaps, he will refuse to give the
name of necessity to this property of human actions : But as
long as the meaning is understood, I hope the word can do
no harm : Or that he will maintain it possible to discover
something farther in the operations of matter. But this, it
must be acknowledged, can be of no consequence to morality
or religion, whatever it may be to natural philosophy or
metaphysics. We may here be mistaken in asserting, that
i [Morality and religion : Editions E to Q.]
80 CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING.
SECT, there is no idea of any other necessity or connexion in the
vm - _. actions of body : But surely we ascribe nothing to the actions
Paet II. of the mind, but what every one does, and must readily allow
of. We change no circumstance in the received orthodox
system with regard to the will, but only in that with regard
to material objects and causes. Nothing therefore can be
more innocent, at least, than this doctrine.
All laws being founded on rewards and punishments, it is
supposed as a fundamental principle, that these motives have
a regular and uniform influence on the mind, and both pro-
duce the good and prevent the evil actions. We may give
to this influence what name we please ; but, as it is usually
conjoined with the action, it must be esteemed a cause, and
be looked upon as an instance of that necessity, which we
would here establish.
The only proper object of hatred or vengeance, is a person
or creature, endowed with thought and consciousness ; and
when any criminal or injurious actions excite that passion,
it is only by their relation to the person, or connexion with
him. Actions are, by their very nature, temporary and
perishing ; and where they proceed not from some cause in
the character and disposition of the person who performed
them, they can neither redound to his honour, if good ; nor
infamy, if evil. The actions themselves may be blameable ;
they may be contrary to all the rules of morality and religion :
But the person is not answerable for them ; and as they pro-
ceeded from nothing in him, that is durable and constant,
and leave nothing of that nature behind them, it is impos-
sible he can, upon their account, become the object of punish-
ment or vengeance. According to the principle, therefore,
which denies necessity, and consequently causes, a man is as
pure and untainted, after having committed the most horrid
crime, as at the first moment of his birth, nor is his charac-
ter any wise concerned in his actions ; since they are not
derived from it, and the wickedness of the one can never be
used as a proof of the depravity of the other.
Men are not blamed for such actions, as they perform
ignorantly and casually, whatever may be the consequences.
Why ? but because the principles of these actions are only
momentary, and terminate in them alone. Men are less
blamed for such actions as they perform hastily and unpre-
meditately, than for such as proceed from deliberation. For
OF LIBERTY AND NECESSITY. 81
wliat reason ? but because a hasty temper, though a constant SECT,
cause or principle in the mind, operates only by intervals, . _ .
and infects not the whole character. Again, repentance PautIL
wipes off every crime, if attended with a reformation of life
and manners. How is this to be accounted for ? but by as-
serting, that actions render a person criminal, merely as they
are proofs of criminal principles in the mind ; and when, by
an alteration of these principles, they cease to be just proofs,
they likewise cease to be criminal. But, except upon the
doctrine of necessity, they never were just proofs, and conse-
quently never were criminal.
It will be equally easy to prove, and from the same argu-
ments, that liberty, according to that definition above men-
tioned, in which all men agree, is also essential to morality,
and that no human actions, where it is wanting, are suscep-
tible of any moral qualities, or can be the objects either of
approbation or dislike. For as actions are objects of our
moral sentiment, so far only as they are indications of the
internal character, passions, and affections ; it is impossible
that they can give rise either to praise or blame, where they
proceed not from these principles, but are derived altogether
from external violence.
I pretend not to have obviated or removed all objections
to this theory, with regard to necessity and liberty. I can
foresee other objections, derived from topics, which have not
here been treated of. It may be said, for instance, that, if
voluntary actions be subjected to the same laws of necessity
with the operations of matter, there is a continued chain of
necessary causes, pre-ordained and pre- determined, reaching
from the original cause of all, to every single volition of
every human creature. No contingency any where in the
universe; no indifference; no liberty. While we act, we
are, at the same time, acted upon. The ultimate Author of
all our volitions is the Creator of the world, who first bestowed
motion on this immense machine, and placed all beings in
that particular position, whence every subsequent event, by
an inevitable necessity, must result. Human actions, there-
fore, either can have no moral turpitude at all, as proceeding
from so good a cause ; or if they have any turpitude, they
must involve our Creator in the same guilt, while he is ac-
knowledged to be their ultimate cause and author. For as a
man, who fired a mine, is answerable for all the consequences,
vol. iv. a
82 CONCERNING HITMAN UNDERSTANDING.
sect, whether the train he employed be long or short ; so wherever
. a continued chain of necessary causes is fixed, that Being,
PautII. either finite or infinite, who produces the first, is likewise
the author of all the rest, and must both bear the blame and
acquire the praise, which belong to them. Our clear and
unalterable ideas of morality establish this rule, upon un-
questionable reasons, when we examine the consequences of
any human action ; and these reasons must still have greater
force, when applied to the volitions and intentions of a Being,
infinitely wise and powerful. Ignorance or impotence may
be pleaded for so limited a creature as man ; but those im-
perfections .have no place in our Creator. He foresaw, he
ordained, he intended all those actions of men, which we so
rashly pronounce criminal. And we must therefore conclude,
either that they are not criminal, or that the Deity, not man,
is accountable for them. But as either of these positions is
absurd and impious, it follows, that the doctrine, from which
they are deduced, cannot possibly be true, as being liable to
all the same objections. An absurd consequence, if neces-
sary, proves the original doctrine to be absurd ; in the same
manner as criminal actions render criminal the original
cause, if the connexion between them be necessary and
inevitable.
This objection consists of two parts, which we shall ex-
amine separately ; First, that, if human actions can be traced
up, by a necessary chain, to the Deity, they can never be
criminal ; on account of the infinite perfection of that Being,
from whom they are derived, and who can intend nothing
but what is altogether good and laudable. Or, Secondly, if
they be criminal, we must retract the attribute of perfection,
which we ascribe to the Deity, and must acknowledge him to
be the ultimate author of guilt and moral turpitude in all his
creatures.
The answer to the first objection seems obvious and con-
vincing. There are many philosophers, who, after an exact
scrutiny of all the phenomena of nature, conclude, that the
whole, considered as one system, is, in every period of its
existence, ordered with perfect benevolence ; and that the
utmost possible happiness will, in the end, result to all
created beings, without any mixture of positive or absolute
ill and misery. Every physical ill, say they, makes an
essential part of this benevolent system, and could not pos-
OF LIBERTY AND NECESSITY. 83
sibly be removed, even by the Deity himself, considered as a SECT,
wise agent, without giving entrance to greater ill, or exclud- ,_
ing greater good, which will result from it. From this Part II.
theory, some philosophers, and the ancient Stoics among the
rest, derived a topic of consolation under all afflictions,
while they taught their pupils, that those ills, under which
they laboured, were, in reality, goods to the universe ; and
that to an enlarged view, which could comprehend the
whole system of nature, every event became an object of joy
and exultation. But though this topic be specious and sub-
lime, it was soon found in practice weak and ineffectual.
You would surely more irritate, than appease a man, lying
under the racking pains of the gout, by preaching up to him
the rectitude of those general laws, which produced the
malignant humours in his body, and led them through the
proper canals, to the sinews and nerves, where they now
excite such acute torments. These enlarged views may, for
a moment, please the imagination of a speculative man, who
is placed in ease and security ; but neither can they dwell
with constancy on his mind, even though undisturbed by
the emotions of pain or passion ; much less can they main-
tain their ground, when attacked by such powerful antago-
nists. The affections take a narrower and more natural
survey of their object ; and by an ceconomy, more suitable
to the infirmity of human minds, regard alone the beings
around us, and are actuated by such events as appear good
or ill to the private system.
The case is the same with moral as with physical ill. It
cannot reasonably be supposed, that those remote considera-
tions, which are found of so little efficacy with regard to
one, will have a more powerful influence with regard to the
other. The mind of man is so formed by nature, that, upon
the appearance of certain characters, dispositions, and
actions, it immediately feels the sentiment of approbation
or blame ; nor are there any emotions more essential to its
frame and constitution. The characters, which engage our
approbation, are chiefly such as contribute to the peace and
security of human society ; as the characters, which excite
blame, are chiefly such as tend to public detriment and dis-
turbance : Whence it may reasonably be presumed, that the
moral sentiments arise, either mediately or immediately,
from a reflection on these opposite interests. What though
o 2
84 CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING.
SECT, philosophical meditations establish a different opinion or
. . V * II, _ . conjecture; that every thing is right with regard to the
Part II. whole, and that the qualities, which disturb society, are, in
the main, as beneficial, and are as suitable to the primary
intention of nature, as those which more directly promote its
happiness and welfare? Are such remote and uncertain
speculations able to counterbalance the sentiments, which
arise from the natural and immediate view of the objects ?
A man who is robbed of a considerable sum ; does he find
his vexation for the loss any wise diminished by these
sublime reflections ? Why then should his moral resentment
against the crime be supposed incompatible with them ? Or
why should not the acknowledgment of a real distinction
between vice and virtue be reconcileable to all speculative
systems of philosophy, as well as that of a real distinction
between personal beauty and deformity? Both these dis-
tinctions are founded in the natural sentiments of the human
mind : And these sentiments are not to be controuled or
altered by any philosophical theory or speculation what-
soever.
The second objection admits not of so easy and sati sfactory
an answer ; nor is it possible to explain distinctly, how the
Deity can be the mediate cause of all the actions of men,
without being the author of sin and moral turpitude. These
are mysteries, which mere natural and unassisted reason is
very unfit to handle ; and whatever system she embraces,
she must find herself involved in inextricable difficulties,
and even contradictions, at every step which she takes with
regard to such subjects. To reconcile the indifference and
contingency of human actions with prescience ; or to defend
absolute decrees, and yet free the Deity from being the author
of sin, has been found hitherto to exceed all the power of
philosophy. Happy, if she be thence sensible of her temerity,
when she pries into these sublime mysteries ; and leaving a
scene so full of obscurities and perplexities, return, with
suitable modesty, to her true and proper province, the ex-
amination of common life ; where she will find difficulties
enow to employ her enquiries, without launching into so
boundless an ocean of doubt, uncertainty, and contradiction !
OF TIIE REASON OF ANIMALS. 85
Section IX. Of the Reason of Animals.
All our reasonings concerning matter of fact are founded on
a species of Analogy, which leads us to expect from any
cause the same events, which we have observed to result
from similar causes. Where the causes are entirely similar,
the analogy is perfect, and the inference, drawn from it, is
regarded as certain and conclusive : Nor does any man ever
entertain a doubt, where he sees a piece of iron, that it will
have weight and cohesion of parts ; as in all other instances,
which have ever fallen under his observation. But where
the objects have not so exact a similarity, the analogy is less
perfect, and the inference is less conclusive ; though still it
has some force, in proportion to the degree of similarity and
resemblance. The anatomical observations, formed upon one
animal, are, by this species of reasoning, extended to all
animals ; and it is certain, that when the circulation of the
blood, for instance, is clearly proved to have place in one
creature, as a frog, or fish, it forms a strong presumption,
that the same principle has place in all. These analogical
observations may be carried farther, even to this science, of
which we are now treating ; and any theory, by which we
explain the operations of the understanding, or the origin
and connexion of the passions in man, will acquire additional
authority, if we find, that the same theory is requisite to ex-
plain the same phsenomena in all other animals. We shall
make trial of this, with regard to the hypothesis, by which,
we have, in the foregoing discourse, endeavoured to account
for all experimental reasonings ; and it is hoped, that this
new point of view will serve to confirm all our former obser-
vations.
First, It seems evident, that animals, as well as men, learn
many things from experience, and infer, that the same events
will always follow from the same causes. By this principle
they become acquainted with the more obvious properties
of external objects, and gradually, from their birth, treasure
up a knowledge of the nature of fire, water, earth, stones,
heights, depths, &c. and of the effects, which result from
their operation. The ignorance and inexperience of the
young are here plainly distinguishable from the cunning and
SECT.
IX.
80 CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING.
sect, sagacity of the old, who have learned, by long observation,
m ' . to avoid what hurt them, and to pursue what gave ease or
pleasure. A horse, that has been accustomed to the field,
becomes acquainted with the proper height, which he can
leap, and will never attempt what exceeds his force and
ability. An old greyhound will trust the more fatiguing part
of the chase to the younger, and will place himself so as to
meet the hare in her doubles ; nor are the conjectures, which
he forms on this occasion, founded in any thing but his ob-
servation and experience.
This is still more evident from the effects of discipline and
education on animals, who, by the proper application of re-
wards and punishments, may be taught any course of action,
the most contrary to their natural instincts and propensities.
Is it not experience, which renders a dog apprehensive of
pain, when you menace him, or lift up the whip to beat him ?
Is it not even experience, which makes him answer to his
name, and infer, from such an arbitrary sound, that you
mean him rather than any of his fellows, and intend to call
him, when you pronounce it in a certain manner, and with a
certain tone and accent ?
In all these cases, we may observe, that the animal infers
some fact beyond what immediately strikes his senses ; and
that this inference is altogether founded on past experience,
while the creature expects from the present object the same
consequences, which it has always found in its observation
to result from similar objects.
Secondly, It is impossible, that this inference of the animal
can be founded on any process of argument or reasoning, by
which he concludes, that like events must follow like objects,
and that the course of nature will always be regular in its
operations. For if there be in reality any arguments of this
nature, they surely lie too abstruse for the observation of
such imperfect understandings ; since it may well employ the
utmost care and attention of a philosophic genius to discover
and observe them. Animals, therefore, are not guided in
these inferences by reasoning : Neither are children : Neither
are the generality of mankind, in their ordinary actions and
conclusions : Neither are philosophers themselves, who, in
all the active parts of life, are, in the main, the same with
the vulgar, and are governed by the same maxims. Naturo
must have provided some other principle, of more ready, and
OF THE REASON OF ANIMALS.
87
more general use and application ; nor can an operation of
such immense consequence in life, as that of inferring effects
from causes, be trusted to the uncertain process of reasoning
and argumentation. Were this doubtful with regard to men,
it seems to admit of no question with regard to the brute
creation ; and the conclusion being once firmly established
in the one, we have a strong presumption, from all the rules
of analogy, that it ought to be universally admitted, without
any exception or reserve. It is custom alone, which engages
animals, from every object, that strikes their senses, to infer
its usual attendant, and carries their imagination, from the
appearance of the one, to conceive the other, in that parti-
cular manner, which we denominate belief. No other expli-
cation can be given of this operation, in all the higher, as
well as lower classes of sensitive beings, which fall under our
notice and observation.'
SECT.
IX.
1 Since all reasonings concerning facts
or causes is derived merely from custom,
it may be asked how it happens, that
men so much surpass animals in reason-
ing, and one man so much surpasses
another? Has not the same custom
the same influence on all ?
We shall here endeavour briefly to ex-
plain the great difference in human un-
derstandings : After which the reason
of the difference between men and ani-
mals will easily be comprehended.
1 . When we have lived any time, and
have been accustomed to the uniformity
of nature, we acquire a general habit,
by which we always transfer the known
to the unknown, and conceive the latter
to resemble the former. By means of
this general habitual principle, we re-
gard even one experiment as the foun-
dation of reasoning, and expect a similar
event with some degree of certainty,
where the experiment has been made
accurately, and free from all foreign
circumstances. It is therefore considered
as a matter of great importance to ob-
serve the consequences of things ; and as
one man may very much surpass another
in attention and memory and observa-
tion, this will make a very great dif-
ference in their reasoning.
2. Where there is a complication of
causes to produce any effect, one mind
may be much larger than another, and
lietter able to comprehend the whole
system of objects, and to infer justly
their consequences.
3. One man is able to carry on a
chain of consequences to a greater
length than another.
4. Few men can think long without
running into a confusion of ideas, and
mistaking one for another; and there
are various degrees of this infirmity.
5. The circumstance, on which the
effect depends, is frequently involved in
other circumstances, which are foreign
and extrinsic. The separation of it
often requires great attention, accuracy,
and subtilty.
6. The formingof general maxims from
particular observation is a very nice
operation ; and nothing is more usual,
from haste or a narrowness of mind,
which sees not on all sides, than to
commit mistakes in this particular.
7. When we reason from analogies,
the man, who has the greater expe-
rience or the greater promptitude of
suggesting analogies, will be the better
reasoner.
8. Byasses from prejudice, education,
passion, party, &c. hang more upon
one mind than another.
9. After we have acquired a confi-
dence in human testimony, books and
conversation enlarge much more the
sphere of one man's experience and
thought than those of another.
It would be easy to discover many
other circumstances that make a dif-
ference in tho understandings of men. 1
' [This note was added in Edition F].
88 CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING.
SECT. But though animals learn many parts of their knowledge
, _* from observation, there are also many parts of it, which they
derive from the original hand of nature ; which much exceed
the share of capacity they possess on ordinary occasions ;
and in which they improve, little or nothing, by the longest
practice and experience. These we denominate Instincts,
and are so apt to admire, as something very extraordinary,
and inexplicable by all the disquisitions of human understand-
ing. But our wonder will, perhaps, cease or diminish ; when
we consider, that the experimental reasoning itself, which
we possess in common with beasts, and on which the whole
conduct of life depends, is nothing but a species of instinct
or mechanical power, that acts in us unknown to ourselves ;
and in its chief operations, is not directed by any such rela-
tions or comparisons of ideas, as are the proper objects of our
intellectual faculties. Though the instinct be different, yet
still it is an instinct, which teaches a man to avoid the fire ;
as much as that, which teaches a bird, with such exactness,
the art of incubation, and the whole ceconomy and order of
its nursery.
Section X. Of Miracles. 1
paet I.
There is, in Dr. Tillotson's writings, an argument against
the real presence, which is as concise, and elegant, and strong
as any argument can possibly be supposed against a doctrine,
so little worthy of a serious refutation. It is acknowledged
on all hands, says that learned prelate, that the authority,
either of the scripture or of tradition, is founded merely in
the testimony of the apostles, who were eye-witnesses to those
miracles of our Saviour, by which he proved his divine mis-
sion. Our evidence, then, for the truth of the Christian
religion is less than the evidence for the truth of our senses ;
because, even in the first authors of our religion, it was no
greater ; and it is evident it must diminish in passing from
them to their disciples ; nor can any one rest such confidence
in their testimony, as in the immediate object of his senses.
But a weaker evidence can never destroy a stronger ; and
therefore, were the doctrine of the real presence ever so
1 [For the history of this Section see ' History of the Editions,' Vol hi. p. 50. Ed.]
OF MIRACLES. 89
clearly revealed in scripture, it were directly contrary to the SECT,
rules of just reasoning to give our assent to it. It contra- s _, ,' , _
diets sense, though both the scripture and tradition, on PabtI.
which it is supposed to be built, carry not such evidence with
them as sense ; when they are considered merely as external
evidences, and are not brought home to every one's breast,
by the immediate operation of the Holy Spirit.
Nothing is so convenient as a decisive argument of this
kind, which must at least silence the most arrogant bigotry
and superstition, and free us from their impertinent solici-
tations. I natter myself, that I have discovered an argument
of a like nature, which, if just, will, with the wise and learned,
be an everlasting check to all kinds of superstitious delusion, '
and consequently, will be useful as long as the world endures.
For so long, I presume, will the accounts of miracles and
prodigies be found in all history, sacred and profane. 1
Though experience be our only guide in reasoning con-
cerning matters of fact ; it must be acknowledged, that this
guide is not altogether infallible, but in some cases is apt to
lead us into errors. One, who in our climate, should expect
better weather in any week of June than in one of Decem-
ber, would reason justly, and conformably to experience ;
but it is certain, that he may happen, in the event, to find
himself mistaken. However, we may observe, that, in such
a case, he would have no cause to complain of experience ;
because it commonly informs us beforehand of the uncer-
tainty, by that contrariety of events, which we may learn
from a diligent observation. All effects follow not with like
certainty from their supposed causes. Some events are
found, in all countries and all ages, to have been constantly
conjoined together: Others are found to have been more
variable, and sometimes to disappoint our expectations ; so
that, in our reasonings concerning matter of fact, there are
all imaginable degrees of assurance, from the highest cer-
tainty to the lowest species of moral evidence.
A wise man, therefore, proportions his belief to the evi-
dence. In such conclusions as are founded on an infallible
experience, he expects the event with the last degree of
assurance, and regards his past experience as a full proof
of the future existence of that event. In other cases, he
proceeds with more caution : He weighs the opposite expori-
1 [In all prophane history. Editions E and F.]
90 CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING.
SECT. ments : He considers which side is supported by the greater
/ _^. number of experiments : To that side he inclines, with doubt
Part I. an( j hesitation ; and when at last he fixes his judgment, the
evidence exceeds not what we properly call probability. All
probability, then, supposes an opposition of experiments and
observations, where the one side is found to overbalance the
other, and to produce a degree of evidence, proportioned to
the superiority. A hundred instances or experiments on one
side, and fifty on another, afford a doubtful expectation of
any event ; though a hundred uniform experiments, with only
one that is contradictory, reasonably beget a pretty strong
degree of assurance. In all cases, we must balance the oppo-
site experiments, where they are opposite, and deduct the
smaller number from the greater, in order to know the exact
force of the superior evidence.
To apply these principles to a particular instance ; we may
observe, that there is no species of reasoning more common,
more useful, and even necessary to human life, than that
which is derived from the testimony of men, and the reports
of eye-witnesses and spectators. This species of reasoning,
perhaps, one may deny to be founded on the relation of cause
and effect. I shall not dispute about a word. It will be
sufficient to observe, that our assurance in any argument of
this kind is derived from no other principle than our observa-
tion of the veracity of human testimony, and of the usual
conformity of facts to the reports of witnesses. It being a
general maxim, that no objects have any discoverable con-
nexion together, and that all the inferences, which we can
draw from one to another, are founded merely on our expe-
rience of their constant and regular conjunction ; it is evi-
dent, that we ought not to make an exception to this maxim
in favour of human testimony, whose connexion with any
event seems, in itself, as little necessary as any other. 1 Were
not the memory tenacious to a certain degree ; had not men
commonly an inclination to truth and a principle of probity ;
were they not sensible to shame, when detected in a false-
hood : Were not these, I say, discovered by experience to be
qualities, inherent in human nature, we should never repose
the least confidence in human testimony. A man delirious,
l . [Editions E to K substitute : Did not Men's Imagination naturally follow
their Memory.]
OF MIRACLES. 91
or noted for falsehood and villany, has no manner of SECT,
authority with us. -
And as the evidence, derived from witnesses and human Paht I.
testimony, is founded on past experience, so it varies with
the experience, and is regarded either as a proof or a pro-
bability, according as the conjunction between any particular
kind of report and any kind of object has been found to be
constant or variable. There are a number of circumstances
to be taken into consideration in all judgments of this kind ;
and the ultimate standard, by which we determine all dis-
putes, that may arise concerning them, is always derived
from experience and observation. Where this experience is
not entirely uniform on any side, it is attended with an un-
avoidable contrariety in our judgments, and with the same
opposition and mutual destruction of argument as in every
other kind of evidence. We frequently hesitate concerning
the reports of others. We balance the opposite circum-
stances, which cause any doubt or uncertainty ; and when
we discover a superiority on any side, we incline to it ; but
still with a diminution of assurance, in proportion to the
force of its antagonist.
This contrariety of evidence, in the present case, may be
derived from several different causes ; from the opposition of
contrary testimony ; from the character or number of the I
witnesses ; from the manner of their delivering their testi-
mony ; or from the union of all these circumstances. We
entertain a suspicion concerning any matter of fact, when
the witnesses contradict each other ; when they are but few,
or of a doubtful character ; when they have an interest in
what they affirm ; when they deliver their testimony with
hesitation, or on the contrary, with too violent asseverations.
There are many other particulars of the same kind, which
may diminish or destroy the force of any argument, derived
from human testimony.
Suppose, for instance, that the fact, which the testimony
endeavours to establish, partakes of the extraordinary and
the marvellous ; in that case, the evidence, resulting from
the testimony, admits of a diminution, greater or less, in
proportion as the fact is more or less unusual. The reason,
why we place any credit in witnesses and historians, is not
derived from any connexion, which we perceive a priori,
between testimony and reality, but because we are accus-
92 CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING.
SECT, tomed to find a conformity between them. But when the
. , _ V _ , - fact attested is such a one as has seldom fallen under our
Pact I. observation, here is a contest of two opposite experiences ; of
which the one destroys the other, as far as its force goes, and
the superior can only operate on the mind by the force, which
remains. The very same principle of experience, which gives
us a certain degree of assurance in the testimony of witnesses,
gives us also, in this case, another degree of assurance against
the fact, which they endeavour to establish ; from which con-
tradiction there necessarily arises a counterpoise, and mutual
destruction of belief and authority.
1 1 should not believe such a story were it told me by Cato;
was a proverbial saying in Rome, even during the lifetime of
that philosophical patriot. 2 The incredibility of a fact, it
was allowed, might invalidate so great an authority.
3 The Indian prince, who refused to believe the first rela-
tions concerning the effects of frost, reasoned justly ; and it
naturally required very strong testimony to engage his assent
to facts, that arose from a state of nature, with which he was
unacquainted, and which bore so little analogy to those
events, of which he had had constant and uniform experience.
Though they were not contrary to his experience, they were
not conformable to it. 4
But in order to encrease the probability against the testi-
1 [This paragraph was added in Edi- upon water are not gradual, according
tion K.] to the degrees of cold ; but whenever
2 Plutarch, in vita Catonis Min. 19. it comes to the freezing point, the water
3 [This paragraph was added in Edi- passes in a moment, from the utmost
tion F.] liquidity to perfect hardness. Such an
4 No Indian, it is evident, could have event, therefore, may be denominated
experience that water did not freeze in extraordinary, and requires a pretty
cold climates. This is placing nature strong testimony, to render it credible
in a situation quite unknown to him ; to people in a warm climate: But still
and it is impossible for him to tell apriori it is not miraculous, nor contrary to uni-
what will result from it. It is making form experience of the course of nature
a new experiment, the consequence of in cases where all the circumstances are
which is always uncertain. One may the same. The inhabitants of Sumatra
sometimes conjecture from analogy what have always seen water fluid in their
will follow ; but still this is but con- own climate, and the freezing of their
jecture. And it must be confessed, that, rivers ought to be deemed a prodigy :
in the present case of freezing, the event But they never saw water in Muscovy
follows contrary to the rules of analogy, during the winter ; and therefore they
and is such as a rational Indian would cannot reasonably be positive what would
not look for. The operations of cold there be the consequence.*
* [This note first appears in the last Press is the Cause, why the following
page of Edition F, with the preface : Passage arriv'd not in time to be in-
The distance of the Author from the serted in its proper Place.]
OF MIRACLES, 93
mony of witnesses, let us suppose, that the fact, -which they
affirm, instead of being only marvellous, is really miraculous ;
and suppose also, that the testimony, considered apart and Paut l
in itself, amounts to an entire proof; in that case, there is
proof against proof, of which the strongest must prevail, but
still with a diminution of its force, in proportion to that of
its antagonist.
A miracle is a violation of the laws of nature ; and as a
firm and unalterable experience has established these laws,
the proof against a miracle, from the very nature of the
fact, is as entire as any argument from experience can pos-
sibly be imagined. Why is it more than probable, that all
men must die ; that lead cannot, of itself, remain suspended
in the air ; that fire consumes wood, and is extinguished by
water ; unless it be, that these events are found agreeable to
the laws of nature, and there is required a violation of these
laws, or in other words, a miracle to prevent them ? Nothing
is esteemed a miracle, if it ever happen in the common course I 1
of nature. It is no miracle that a man, seemingly in good
health, should die on a sudden : because such a kind of death,
though more unusual than any other, has yet been frequently
observed to happen. But it is a miracle, that a dead man
should come to life ; because that has never been observed,
in any age or country. There must, therefore, be a uniform ,,
experience against every miraculous event, otherwise the
event would not merit that appellation. And as an uniform
experience amounts to a proof, there is here a direct and full
proof y from the nature of the fact, against the existence of
any miracle; nor can such a proof be destroyed, or the
miracle rendered credible, but by an opposite proof, which is
superior. 1
1 Sometimes an event may not, in of nature. For if any suspicion re-
itself, seem to be contrary to the laws of main, that the event and command con-
nature, and yet, if it were real, it might, curred by accident, there is no miracle
by reason of some circumstances, be and no transgression of the laws of
denominated a miracle ; because, in nature. If this suspicion be removed,
fact, it is contrary to these laws. Thus there is evidently a miracle, and a
if a person, claiming a divine authority, transgression of these laws ; because
should command a sick person to be well, nothing can be more contrary to nature
a healthful man to fall down dead, the than that the voice or command of a
clouds to pour rain, the winds to blow, man should have such an influence.
in short, should order many natural A miracle may be accurately defined, a
events, which immediately follow upon transgression of a law of nature by a
his command ; these might justly be particular volition of the Deity, or by
esteemed miracles, because they are the interposition of some invisible agent.
really, in this case, contrary to the laws A miracle may either be discoverable
94 CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING.
SECT. The plain consequence is (and it is a general maxim worthy
V . of our attention), ' That no testimony is sufficient to establish
Past I. < a miracle, unless the testimony be of such a kind, that its
1 falsehood would be more miraculous, than the fact, which it
* endeavours to establish : And even in that case there is a
1 mutual destruction of arguments, and the superior only
' gives us an assurance suitable to that degree of force, which
* remains, after deducting the inferior.' When any one tells
me, that he saw a dead man restored to life, I immediately
consider with myself, whether it be more probable, that this
person should either deceive or be deceived, or that the fact,
which he relates, should really have happened. I weigh the
one miracle against the other ; and according to the supe-
riority, which I discover, I pronounce my decision, and
always reject the greater miracle. If the falsehood of his
testimony would be more miraculous, than the event which
he relates ; then, and not till then, can he pretend to command
my belief or opinion.
PART H.
In the foregoing reasoning we have supposed, that the
testimony, upon which a miracle is founded, may possibly
amount to an entire proof, and that the falsehood of that
testimony would be a real prodigy : But it is easy to shew,
that we have been a great deal too liberal in our concession,
and that there never was a miraculous event 1 established on
so full an evidence.
For first, there is not to be found in all history, any miracle
y attested by a sufficient number of men, of such unquestioned
good-sense, education, and learning, as to secure us against
all delusion in themselves ; of such undoubted integrity, as
to place them beyond all suspicion of any design to deceive
others ; of such credit and reputation in the eyes of man-
kind, as to have a great deal to lose in case of their being
detected in any falsehood ; and at the same time, attesting
facts, performed in such a public manner, and in so celebrated
a part of the world, as to render the detection unavoidable :
by men or not. This alters not its requisite for that purpose, is as real a
nature and essence. The raising of a miracle, though not so sensible with re-
house or ship into the air is a visible gard to us.
miracle. The raising of a feather, when ' [In any History : Editions E and F.]
the wind wants ever so little of a force
OF MIRACLES. 05
All which circumstances are requisite to give us a full assu- SECT,
ranee in the testimony of men. ._ ^'
Secondly. We may observe in human nature a principle, * > * BT JI -
which, if strictly examined, will be found to diminish ex-
tremely the assurance, which we might, from human testi-
mony, have, in any kind of prodigy. The maxim, by which
we commonly conduct ourselves in our reasonings, is, that
the objects, of which we have no experience, resemble those, !
of which we have ; that what we have found to be most
usual is always most probable ; and that where there is an
opposition of arguments, we ought to give the preference to
such as are founded on the greatest number of past observa-
tions. But though, in proceeding by this rule, we readily
reject any fact which is unusual and incredible in an ordinary
degree; yet in advancing farther, the mind observes not
always the same rule ; but when anything is affirmed
utterly absurd and miraculous, it rather the more readily
admits of such a fact, upon account of that very circumstance,
which ought to destroy all its authority. The passion of
surprize and wonder, arising from miracles, being an agreeable \
emotion, gives a sensible tendency towards the belief of those
events, from which it is derived. And this goes so far, that
even those who cannot enjoy this pleasure immediately, nor
can believe those miraculous events, of which they are in-
formed, yet love to partake of the satisfaction at second-hand
or by rebound, and place a pride and delight in exciting the
admiration of others.
With what greediness are the miraculous accounts of tra-
vellers received, their descriptions of sea and land monsters,
their relations of wonderful adventures, strange men, and
uncouth manners ? But if the spirit of religion join itself to
the love of wonder, there is an end of common sense ; and
human testimony, in these circumstances, loses all preten-
sions to authority. A religionist may be an enthusiast, and
imagine he sees what has no reality: He may know his
narrative to be false, and yet persevere in it, with the best
intentions in the world, for the sake of promoting so holy
a cause : Or even where this delusion has not place, vanity,
excited by so strong a temptation, operates on him more
powerfully than on the rest of mankind in any other circum-
stances; and self-interest with equal force. His auditors
may not have, and commonly have not, sufficient judgment
90 CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING.
SECT, to canvass his evidence : What judgment they have, they re-
. _ .. nounce by principle, in these sublime and mysterious subjects:
Pakt II. Or if they were ever so willing to employ it, passion and a
heated imagination disturb the regularity of its operations.
Their credulity encreases his impudence : And his impudence
overpowers their credulity.
Eloquence, when at its highest pitch, leaves little room for
reason or reflection ; but addressing itself entirely to the
fancy or the affections, captivates the willing hearers, and
subdues their understanding. Happily, this pitch it seldom
attains. But what a Tullt or a Demosthenes could scarcely
effect over a Roman or Athenian audience, every Capuchin,
every itinerant or stationary teacher can perform over the
generality of mankind, and in a higher degree, by touching
such gross and vulgar passions.
1 The many instances of forged miracles, and prophecies,
and supernatural events, which, in all ages, have either been
detected by contrary evidence, or which detect themselves by
their absurdity, prove sufficiently the strong propensity of
I mankind to the extraordinary and the marvellous, and ought
" reasonably to beget a suspicion against all relations of this
kind. This is our natural way of thinking, even with regard
to the most common and most credible events. For instance:
There is no kind of report, which rises so easily, and spreads
so quickly, especially in country places and provincial towns,
as those concerning marriages ; insomuch that two young
persons of equal condition never see each other twice, but
the whole neighbourhood immediately join them together.
The pleasure of telling a piece of news so interesting, of pro-
pagating it, and of being the first reporters of it, spreads the
intelligence. And this is so well known, that no man of
sense gives attention to these reports, till he find them con-
firmed by some greater evidence. Do not the same passions,
and others still stronger, incline the generality of mankind
to believe and report, with the greatest vehemence and assur-
ance, all religious miracles ?
Thirdly. It forms a strong presumption against all super-
., natural and miraculous relations, that they are observed
chiefly to abound among ignorant and barbarous nations ; or
if a civilized people has ever given admission to any of them,
1 [This paragraph was printed as a note in Editions E to P.]
OF MIRACLES. 97
that people will be found to have received them from ignorant SECT,
and barbarous ancestors, who transmitted them with that , ^ ,
inviolable sanction and authority, which always attend re- Part IL
ceived opinions. When we peruse the first histories of all
nations, we are apt to imagine ourselves transported into
some new world ; where the whole frame of nature is dis-
jointed, and every element performs its operations in a
different manner, from what it does at present. Battles, re-
volutions, pestilence, famine, and death, are never the effect
of those natural causes, which we experience. Prodigies,
omens, oracles, judgments, quite obscure the few natural
events, that are intermingled with them. But as the former
grow thinner every page, in proportion as we advance nearer
the enlightened ages, we soon learn, that there is nothing
mysterious or supernatural in the case, but that all proceeds
from the usual propensity of mankind towards the marvel- V
lous, and that, though this inclination may at intervals
receive a check from sense and learning, it can never be
thoroughly extirpated from human nature.
It is strange, a judicious reader is apt to say, upon the
perusal of these wonderful historians, that such prodigious jj
events never happen in our days. But it is nothing strange,
I hope, that men should lie in all ages. You must surely
have seen instances enow of th&t frailty. You have yourself
heard many such marvellous relations started, which, being
treated with scorn by all the wise and judicious, have at last
been abandoned even by the vulgar. Be assured, that those
renowned lies, which have spread and flourished to such a
monstrous height, arose from like beginnings ; but being
sown in a more proper soil, shot up at last into prodigies
almost equal to those which they relate.
It was a wise policy in that l false prophet, Alexander, who,
though now forgotten, was once so famous, to lay the first
scene of his impostures in Paphlagonia, where, as Lucian
tells us, the people were extremely ignorant and stupid, and
ready to swallow even the grossest delusion. People at a
distance, who are weak enough to think the matter at all
worth enquiry, have no opportunity of receiving better infor-
mation. The stories come magnified to them by a hundred
circumstances. Fools are industrious in propagating the
imposture; while the wise and learned are contented, in
1 [Cunning impostor: Editions E to P.]
VOL. IV. H
98 CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING.
SECT, general, to deride its absurdity, without informing them-
.__ , _* selves of the particular facts, by which it may be distinctly
Pa&t IT. refuted. And thus the impostor above-mentioned was enabled
to proceed, from his ignorant Paphlagonians, to the enlist-
ing of votaries, even among the Grecian philosophers, and
men of the most eminent rank and distinction in Rome :
Nay, could engage the attention of the sage emperor Marcus
Aurelius ; so far as to make him trust the success of a mili-
tary expedition to his delusive prophecies.
The advantages are so great, of starting an imposture
among an ignorant people, that, even though the delusion
should be too gross to impose on the generality of them
(which, though seldom, is sometimes the case) it has a much
better chance for succeeding in remote countries, than if
the first scene has been laid in a city renowned for arts and
knowledge. The most ignorant and barbarous of these bar-
barians carry the report abroad. None of their countrymen
have a large correspondence, or sufficient credit and autho-
rity to contradict and beat down the delusion. Men's incli-
nation to the marvellous has full opportunity to display itself.
And thus a story, which is universally exploded in the place
where it was first started, shall pass for certain at a thousand
miles distance. But had Alexander fixed his residence at
Athens, the philosophers of that renowned mart of learning
had immediately spread, throughout the whole Roman em-
pire, their sense of the matter ; which, being supported by
so great authority, and displayed by all the force of reason
and eloquence, had entirely opened the eyes of mankind. It
is true ; Lucian, passing by chance through Paphlagonia,
had an opportunity of performing this good office. But,
though much to be wished, it does not always happen, that
every Alexander meets with a Lucian, ready to expose and
detect his impostures. 1
I may add as & fourth reason, which diminishes the autho-
rity of prodigies, that there is no testimony for any, even
1 [Editions E to P append the follow- and contrast between the character and
ing note : It may here, perhaps, be ob- conduct of the sumo man, as drawn by
jected, that I proceed rashly, and form friend or enemy, is as strong, even in
my notions of Alexander merely from common life, much more in these religi-
the account given of him by Ltjcian, a ous matters, as that betwixt any two men
professed enemy. It were, indeed, to in the world, betwixt Alexander and
be wished, that some of the accounts St. Paul, for instance. See a letter to
published by his followers and accom- Gilbert West, Esq ; on the conversion
plieeg had remained. The opposition and apostleship of St. Paul.]
OF MIRACLES. 99
those which have not been expressly detected, that is not SEC r.
opposed by an infinite number of witnesses ; so that not only . ^ _
the miracle destroys the credit of testimony, but the testi- 1'abt II.
mony destroys itself. To make this the better understood,
let us consider, that, in matters of religion, whatever is dif-
ferent is contrary ; and that it is impossible the religions of
ancient Rome, of Turkey, of Siam, and of China should, all
of them, be established on any solid foundation. Every
miracle, therefore, pretended to have been wrought in any
of these religions (and all of them abound in miracles), as its
direct scope is to establish the particular system to which it
is attributed ; so has it the same force, though more indi-
rectly, to overthrow every other system. In destroying a
rival system, it likewise destroys the credit of those miracles,
on which that system was established ; so that all the pro-
digies of different religions are to be regarded as contrary
facts, and the evidences of these prodigies, whether weak or
strong, as opposite to each other. According to this method
of reasoning, when we believe any miracle of Mahomet or
his successors, we have for our warrant the testimony of a
few barbarous Arabians : And on the other hand, we are to
regard the authority of Titus Livius, Plutarch, Tacitus,
and, in short, of all the authors and witnesses, Grecian,
Chinese, and Roman Catholic, who have related any miracle
in their particular religion ; I say, we are to regard their
testimony in the same light as if they had mentioned that
Mahometan miracle, and had in express terms contradicted
it, with the same certainty as they have for the miracle they
relate. This argument may appear over subtile and refined ;
but is not in reality different from the reasoning of a judge,
who supposes, that the credit of two witnesses, maintaining a
crime against any one, is destroyed by the testimony of two
others, who affirm him to have been two hundred leagues
distant, at the same instant when the crime is said to have
been committed.
One of the best attested miracles in all profane history, is
that which Tacitus reports of Vespasian, who cured a blind
man in Alexandria, by means of his spittle, and a lame man
by the mere touch of his foot ; in obedience to a vision of
the god Serapis, who had enjoined them to have recourse to
the Emperor, for these miraculous cures. The story may be
H2
100 CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING.
SECT, seen in that fine historian ;' where every circumstance seems
^ to add weight to the testimony, and might be displayed at
Past II. large with all the force of argument and eloquence, if any
one were now concerned to enforce the evidence of that ex-
ploded and idolatrous superstition. The gravity, solidity,
age, and probity of so great an emperor, who, through the
whole course of his life, conversed in a familiar manner with
his friends and courtiers, and never affected those extraor-
dinary airs of divinity assumed by Alexander and Deme-
trius. The historian, a cotemporary writer, noted for
candour and veracity, and withal, the greatest and most
penetrating genius, perhaps, of all antiquity ; and so free
from any tendency to credulity, that he even lies under the
contrary imputation, of atheism and profaneness : The per-
sons, from whose authority he related the miracle, of esta-
blished character for judgment and veracity, as we may well
presume; eye-witnesses of the fact, and confirming their
testimony, after the Flavian family was despoiled of the
empire, and could no longer give any reward, as the price of
a lie. Utrumque, qui interfuere, nunc quoque memorant, post-
quam nullum mendacio pretium. To which if we add the
public nature of the facts, as related, it will appear, that no
evidence can well be supposed stronger for so gross and so
palpable a falsehood.
There is also a memorable story related by Cardinal de
Retz, which may well deserve our consideration. When
that intriguing politician fled into Spain, to avoid the per-
secution of his enemies, he passed through Saragossa, the
capital of Arragon, where he was shewn, in the cathedral, a
man, who had served 2 seven years as a door-keeper, and was
well known to every body in town, that had ever paid his
devotions at that church. He had been seen, for so long a
time, wanting a leg ; but recovered that limb by the rubbing
of holy oil upon the stump ; 3 and the cardinal assures us
that he saw him with two legs. This miracle was vouched
by all the canons of the church ; and the whole company in
town were appealed to for a confirmation of the fact ; whom
the cardinal found, by their zealous devotion, to be thorough
1 Hist. lib. v. cap. 8. Suetonius * [Editions E and F substitute : And
gives nearly the same account in vita when the Cardinal examin'd it, he found
Vesp. 7. [The reference to Suetonius it to be a true natural Leg, like the
was added in the Errata to Ed. F.] other.]
2 [20 : Editions E to N.]
OF MIRACLES. 101
believers of the miracle. Here the relater was also cotem- SECT,
porary to the supposed prodigy, of an incredulous and liber- / _ H
tine character, as well as of great genius ; the miracle of so Pakt n -
singular a nature as could scarcely admit of a counterfeit,
and the witnesses very numerous, and all of them, in a man-
ner, spectators of the fact, to which they gave their testimony.
And what adds mightily to the force of the evidence, and may
double our surprize on this occasion, is, that the cardinal
himself, who relates the story, seems not to give any credit to
it, and consequently cannot be suspected of any concurrence
in the holy fraud. He considered justly, that it was not re-
quisite, in order to reject a fact of this nature, to be able
accurately to disprove the testimony, and to trace its false-
hood, through all the circumstances of knavery and credulity
which produced it. He knew, that, as this was commonly
altogether impossible at any small distance of time and place ;
so was it extremely difficult, even where one was immediately
present, by reason of the bigotry, ignorance, cunning, and
roguery of a great part of mankind. He therefore con-
cluded, like a just reasoner, that such an evidence carried
falsehood upon the very face of it, and that a miracle supported
by any human testimony, was more properly a subject of
derision than of argument.
There surely never was a greater number of miracles
ascribed to one person, than those, which were lately said to
have been wrought in France upon the tomb of Abbe Paris,
the famous Jansenist, with whose sanctity the people were so
long deluded. The curing of the sick, giving hearing to the
deaf, and sight to the blind, were every where talked of as the
usual effects of that holy sepulchre. But what is more ex-
traordinary ; many of the miracles were immediately proved
upon the spot, before judges of unquestioned integrity, at-
tested by witnesses of credit and distinction, in a learned age,
and on the most eminent theatre that is now in the world.
Nor is this all : A relation of them was published and dis-
persed every where ; nor were the Jesuits, though a learned
body, supported by the civil magistrate, and determined
enemies to those opinions, in whose favour the miracles were
said to have been wrought, ever able distinctly to refute
or detect them. 1 Where shall we find such a number of cir-
1 This book was writ by Mons.Moirr- liampnt of Paris, a man of figure and
Bkro.v, counsellor or judge of the par- character, who was also a martyr to the
102
CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING.
SECT.
X.
cumstances, agreeing to the corroboration of one fact ? And
what have we to oppose to such a cloud of witnesses, but
cause, and is now said to be somewhere
in a dungeon on account of his book.
There is another book in three vol-
umes (called Becueil des Miracles de
VAbbe" Paris) giving an account of many
of these miracles, and accompanied
with prefatory discourses, which are
very well written. There runs, how-
ever, through the whole of these a
ridiculous comparison between the
miracles of our Saviour and those of the
Abbe ; wherein it is asserted, that the
evidence for the latter is equal to that
for the former : As if the testimony of
men could ever be put in the balance
with that of God himself, who con-
ducted the pen of the inspired writers.
If these writers, indeed, were to be con-
sidered merely as human testimony, the
French author is very moderate in his
comparison : since he might, with some
appearance of reason, pretend, that the
Jansenist miracles much surpass the
other in evidence and authority. The
following circumstances are drawn from
authentic papors, inserted in^he above-
mentioned book.
Many of the miracles of Abbe Paris
were proved immediately by witnesses
before the officiality or bishop's court
at Paris, under the eye of cardinal
Noailles, whose character for integrity
and capacity was never contested even
by his enemies.
His 'successor in the archbishopric
was an enemy to the Jansenists, and
for that reason promoted to the see by
the court. Yet 22 rectors or cures of
Paris, with infinite earnestness, press
him to examine those miracles, which
they assert to be known to the whole
world, and undisputably certain : But
he wisely forbore.
The Molinist party had tried to dis-
credit thpse miracles in one instance,
that of Madamoiselle le Franc. But,
besides that their proceedings were in
many respects the most irregular in the
world, particularly in citing only a few
of the Jansenist witnesses, whom they
tampered with : Besides this, I say,
they soon found themselves overwhelmed
by a cloud of new witnesses, one hun-
dred and twenty in number, most of
them persons of credit and substance in
Paris, who gave oath for the miracle.
This was accompanied with a solemn
and earnest appeal to the parliament.
But the parliament were forbidden by
authority to meddle in the affair. It
was at last observed, that where men
are heated by zeal and enthusiasm, there
is no degree of human testimony so
strong as may not be procured for the
greatest absurdity : And those who will
be so silly as to examine the affiir by
that medium, and seek particular flaws
in the testimony, are almost sure to be
confounded. It must be a miserable
imposture, indeed, that does not prevail
in that contest.
All who have been in France about
that time have heard of the reputation
of Mons. Heratjt, the lieutenant de
Police, whose vigilance, penetration,
activity, and extensive intelligence have
been much talked of. This magistrate,
who by the nature of his office is almost
absolute, was invested with full powers.
on purpose to suppress or discredit these
miracles ; and he frequently seized im-
mediately, and examined the witnesses
and subjects of them : But never could
reach any thing satisfactory against
them.
In the case of Madamoiselle Thibatjt
he sent the famous De Sylva to ex-
amine her ; whose evidence is very
curious. The physician declares, that
it was impossible she could have been
so ill as was proved by witnesses;
because it was impossible she could, in
so short a time, have recovered so per-
fectly as he found her. He reasoned,
like a man of sense, from natural
causes ; but the opposite party told him,
that the whole was a miracle, and that
his evidence was the very best proof of
it.
The Molinists were in a sad dilemma.
They durst not assert the absolute in-
sufficiency of human evidence, to prove
a miracle. They were obliged to say,
that these miracles were wrought by
witchcraft and the devil. But they
were told, that this was the resource of
the Jews of old.
No Jansenist was ever embarrassed
to account for the cessation of the
miracles, when the church-yard was
shut up by the king's edict. It was the
touch of the tomb, which produced
[M. de Ventimille. Ed. ]'
OF MIRACLES.
103
the absolute impossibility or miraculous nature of the events,
which they relate ? And this surely, in the eyes of all
reasonable people, will alone be regarded as a sufficient
refutation.
Is the consequence just, because some human testimony
has the utmost force and authority in some cases, when it
relates the battle of Philippi or Pharsalia for instance;
that therefore all kinds of testimony must, in all cases, have
equal force and authority ? Suppose that the Cesarean
and Pompeian factions had, each of them, claimed the
victory in these battles, and that the historians of each
party had uniformly ascribed the advantage to their own
side ; how could mankind, at this distance, have been able
SECT.
X.
Paut II.
these extraordinary effects; and when
no one could approach the tomb, no
effects could be expected. God, indeed,
could have thrown down the walls in a
moment ; but he is master of his own
graces and works, and it belongs not to
us to account for them. He did not
throw down the walls of every city like
those of Jeeicho, on the sounding of
the rams' horns, nor break up the prison
of every apostle, like that of St. Paul.
No less a man, than the Due de
Chatillon, a duke and peer of France,
of the highest rank and family, gives
evidence of a miraculous cure, per-
formed upon a servant of his, who had
lived several years in his house with a
visible and palpable infirmity.
I shall conclude with observing, that
no clergy are more celebrated for strict-
ness of life and manners than the secu-
lar clergy of France, particularly the
rectors or cures of Paris, who bear
testimony to these impostures.
The learning, genius, and probity of
the gentiemen, and the austerity of the
nuns of Port- Royal, have been much
celebrated all over Europe. Yet they
all give evidence for a miracle, wrought
on the niece of the famous Pascal,
whose sanctity of life, as well as ex-
traordinary capacity, is well known. 1
The famous Racine gives an account of
tin's miracle in his famous history of
Port-Royal, and fortifies it with all
the proofs, which a multitude of nuns,
priests, physicians, and men of the
world, all of them of undoubted credit,
could bestow upon it. Several men of
letters, particularly the bishop of Tour-
nay, thought this miracle so certain, as
to employ it in the refutation of atheists
and free-thinkers. The queen-regent
of France, who was extremely pre-
judiced against the Port-Royal, sent
her own physician to examine the mira-
cle, who returned an absolute convert.
In short, the supernatural cure was so
uncontestable, that it saved, for a time,
that famous monastery from the ruin
with which it was threatened by the
Jesuits. Had it been a cheat, it had
certainly been detected by such saga-
cious and powerful antagonists, and
must have hastened the ruin of the con-
trivers. Our divines, who can build up
a formidable castle from such despicable
materials; what a prodigious fabric
could they have reared from these and
many other circumstances, which I have
not mentioned ! How often would the
great names of Pascal, Racine, Ar-
naud, Nicole, have resounded in our
ears? But if they be wise, they had
better adopt the miracle, as being
more worth, a thousand times, than all
the rest of their collection. Besides,
it may serve very much to their purpose.
For that miracle was really performed
by the touch of an authentic holy
prickle of the holy thorn, which com-
posed the holy crown, which, &c.
[This note was added in Ed. F.]
' [Edition F adds : Tho' he also was
Believer, in that and in many other
Miracles, which he had lessopportunity
of being inform'd of.
Here Ed. F stops.]
See his Life.
<
W
104 CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING.
SECT, to determine between them? The contrariety is equally
/ _- strong between the miracles related by Herodotus or Plu-
PaetII. taech, and those delivered by Mariana, Bede, or any
monkish historian.
The wise lend a very academic faith to every report which
favours the passion of the reporter ; whether it magnifies
his country, his family, or himself, or in any other way
strikes in with his natural inclinations and propensities.
But what greater temptation than to appear a missionary, a
prophet, an ambassador from heaven ? Who would not en-
counter many dangers and difficulties, in order to attain so
sublime a character? Or if, by the help of vanity and a
heated imagination, a man has first made a convert of him-
self, and entered seriously into the delusion; who ever
scruples to make use of pious frauds, in support of so holy
and meritorious a cause ?
The smallest spark may here kindle into the greatest
flame ; because the materials are always prepared for it.
The avidum genus auricularum, 1 the gazing populace, receive
greedily, without examination, whatever sooths superstition,
and promotes wonder.
How many stories of this nature, have, in all ages, been
detected and exploded in their infancy ? How many more
have been celebrated for a time, and have afterwards sunk
into neglect and oblivion? Where such reports, therefore,
fly about, the solution of the phenomenon is obvious ; and
we judge in conformity to regular experience and obser-
vation, when we account for it by the known and natural
principles of credulity and delusion. And shall we, rather
than have a recourse to so natural a solution, allow of a
miraculous violation of the most established laws of nature ?
I need not mention the difficulty of detecting a falsehood
in any private or even public history, at the place, where it
is said to happen ; much more when the scene is removed to
ever so small a distance. Even a court of judicature, with
all the authority, accuracy, and judgment, which they can
employ, find themselves often at a loss to distinguish between
truth and falsehood in the most recent actions. But the
matter never comes to any issue, if trusted to the common
method of altercation and debate and flying rumours;
* Lucret. iv. 594. [This reference was added in Ed. F ; and the mistrans-
lation was inserted in the text in Ed. M.'J
OF MIRACLES. 105
especially when men's passions have taken part on either sect.
side. . y ,
In the infancy of new religions, the wise and learned com- Pabt tt
monly esteem the matter too inconsiderable to deserve their
attention or regard. And when afterwards they would
willingly detect the cheat, in order to undeceive the deluded
multitude, the season is now past, and the records and wit-
nesses, which might clear up the matter, have perished
beyond recovery.
No means of detection remain, but those which must be
drawn from the very testimony itself of the reporters : And
these, though always sufficient with the judicious and know-
ing, are commonly too fine to fall under the comprehension
of the vulgar.
Upon the whole, then, it appears, that no testimony for
any kind of miracle l has ever amounted to a probability,
much less to a proof; and that, even supposing it amounted
to a proof, it would be opposed by another proof; derived
from the very nature of the fact, which it would endeavour
to establish. It is experience only, which gives authority to
human testimony ; and it is the same experience, which
assures us of the laws of nature. When, therefore, these two
kinds of experience are contrary, we have nothing to do but
substract the one from the other, and embrace an opinion,
either on one side or the other, with that assurance which
arises from the remainder. But according to the principle
here explained, this substraction, with regard to all popular
religions, amounts to an entire annihilation ; and therefore
we may establish it as a maxim, that no human testimony can
have such force as to prove a miracle, and make it a just
foundation for any such system of religion.
2 1 beg the limitations here made may be remarked, when I
say, that a miracle can never be proved, so as to be the foun-
dation of a system of religion. For I own, that otherwise,
there may possibly be miracles, or violations of the usual
course of nature, of such a kind as to admit of proof from
human testimony ; though, perhaps, it will be impossible to
find any such in all the records of history. Thus, suppose,
all authors, in all languages, agree, that, from the first of
1 [Can ever possibly amount to : graphs are given as a note in Editions
Editions E and F.] E to P.]
* [This and the three following para-
100 CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING.
SECT. January 1600, there was a total darkness over the -whole
~^1 earth for eight days : Suppose that the tradition of this
Pakt II. extraordinary event is still strong and lively among the
people : That all travellers, who return from foreign coun-
tries, bring us accounts of the same tradition, without the
least variation or contradiction : It is evident, that our pre-
sent philosophers, instead of doubting the fact, ought to
receive it as certain, and ought to search for the causes
whence it might be derived. l The decay, corruption, and
dissolution of nature, is an event rendered probable by so
many analogies, that any phenomenon, which seems to have
a tendency towards that catastrophe, comes within the reach
of human testimony, if that testimony be very extensive and
uniform.
But suppose, that all the historians who treat of Eng-
land, should agree, that, on the first of January 1600, Queen
Elizabeth died ; that both before and after her death she
was seen by her physicians and the whole court, as is usual
with persons of her rank ; that her successor was acknow-
ledged and proclaimed by the parliament ; and that, after
being interred a month, she again appeared, resumed the
throne, and governed England for three years : I must con-
fess that I should be surprized at the occurrence of so many
odd circumstances, but should not have the least inclination
to believe so miraculous an event. I should not doubt of her
pretended death, and of those other public circumstances that
followed it : I should only assert it to have been pretended,
and that it neither was, nor possibly could be real. You
would in vain object to me the difficulty, and almost impos-
sibility of deceiving the world in an affair of such conse-
quence ; the wisdom 2 and solid judgment of that renowned
queen ; with the little or no advantage which she could reap
from so poor an artifice : All this might astonish me ; but
I would still reply, that the knavery and folly of men are
such common phenomena, that I should rather believe the
most extraordinary events to arise from their concurrence,
than admit of so signal a violation of the laws of nature.
But should this miracle be ascribed to any new system of
religion ; men, in all ages, have been so much imposed on
by ridiculous stories of that kind, that this very circum-
1 [This sentence was added in Ed. K.] * [And integrity : Editions E to P.]
OF MIRACLES. 107
stance would be a full proof of a cheat, and sufficient, with SECT.
all men of sense, not only to make them reject the fact, but r I .
reject it without farther examination. Though the Being to Paut n -
whom the miracle is ascribed, be, in this case, Almighty, it
does not, upon that account, become a whit more probable ;
since it is impossible for us to know the attributes or actions ^
of such a Being, otherwise than from the experience which we
have of his productions, in the usual course of nature. This
still reduces us to past observation, and obliges us to compare the
instances of the violation of truth in the testimony of men,
with those of the violation of the laws of nature by miracles,
in order to judge which of them is most likely and probable.
As the violations of truth are more common in the testimony
concerning religious miracles, than in that concerning any
other matter of fact; this must diminish very much the
authority of the former testimony, and make us form a
general resolution, never to lend any attention to it, with
whatever specious pretence it may be covered.
1 Lord Bacon seems to have embraced the same principles
of reasoning. * We ought,' says he, ' to make a collection
or particular history of all monsters and prodigious births or
productions, and in a word of every thing new, rare, and
extraordinary in nature. But this must be done with the
most severe scrutiny, lest we depart from truth. Above all,
every relation must be considered as suspicious, which de-
pends in any degree upon religion, as the prodigies of Livy :
And no less so, every thing that is to be found in the writers
of natural magic or alchimy, or such authors, who seem, all
of them, to have an unconquerable appetite for falsehood and
fable.'
I am the better pleased with the method of reasoning here
delivered, as I think it may serve to confound those dan-
gerous friends or disguised enemies to the Christian Religion,
who have undertaken to defend it by the principles of human
reason. Our most holy religion is founded on Faith, not on
reason ; and it is a sure method of exposing it to put it to
such a trial as it is, by no means, fitted to endure. To
make this more evident, let us examine those miracles, re-
lated in scripture ; and not to lose ourselves in too wide
1 [This paragraph, which is not quoted in Latin in Editions K to Q.]
found in Editions E and F, is also put 2 Nov. Org. lib. ii. aph. 29.
in the note in Editions K to P. It Is
103 CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING.
SEOT. a field, let us confine ourselves to such as we find in the
._ ^ Pentateuch, which we shall examine, according to the prin-
PAtr il. ciples of those pretended Christians, not as the word or tes-
timony of God himself, but as the production of a mere
human writer and historian. Here then we are first to con-
sider a book, presented to us by a barbarous and ignorant
people, written in an age when they were still more bar-
barous, and in all probability long after the facts which it
relates, corroborated by no concurring testimony, and re-
sembling those fabulous accounts, which every nation gives
of its origin. Upon reading this book, we find it full of
prodigies and miracles. It gives an account of a state of the
world and of human nature entirely different from the pre-
sent : Of our fall from that state : Of the age of man, ex-
tended to near a thousand years : Of the destruction of the
world by a deluge : Of the arbitrary choice of one people, as
the favourites of heaven ; and that people the countrymen
of the author : Of their deliverance from bondage by pro-
digies the most astonishing imaginable : I desire any one to
lay his hand upon his heart, and after a serious consideration
declare, whether he thinks that the falsehood of such a book,
supported by such a testimony, would be more extraordinary
and miraculous than all the miracles it relates ; which is,
however, necessary to make it be received, according to the
measures of probability above established.
What we have said of miracles may be applied, without
any variation, to prophecies ; and indeed, all prophecies are
real miracles, and as such only, can be admitted as proofs of
any revelation. If it did not exceed the capacity of human
nature to foretel future events, it would be absurd to employ
any prophecy as an argument for a divine mission or autho-
rity from heaven. So that, upon the whole, we may conclude,
/ that the Christian Religion not only was at first attended with
miracles, but even at this day cannot be believed by any
reasonable person without one. Mere reason is insufficient
to convince us of its veracity : And whoever is moved by
Faith to assent to it, is conscious of a continued miracle in
his own person, which subverts all the principles of his un-
derstanding, and gives him a determination to believe what
is most contrary to custom and experience.
OF A PROVIDENCE AND FUTURE STATE. 109
Section XI. Of a Particular Providence and of a Future
State. 1
I was lately engaged in conversation with a friend who
loves sceptical paradoxes ; where, though he advanced many
principles, of which I can by no means approve, yet as they
seem to be curious, and to bear some relation to the chain of
reasoning carried on throughout this enquiry, I shall here
copy them from my memory as accurately as I can, in order
to submit them to the judgment of the reader.
Our conversation began with my admiring the singular
good fortune of philosophy, which, as it requires entire
liberty above all other privileges, and chiefly flourishes from
the free opposition of sentiments and argumentation, received
its first birth in an age and country of freedom and tolera-
tion, and was never cramped, even in its most extravagant
principles, by any creeds, confessions, or penal statutes. For,
except the banishment of Protagoras, and the death of
Socrates, which last event proceeded partly from other
motives, there are scarcely any instances to be met with, in
ancient history, of this bigotted jealousy, with which the
presext age is so much infested. Epicurus lived at Athens
to an advanced age, in peace and tranquillity : Epicureans *
were even admitted to receive the sacerdotal character, and
to officiate at the altar, in the most sacred rites of the estab-
lished religion : And the public encouragement 3 of pensions
and salaries was afforded equally, by the wisest of all the
Roman emperors, 4 to the professors of every sect of philosophy.
How requisite such kind of treatment was to philosophy, in
her early youth, will easily be conceived, if we reflect, that,
even at present, when she may be supposed more hardy and
robust, she bears with much difficulty the inclemency of the
seasons, and those harsh winds of calumny and persecution,
I which blow upon her.
You admire, says my friend, as the singular good fortune
of philosophy, what seems to result from the natural course
of things, and to be unavoidable in every age and nation.
This pertinacious bigotry, of which you complain, as so fatal
1 [Of the Practical Consequences of * Lcciani tvvovxos. 3.
Natural Religion : Ed. E. | * Id. & Die.
* LCCIANI svfiir. f) \a-wi6ai. 9.
SECT.
XI.
110 CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING.
SECT, to philosophy, is really her offspring, who, after allying with
^ , superstition, separates himself entirely from the interest of
his parent, and becomes her most inveterate enemy and per-
secutor. Speculative dogmas of religion, the present occa-
sions of such furious dispute, could not possibly be conceived
or admitted in the early ages of the world ; when mankind,
being wholly illiterate, formed an idea of religion more
suitable to their weak apprehension, and composed their
sacred tenets of such tales chiefly as were the objects of tra-
ditional belief, more than of argument or disputation. After
the first alarm, therefore, was over, which arose from the new
paradoxes and principles of the philosophers ; these teachers
seem ever after, during the ages of antiquity, to have lived
in great harmony with the established superstition, and to
have made a fair partition of mankind between them ; the
former claiming all the learned and wise, the latter possessing
all the vulgar and illiterate.
It seems then, say I, that you leave politics entirely out of
the question, and never suppose, that a wise magistrate can
justly be jealous of certain tenets of philosophy, such as those
of Epicurus, which, denying a divine existence, and con-
sequently a providence and a future state, seem to loosen,
in a great measure, the ties of morality, and may be sup-
posed, for that reason, pernicious to the peace of civil society.
I know, replied he, that in fact these persecutions never,
in any age, proceeded from calm reason, or from experience
of the pernicious consequences of philosophy ; but arose
entirely from passion and prejudice. But what if I should
advance farther, and assert, that, if Epicurus had been
accused before the people, by any of the sycophants or in-
formers of those days, he could easily have defended his
cause, and proved his principles of philosophy to be as salu-
tary as those of his adversaries, who endeavoured, with such
zeal, to expose him to the public hatred and jealousy.
I wish, said I, you would try your eloquence upon so ex-
traordinary a topic, and make a speech for Epicurus, which
might satisfy, not the mob of Athens, if you will allow that
ancient and polite city to have contained any mob, but the
more philosophical part of his audience, such as might be
supposed capable of comprehending his arguments.
The matter would not be difficult, upon such conditions,
replied he : And if you please, I shall suppose myself
OF A PROVIDENCE AND FUTURE STATE. Ill
Epicurus for a moment, and make you stand for the SECT.
YT
Athenian people, and shall deliver you such an harangue as t
will fill all the urn with white beans, and leave not a black
one to gratify the malice of my adversaries.
Very well : Pray proceed upon these suppositions.
I come hither, O ye Athenians, to justify in your assembly
what I maintained in my school, and I find myself impeached
by furious antagonists, instead of reasoning with calm and
dispassionate enquirers. Your deliberations, which of right
should be directed to questions of public good, and the in-
terest of the commonwealth, are diverted to the disquisitions
of speculative philosophy; and these magnificent, but per-
haps fruitless enquiries, take place of your more familiar but
more useful occupations. But so far as in me lies, I will
prevent this abuse. We shall not here dispute concerning
the origin and government of worlds. We shall only enquire
how far such questions concern the public interest. And if
I can persuade you, that they are entirely indifferent to the
peace of society and security of government, I hope that you
will presently send us back to our schools, there to examine,
at leisure, the question, the most sublime, but, at the same
time, the most speculative of all philosophy.
The religious philosophers, not satisfied with the tradition
of your forefathers, and doctrine of your priests (in which I
willingly acquiesce), indulge a rash curiosity, in trying how
far they can establish religion upon the principles of reason ;
and they thereby excite, instead of satisfying, the doubts,
which naturally arise from a diligent and scrutinous enquiry.
They paint, in the most magnificent colours, the order,
beauty, and wise arrangement of the universe ; and then ask,
if such a glorious display of intelligence could proceed from
the fortuitous concourse of atoms, or if chance could produce
what the greatest genius can never sufficiently admire. I
shall not examine the justness of this argument. I shall
allow it to be as solid as my antagonists and accusers can
desire. It is sufficient, if I can prove, from this very reason-
ing, that the question is entirely speculative, and that, when,
in my philosophical disquisitions, I deny a providence and a
future state, I undermine not the foundations of society, but
advance principles, which they themselves, upon their own
topics, if they argue consistently, must allow to be solid and
satisfactory.
112 CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING.
SECT. You then, who are my accusers, have acknowledged, that
x }' . the chief or solo argument for a divine existence (which I
never questioned) is derived from the order of nature ; where
there appear such marks of intelligence and design, that you
think it extravagant to assign for its cause, either chance, or
the blind and unguided force of matter. You allow, that
this is an argument drawn from effects to causes. From the
order of the work, you infer, that there must have been pro-
ject and forethought in the workman. If you cannot make
out this point, you allow, that your conclusion fails ; and you
pretend not to establish the conclusion in a greater latitude
than the phsenomena of nature will justify. These are your
concessions. I desire you to mark the consequences.
When we infer any particular cause from an effect, we
must proportion the one to the other, and can never be
allowed to ascribe to the cause any qualities, but what are
exactly sufficient to produce the effect. A body of ten ounces
raised in any scale may serve as a proof, that the counter-
balancing weight exceeds ten ounces ; but can never afford
a reason that it exceeds a hundred. If the cause, assigned
for any effect, be not sufficient to produce it, we must either
reject that cause, or add to it such qualities as will give it a
just proportion to the effect. But if we ascribe to it farther
qualities, or affirm it capable of producing other effects, we
can only indulge the licence of conjecture, and arbitrarily
suppose the existence of qualities and energies, without rea-
son or authority.
The same rule holds, whether the cause assigned be brute
unconscious matter, or a rational intelligent being. If the
cause be known only by the effect, we never ought to ascribe
to it any qualities, beyond what are precisely requisite to
produce the effect : Nor can we, by any rules of just reason-
ing, return back from the cause, and infer other effects from
it, beyond those by which alone it is known to us. No one,
merely from the sight of one of Zeuxis's pictures, could
know, that he was also a statuary or architect, and was an
artist no less skilful in stone and marble than in colours.
The talents and taste, displayed in the particular work before
us; these we may safely conclude the workman to be pos-
sessed of. The cause must be proportioned to the effect ;
and if we exactly and precisely proportion it, we shall never
find in it any qualities, that point farther, or afford an in-
OF A PROVIDENCE AND FUTURE STATE. 113
ference concerning any other design or performance. Such SECf.
qualities must be somewhat beyond what is merely requisite . ^'
for producing the effect, which we examine.
Allowing, therefore, the gods to be the authors of the ex-
istence or order of the universe ; it follows, that they possess
that precise degree of power, intelligence, and benevolence,
which appears in their workmanship; but nothing farther
can ever be proved, except we call in the assistance of ex-
aggeration and flattery to supply the defects of argument
and reasoning. So far as the traces of any attributes, at
present, appear, so far may we conclude these attributes to
exist. The supposition of farther attributes is mere hypo-
thesis ; much more the supposition, that, in distant regions
of space or periods of time, there has been, or will be, a more
magnificent display of these attributes, and a scheme of ad-
ministration more suitable to such imaginary virtues. We
can never be allowed to mount up from the universe, the
effect, to Jupiter, the cause ; and then descend downwards,
to infer any new effect from that cause ; as if the present
effects alone were not entirely worthy of the glorious attri-
butes, which we ascribe to that deity. The knowledge of the
cause being derived solely from the effect, they must be ex-
actly adjusted to each other ; and the one can never refer to
any thing farther, or be the foundation of any new inference
and conclusion.
You find certain phenomena in nature. You seek a cause
or author. You imagine that you have found him. You
afterwards become so enamoured of this offspring of your
brain, that you imagine it impossible, but he must produce
something greater and more perfect than the present scene
of things, which is so full of ill and disorder. You forget,
that this superlative intelligence and benevolence are entirely
imaginary, or, at least, without any foundation in reason ;
and that you have no ground to ascribe to him any qualities,
but what you see he has actually exerted and displayed in
his productions. Let your gods, therefore, O philosophers,
be suited to the present appearances of nature : And presume
not to alter these appearances by arbitrary suppositions, in
order to suit them to the attributes, which you so fondly
ascribe to your deities.
When priests and poets, supported by your authority, O
Athenians, talk of a golden or silver age, which preceded
VOL. IV. I
114 CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING.
SECT, the present state of vice and misery, I hear them with atten-
/ _ * tion and with reverence. But when philosophers, who pre-
tend to neglect authority, and to cultivate reason, hold the
same discourse, I pay them not, I own, the same obsequious
submission and pious deference. I ask ; who carried them
into the celestial regions, who admitted them into the coun-
cils of the gods, who opened to them the book of fate, that
they thus rashly affirm, that their deities have executed, or
will execute, any purpose beyond what has actually appeared?
If they tell me, that they have mounted * on the steps or by
the gradual ascent of reason, and by drawing inferences
from effects to causes, I still insist, that they have aided
the 2 ascent of reason by the wings of imagination ; otherwise
they could not thus change their manner of inference, and
argue from causes to effects ; presuming, that a more perfect
production than the present world would be more suitable
to such perfect beings as the gods, and forgetting that they
have no reason to ascribe to these celestial beings any per-
fection or any attribute, but what can be found in the present
world.
Hence all the fruitless industry to account for the ill ap-
pearances of nature, and save the honour of the gods ; while
we must acknowledge the reality of that evil and disorder,
with which the world so much abounds. The obstinate and
intractable qualities of matter, we are told, or the observance
of general laws, or some such reason, is the sole cause, which
controlled the power and benevolence of Jupiter, and obliged
him to create mankind and every sensible creature so imper-
fect and so unhappy. These attributes, then, are, it seems,
beforehand, taken for granted, in their greatest latitude.
And upon that supposition, I own, that such conjectures
may, perhaps, be admitted as plausible solutions of the ill
phenomena. But still I ask ; Why take these attributes for
granted, or why ascribe to the cause any qualities but what
actually appear in the effect ? Why torture your brain to
justify the course of nature upon suppositions, which, for
aught you know, may be entirely imaginary, and of which
there are to be found no traces in the course of nature ?
The religious hypothesis, therefore, must be considered
only as a particular method of accounting for the visible
1 [On the Steps or Scale of Reason : Ed. E."| * [Scale : Ed. E.]
OF A PROVIDENCE AND FUTURE STATE. 115
phenomena of the universe : But no just reasoner will ever SECT,
presume to infer from it any single fact, and alter or add .
to the phenomena, in any single particular. If you think,
that the appearances of things prove such causes, it is allow-
able for you to draw an inference concerning the existence
of these causes. In such complicated and sublime sub-
jects, every one should be indulged in the liberty of conjec-
ture and argument. But here you ought to rest. If you
come backward, and arguing from your inferred causes, con-
clude, that any other fact has existed, or will exist, in the
course of nature, which may serve as a fuller display of par-
ticular attributes ; I must admonish you, that you have de-
parted from the method of reasoning, attached to the present
subject, and have certainly added something to the attributes
of the cause, beyond what appears in the effect ; otherwise v
you could never, with tolerable sense or propriety, add any
thing to the effect, in order to render it more worthy of the
cause.
Where, then, is the odiousness of that doctrine, which I
teach in my school, or rather, which I examine in my gar-
dens ? Or what do you find in this whole question, wherein
the security of good morals, or the peace and order of society
is in the least concerned ?
I deny a providence, you say, and supreme governour of
the world, who guides the course of events, and punishes the
vicious with infamy and disappointment, and rewards the
virtuous with honour and success, in all their undertakings.
But surely, I deny not the course itself of events, which lies
open to every one's enquiry and examination. I acknow-
ledge, that, in the present order of things, virtue is attended
with more peace of mind than vice, and meets with a more
favourable reception from the world. I am sensible, that,
according to the past experience of mankind, friendship is
the chief joy of human life, and moderation the only source
of tranquillity and happiness. I never balance between the
virtuous and the vicious course of life ; but am sensible, that,
to a well disposed mind, every advantage is on the side of
the former. And what can you say more, allowing all your
suppositions and reasonings ? You tell me, indeed, that this
disposition of things proceeds from intelligence and design.
But whatever it proceeds from, the disposition itself, on which
depends our happiness or misery, and consequently our con-
I 2
116 CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING.
SECT, duct and deportment in life, is still the same. It is still open
, for me, as well as you, to regulate my behaviour, by my ex-
perience of past events. And if you affirm, that, while a
divine providence is allowed, and a supreme distributive jus-
tice in the universe, I ought to expect some more particular
reward of the good, and punishment of the bad, beyond the
ordinary course of events ; I here find the same fallacy,
which I have before endeavoured to detect. You persist in
imagining, that, if we grant that divine existence, for which
you so earnestly contend, you may safely infer consequences
from it, and add something to the experienced order of nature,
by arguing from the attributes which you ascribe to your
gods. You seem not to remember, tha.t all your reasonings
on this subject can only be drawn from effects to causes ; and
that every argument, deduced from causes to effects, must
of necessity be a gross sophism ; since it is impossible for
you to know any thing of the cause, but what you have
antecedently, not inferred, but discovered to the full, in the
effect.
But what must a philosopher think of those vain reasoners,
who, instead of regarding the present scene of things as the
sole object of their contemplation, so far reverse the whole
course of nature, as to render this life merely a passage to
something farther ; a porch, which leads to a greater, and
vastly different building ; a prologue, which serves only to
introduce the piece, and give it more grace and propriety ?
Whence, do you think, can such philosophers derive their
idea of the gods ? From their own conceit and imagination
surely. For if they derived it from the present phenomena,
it would never point to anything farther, but must be exactly
adjusted to them. That the divinity may possibly be en-
dowed with attributes, which we have never seen exerted ;
may be governed by principles of action, which we cannot
discover to be satisfied : All this will freely be allowed. But
still this is mere possibility and hypothesis. We can never
have reason to infer any attributes, or any principles of action
in him, but so far as we know them to have been exerted and
satisfied.
Are there any marks of a distributive justice in the world ?
If you answer in the affirmative, I conclude, that, since
justice here exerts itself, it is satisfied. If you reply in the
negative, I conclude, that you have then no reason to ascribe
OF A PROVIDENCE AND FUTURE STATE. 117
justice, in our sense of it, to the gods. If you hold a medium SECT,
between affirmation and negation, by saying, that the justice __Jl_
of the gods, at present, exerts itself in part, but not in its
full extent ; I answer, that you have no reason to give it any
particular extent, but only as far as you see it, at present,
exert itself.
Thus I bring the dispute, Athenians, to a short issue
with my antagonists. The course of nature lies open to my
contemplation as well as to theirs. The experienced train
of events is the great standard, by which we all regulate our
conduct. Nothing else can be appealed to in the field, or in
the senate. Nothing else ought ever to be heard of in the
school, or in the closet. In vain would our limited under-
standing break through these boundaries, which are too
narrow for our fond imagination. While we argue from the
course of nature, and infer a particular intelligent cause,
which first bestowed, and still preserves order in the universe,
we embrace a principle, which is both uncertain and useless.
It is uncertain ; because the subject lies entirely beyond the
reach of human experience. It is useless ; because our
knowledge of this cause being derived entirely from the
course of nature, we can never, according to the rules of just
reasoning, return back from the cause with any new in-
ference, or making additions to the common and experienced
course of nature, establish any new principles of conduct
and behaviour.
I observe (said I, finding he had finished his harangue)
that you neglect not the artifice of the demagogues of old ;
and as you were pleased to make me stand for the people,
you insinuate yourself into my favour by embracing those
principles, to which, you know, I have always expressed a
particular attachment. But allowing you to make experience
(as indeed I think you ought) the only standard of our
judgment concerning this, and all other questions of fact ; I
doubt not but, from the very same experience, to which you
appeal, it may be possible to refute this reasoning, which
you have put into the mouth of Epicurus. If you saw, for
instance, a half-finished building, surrounded with heaps of
brick and stone and mortar, and all the instruments of
masonry ; could you not infer from the effect, that it was
a work of design and contrivance ? And could you not re-
turn again, from this inferred cause, to infer new additions to
118 CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING.
SECT, the effect, and conclude, that the building would soon be
,J finished, and receive all the further improvements, which art
could bestow upon it? If you saw upon the sea-shore the
print of one human foot, you would conclude, that a man
had passed that way, and that he had also left the traces of
the other foot, though effaced by the rolling of the sands or
inundation of the waters. Why then do you refuse to admit
the same method of reasoning with regard to the order of
nature ? Consider the world and the present life only as
an imperfect building, from which you can infer a superior
intelligence ; and arguing from that superior intelligence,
which can leave nothing imperfect ; why may you not infer
a more finished scheme or plan, which will receive its com-
pletion in some distant point of space or time? Are not
these methods of reasoning exactly similar? And under
what pretence can you embrace the one, while you reject the
other ?
The infinite difference of the subjects, replied he, is a
sufficient foundation for this difference in my conclusions.
In works of human art and contrivance, it is allowable to
advance from the effect to the cause, and returning back
from the cause, to form new inferences concerning the effect,
and examine the alterations, which it has probably under-
gone, or may still undergo. But what is the foundation of
this method of reasoning ? Plainly this ; that man is a
being, whom we know by experience, whose motives and
designs we are acquainted with, and whose projects and in-
clinations have a certain connexion and coherence, according
to the laws which nature has established for the government
of such a creature. When, therefore, we find, that any work
has proceded from the skill and industry of man ; as we are
otherwise acquainted with the nature of the animal, we can
draw a hundred inferences concerning what may be expected
from him ; and these inferences will all be founded in ex-
perience and observation. But did we know man only from
the single work or production which we examine, it were im-
possible for us to argue in this manner ; because our know-
ledge of all the qualities, which we ascribe to him, being in
that case derived from the production, it is impossible they
could point to any thing farther, or be the foundation of any
new inference. The print of a foot in the sand can only
prove, when considered alone, that there was some figure
OF A PROVIDENCE AND FUTURE STATE. 119
adapted to it, by which it was produced : But the print of a SECT,
human foot proves likewise, from our other experience, that . / _
there was probably another foot, which also left its impres-
sion, though effaced by time or other accidents. Here we
mount from the effect to the cause ; and descending again
from the cause, infer alterations in the effect ; but this is
not a continuation of the same simple chain of reasoning.
We comprehend in this case a hundred other experiences
and observations, concerning the usual figure and members
of that species of animal, without which this method of argu-
ment must be considered as fallacious and sophistical.
The case is not the same with our reasonings from the
works of nature. The Deity is known to us only by his pro-
ductions, and is a single being in the universe, not compre-
hended under any species or genus, from whose experienced
attributes or qualities, we can, by analogy, infer any attribute
or quality in him. As the universe shews wisdom and good-
ness, we infer wisdom and goodness. As it shews a particular
degree of these perfections, we infer a particular degree of
them, precisely adapted to the effect which we examine.
But farther attributes or farther degrees of the same attri-
butes, we can never be authorised to infer or suppose, by any
rules of just reasoning. Now, without some such licence of
supposition, it is impossible for us to argue from the cause, or
infer any alteration in the effect, beyond what has immedi-
ately fallen under our observation. Greater good produced by
this Being must still prove a greater degree of goodness : A
more impartial distribution of rewards and punishments must
proceed from a greater regard to justice and equity. Every
supposed addition to the works of nature makes an addition
to the attributes of the Author of nature ; and consequently,
being entirely unsupported by any reason or argument, can
never be admitted but as mere conjecture and hypothesis. 1
The great source of our mistake in this subject, and of
1 In general, it may, I think, be es- superior, or of more extensive opera-
tablished as a maxim, that where any tion, than those which simply produced
cause is known only by its particular the effect, whence alone the cause is
effects, it must be impossible to infer supposed to be known to us. We can
any new effects from that cause ; since never, therefore, have any reason to
the qualities, which are requisite to pro- suppose the existence of these qualities,
duce these new effects along with the ' To say, that the new effects proceed
former, must either be different, or only from a continuation of the same
1 [Editions E and F print in the text as far as ' qualities,' and throw the rest
into a note.]
120 CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING.
SECT, the unbounded licence of conjecture, which, we indulge, is,
,1 , that we tacitly consider ourselves, as in the place of the
Supreme Being, and conclude, that he will, on every occasion,
observe the same conduct, which we ourselves, in his situa-
tion, would have embraced as reasonable and eligible. But,
besides that the ordinary course of nature may convince us,
that almost everything is regulated by principles and maxims
very different from ours ; besides this, I say, it must evidently
appear contrary to all rules of analogy to reason, from the
intentions and projects of men, to those of a Being so dif-
ferent, and so much superior. In human nature, there is a
certain experienced coherence of designs and inclinations ;
so that when, from any fact, we have discovered one inten-
tion of any man, it may often be reasonable, from experience,
to infer another, and draw a long chain of conclusions con-
cerning his past or future conduct. But this method of
reasoning can never have place with regard to a Being, so
remote and incomprehensible, who bears much less analogy
to any other being in the universe than the sun to a waxen
taper, and who discovers himself only by some faint traces
or outlines, beyond which we have no authority to ascribe to
him any attribute or perfection. What we imagine to
be a superior perfection, may really be a defect. Or were
it ever so much a perfection, the ascribing of it to the
Supreme Being, where it appears not to have been really
exerted, to the full, in his works, savours more of flattery and
panegyric, than of just reasoning and sound philosophy.
All the philosophy, therefore, in the world, and all the reli-
* gion, which is nothing but a species of philosophy, will never
be able to carry us beyond the usual course of experience, or
give us measures of conduct and behaviour different from
those which are furnished by reflections on common life.
No new fact can ever be inferred from the religious hypo-
thesis ; no event foreseen or foretold ; no reward or punish-
ment expected or dreaded, beyond what is already known by
energy, which is already known from position, and what there cannot possibly
the first effects, will not remove the be any traces of in the effects, from
difficulty. For even granting this to be which all our knowledge of the cause is
the case (which can seldom be supposed), originally derived. Let the inferred
the very continuation and exertion of a cause bo exactly proportioned (as it
like energy (for it is impossible it can be should be) to the known effect ; and it is
absolutely the same), I say, this exertion impossible that it can possess any
of a like energy, in a different period of qualities, from which new or different
space and time, i& a very arbitrary sup- effects caben inferred.
OF A PROVIDENCE AND FUTURE STATE. 121
practice and observation. So that my apology for Epicurus sect.
will still appear solid and satisfactory ; nor have the political . ^
interests of society any connexion with the philosophical
disputes concerning metaphysics and religion.
There is still one circumstance, replied I, which you seem
to have overlooked. Though I should allow your premises,
I must deny your conclusion. You conclude, that religious v
doctrines and reasonings can have no influence on life,
because they ought to have no influence ; never considering,
that men reason not in the same manner as you do, but draw
many consequences from the belief of a divine Existence,
and suppose that the Deity would inflict punishments on
vice, and bestow rewards on virtue, beyond what appear in
the ordinary course of nature. Whether this reasoning of
theirs be just or not, is no matter. Its influence on their
life and conduct must still be the same. And, those, who
attempt to disabuse them of such prejudices, may, for aught
I know, be good reasoners, but I cannot allow them to be
good citizens and politicians ; since they free men from one
restraint upon their passions, and make the infringement of
the laws of society, in one respect, more easy and secure.
After all, I may, perhaps, agree to your general conclusion
in favour of liberty, though upon different premises from
those, on which you endeavour to found it! I think, that the
state ought to tolerate every principle of philosophy ; nor is
there an instance, that any government has suffered in its
political interests by such indulgence. There is no enthusiasm
among philosophers ; their doctrines are not very alluring to
the people ; and no restraint can be put upon their reason-
ings, but what must be of dangerous consequence to the
sciences, and even to the state, by paving the way for perse-
cution and oppression in points, where the generality of
mankind are more deeply interested and concerned.
But there occurs to me (continued I) with regard to your
main topic, a difficulty, which I shall just propose to you,
without insisting on it ; lest it lead into reasonings of too
nice and delicate a nature. In a word, I much doubt
whether it be possible for a cause to be known only by its
effect (as you have all along supposed) or to be of so singular
and particular a nature as to have no parallel and no simi-
larity with any other cause or object, that has ever fallen
under our observation. It is only when two species of objects
122 CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING.
SECT, are found to be constantly conjoined, that we can infer the
- m _- one from the other" ; and were an effect presented, which was
entirely singular, and could not be comprehended under any
known species, I do not see, that we could form any con-
jecture or inference at all concerning its cause. If experience
and observation and analogy be, indeed, the only guides
which we can reasonably follow in inferences of this nature ;
both the effect and cause must bear a similarity and resem-
blance to other effects and causes, which we know, and which
we have found, in many instances, to be conjoined with each
other. I leave it to your own reflection to pursue the con-
sequences of this principle. I shall just observe, that, as
the antagonists of Epicurus always suppose the universe,
an effect quite singular and unparalleled, to be the proof of
a Deity, a cause no less singular and unparalleled ; your
reasonings, upon that supposition, seem, at least, to merit
our attention. There is, I own, some difficulty, how we can
ever return from the cause to the effect, and, reasoning from
our ideas of the former, infer any alteration on the latter, or
any addition to it.
Section XII. Of the Academical or Sceptical Philosophy.
PARTI.
There is not a greater number of philosophical reasonings,
displayed upon any subject, than those, which prove the
existence of a Deity, and refute the fallacies of Atheists ; and
yet the most religious philosophers still dispute whether any
man can be so blinded as to be a speculative atheist. How
shall we reconcile these contradictions ? The knights-errant,
who wandered about to clear the world of dragons and giants,
never entertained the least doubt with regard to the exist-
ence of these monsters.
The Sceptic is another enemy of religion, who naturally
provokes the indignation of all divines and graver philo-
sophers ; though it is certain, that no man ever met with any
such absurd creature, or conversed with a man, who had no
opinion or principle concerning any subject, either of action
or speculation. This begets a very natural question ; What
is meant by a sceptic ? And how far it is possible to push
these philosophical principles of doubt and uncertainty ?
There is a species of scepticism, antecedent to all study and
ACADEMICAL OR SCEPTICAL PHILOSOPHY. 123
philosophy, which is much inculcated by Des Cartes and SECT.
others, as a sovereign preservative against error and pre- ^ J
cipitate judgment. It recommends an universal doubt, not Paet *
only of all our former opinions and principles, but also of our
very faculties ; of whose veracity, say they, we must assure
ourselves, by a chain of reasoning, deduced from some
original principle, which cannot possibly be fallacious or
deceitful. But neither is there any such original principle,
which has a prerogative above others, that are self-evident
and convincing : Or if there were, could we advance a step
beyond it, but by the use of those very faculties, of which we
are supposed to be already diffident. The Cartesian doubt,
therefore, were it ever possible to be attended by any human
creature (as it plainly is not) would be entirely incurable ;
and no reasoning could ever bring us to a state of assurance
and conviction upon any subject.
It must, however, be confessed, that this species of scepti-
cism, when more moderate, may be understood in a very
reasonable sense, and is a necessary preparative to the study
of philosophy, by preserving a proper impartiality in our
judgments, and weaning our mind from all those prejudices,
which we may have imbibed from education or rash opinion.
To begin with clear and self-evident principles, to advance
by timorous and sure steps, to review frequently our coiiclu-
sions, and examine accurately all their consequences ; thAgh
by these means we shall make both a slow and a sl$>rt
progress in our systems ; are the only methods, by which
we can ever hope to reach truth, and attain a proper stability
and certainty in our determinations.
There is another species of scepticism, consequent to science
and enquiry, when men are supposed to have discovered,
either the absolute fallaciousness of their mental faculties, or
their unfitness to reach any fixed determination in all those
curious subjects of speculation, about which they are com-
monly employed. Even our very senses are brought into dis-
pute, by a certain species of philosophers ; and the maxims
of common life are subjected to the same doubt as the most
profound principles or conclusions of metaphysics and
theology. As these paradoxical tenets (if they may be called
tenets) are to be met with in some philosophers, and the
refutation of them in several, they naturally excite our
124 CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING.
SECT, curiosity, and make us enquire into the arguments, on which
_ XIL - they may be founded.
Pabt I. I need not insist upon the more trite topics, employed by
the sceptics in all ages, against the evidence of sense ; such
as those which are derived from the imperfection and fal-
laciousness of our organs, on numberless occasions ; the
crooked appearance of an oar in water ; the various aspects
of objects, according to their different distances ; the double
images which arise from the pressing one eye ; with many
other appearances of a like nature. These sceptical topics,
indeed, are only sufficient to prove, that the senses alone are
not implicitly to be depended on ; but that we must correct
their evidence by reason, and by considerations, derived from
the nature of the medium, the distance of the object, and
the disposition of the organ, in order to render them, within
their sphere, the proper criteria of truth and falsehood.
There are other more profound arguments against the senses,
which admit not of so easy a solution.
It seems evident, that men are carried, by a natural in-
stinct or prepossession, to repose faith in their senses ; and
that, without any reasoning, or even almost before the use
of reason, we always suppose an external universe, which
depends not on our perception, but would exist, though we
and every sensible creature were absent or annihilated. Even
the animal creation are governed by a like opinion, and pre-
serve this belief of external objects, in all their thoughts,
designs, and actions.
It seems also evident, that, when men follow this blind
and powerful instinct of nature, they always suppose the
very images, presented by the senses, to be the external
objects, and never entertain any suspicion, that the one are
nothing but representations of the other. This very table,
which we see white, and which we feel hard, is believed to
exist, independent of our perception, and to be something
external to our mind, which perceives it. Our presence
bestows not being on it: Our absence does not annihilate
it. It preserves its existence uniform and entire, indepen-
dent of the situation of intelligent beings, who perceive or
contemplate it.
But this universal and primary opinion of all men is soon
destroyed by the slightest philosophy, which teaches us, that
nothing can ever be present to the mind but an image or
ACADEMICAL OR SCEPTICAL PHILOSOPHY. 125
perception, and that the senses are only the inlets, through SECT,
which these images are conveyed, without being able to pro- . * L
duce any immediate intercourse between the mind and the Part i.
object. The table, which we see, seems to diminish, as we
remove farther from it : But the real table, which exists in-
dependent of us, suffers no alteration : It was, therefore,
nothing but its image, which was present to the mind.
These are the obvious dictates of reason ; and no man, who
reflects, ever doubted, that the existences, which we con-
sider, when we say, this house and that tree, are nothing but
perceptions in the mind, and fleeting copies or representa-
tions of other existences, which remain uniform and inde-
pendent.
So far, then, are we necessitated by reasoning to contradict
or depart from the primary instincts of nature, and to em-
brace a new system with regard to the evidence of our senses.
But here philosophy finds herself extremely embarrassed, when
she would justify this new system, and obviate the cavils and
objections of the sceptics. She can no longer plead the in-
fallible and irresistible instinct of nature : For that led us to
a quite different system, which is acknowledged fallible and
even erroneous. And to justify this pretended philosophical
system, by a chain of clear and convincing argument, or
even any appearance of argument, exceeds the power of all
human capacity.
By what argument can it be proved, that the perceptions
of the mind must be caused by external objects, entirely dif-
ferent from them, though resembling them (if that be pos-
sible) and could not arise either from the energy of the mind
itself, or from the suggestion of some invisible and unknown
spirit, or from some other cause still more unknown to us?
It is acknowledged, that, in fact, many of these perceptions
arise not from any thing external, as in dreams, madness,
and other diseases. And nothing can be more inexplicable
than the manner, in which body should so operate upon
mind as ever to convey an image of itself to a substance, sup-
posed of so different, and even contrary a nature.
It is a question of fact, whether the perceptions of the
senses be produced by external objects, resembling them :
How shall this question be determined? By experience
surely ; as all other questions of a like nature. But here ex-
perience is, and must be entirely silent. The mind has never
any thing present to it but the perceptions, and cannot pos-
126 CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING.
SECT, sibly reach any experience of their connexion with objects,
. _ . The supposition of such a connexion is, therefore, without
Pabt I. any foundation in reasoning.
To have recourse to the veracity of the supreme Being,
in order to prove the veracity of our senses, is surely
making a very unexpected circuit. If his veracity were at
all concerned in this matter, our senses would be entirely
infallible ; because it is not possible that he can ever deceive.
Not to mention, that, if the external world be once called
in question, we shall be at a loss to find arguments, by which
we may prove the existence of that Being or any of his
attributes.
This is a topic, therefore, in which the profounder and
more philosophical sceptics will always triumph, when they
endeavour to introduce an universal doubt into all subjects
of human knowledge and enquiry. Do you follow the in-
stincts and propensities of nature, may they say, in assenting
to the veracity of sense ? But these lead you to believe, that
the very perception or sensible image is the external object.
Do you disclaim this principle, in order to embrace a more
rational opinion, that the perceptions are only representa-
tions of something external ? You here depart from your
natural propensities and more obvious sentiments ; and yet
are" not able to satisfy your reason, which can never find any
convincing argument from experience to prove, that the per-
ceptions are connected with any external objects.
There is another sceptical topic of a like nature, derived
from the most profound philosophy ; which might merit our
attention, were it requisite to dive so deep, in order to dis-
aover arguments and reasonings, which can so little serve to
any serious purpose. It is universally allowed by modern
enquirers, that all the sensible qualities of objects, such as
hard, soft, hot, cold, white, black, &c, are merely secondary,
and exist not in the objects themselves, but are perceptions
of the mind, without any external archetype or model, which
they represent. If this be allowed, with regard to secondary
qualities, it must also follow, with regard to the supposed
primary qualities of extension and solidity ; nor can the latter
be any more entitled to that denomination than the former.
The idea of extension is entirely acquired from the senses of
sight and feeling ; and if all the qualities, perceived by the
senses, be in the mind, not in the object, the same conclu-
sion must reach the idea of extension, which is wholly de-
ACADEMICAL OR SCEPTICAL PHILOSOPHY. 127
pendent on the sensible ideas or the ideas of secondary SECT,
qualities. Nothing can save us from this conclusion, but the ^_ , _,.
asserting, that the ideas of those primary qualities are at- Paet *
tained by Abstraction ; an opinion, vfhich, if we examine it
accurately, we shall find to be unintelligible, and even ab-
surd. An extension, that is neither tangible nor visible, can-
not possibly be conceived : And a tangible or visible extension,
which is neither hard nor soft, black nor white, is equally
beyond the reach of human conception. Let any man try to
conceive a triangle in general, which is neither Isoceles nor
Scalenum, nor has any particular length or proportion of sides ;
and he will soon perceive the absurdity of all the scholastic
notions with regard to abstraction and general ideas. 1
Thus the first philosophical objection to the evidence of
sense or to the opinion of external existence consists in this,
that such an opinion, if rested on natural instinct, is contrary
to reason, and if referred to reason, is contrary to natural in-
stinct, and at the same time carries no rational evidence with
it, to convince an impartial enquirer. The second objection
goes farther, and represents this opinion as contrary to
reason : at least, if it be a principle of reason, that all sen-
sible qualities are in the mind, not in the object. 'Bereave
matter of all its intelligible qualities, both primary and
secondary, you in a manner annihilate it, and leave only a
certain unknown, inexplicable something, as the cause of our
perceptions ; a notion so imperfect, that no sceptic will think
it worth while to contend against it.
PAET II.
It may seem a very extravagant attempt of the sceptics to
destroy reason by argument and ratiocination ; yet is this the
grand scope of all their enquiries and disputes. They en-
1 This argument is drawn from Dr. that all his arguments, though otherwise
Bkukki-ey ; and indeed most of the intended, are, in reality, merely sceptical,
writings of that very ingenious author appears from this, that they admit of no
form the best lessons of scepticism, answer and produce no con>riction.
which are to be found either among the Their only effect is to cause that mo-
ancient or modern philosophers, Batle mentary amazement and irresolution
not excepted. He professes, however, and confusion, which is the result of
in his title-page (and undoubtedly with scepticism.
gret truth) to have composed his book * [This sentence was added in Ed
against the sceptics as well as against R.]
the atheists and free-thinkers. But
128 CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING.
SECT, deavour to find objections, both to our abstract reasonings,
., ^ Ij , and to those which regard matter of fact and existence.
Part II. J The chief objection against all abstract reasonings is de-
rived from the ideas of space and time ; ideas, which, in
common life and to a careless view, are very clear and intel-
ligible, but when they pass through the scrutiny of the pro-
found sciences (and they are the chief object of these sciences)
afford principles, which seem full of absurdity and contra-
diction. No priestl}- dogmas, invented on purpose to tame
and subdue the rebellious reason of mankind, ever shocked
common sense more than the doctrine of the infinite divisi-
bility of extension, with its consequences ; as they are pom-
pously displayed by all geometricians and metaphysicians,
with a kind of triumph and exultation. A real quantity,
infinitely les3 than any finite quantity, containing quantities
infinitely less than itself, and so on in infinitum ; this is an
edifice so bold and prodigious, that it is too weighty for
any pretended demonstration to support, because it shocks
^ the clearest and most natural principles of human reason. 1
But what renders the matter more extraordinary, is, that
these seemingly absurd opinions are supported by a chain
of reasoning, the clearest and most natural ; nor is it pos-
sible for us to allow the premises without admitting the
consequences. Nothing can be more convincing and satis-
factory than all the conclusions concerning the properties of
circles and triangles ; and yet, when these are once received,
how can we deny, that the angle of contact between a circle
and its tangent is infinitely less than any rectilineal angle,
that as you may encrease the diameter of the circle in infini-
tum, this angle of contact becomes still less, even in infinitum,
and that the angle of contact between other curves and their
tangents may be infinitely less than those between any circle
and its tangent, and so on, in infinitum ? The demonstration
of these principles seems as unexceptionable as that which
proves the three angles of a triangle to be equal to two right
1 Whatever disputes there may be mathematicians to be infinitely less
about mathematical points, we must than any real part of extension ; and
allow that there are physical points ; yet nothing appears more certain to
that is, parts of extension, which can- reason, than that an infinite number of
not be divided or lessened, either by the them composes an infinite extension,
eye or imagination. These images, How much more an infinite number of
then, which are present to the fancy or those infinitely small parts of extension,
senses, are absolutely indivisible, and which are still supposed infinitely divi-
consequently must be allowed by sible?
ACADEMICAL OR SCEPTICAL PHILOSOPHY. 129
ones, though the latter opinion be natural and easy, and the SECT.
former big with contradiction and absurdity. Reason here , ,_!_
seems to be thrown into a kind of amazement and suspence, Paut il
which, without the suggestions of any sceptic, gives her a
diffidence of herself, and of the ground on which she treads.
She sees a full light, which illuminates certain places ; but
that light borders upon the most profound darkness. And
between these she is so dazzled and confounded, that she
scarcely can pronounce with certainty and assurance con-
cerning any one object.
The absurdity of these bold determinations of the abstract
sciences seems to become, if possible, still more palpable with
regard to time than extension. An infinite number of real
parts of time, passing in succession, and exhausted one after
another, appears so evident a contradiction, that no man,
one should think, whose judgment is not corrupted, instead
of being improved, by the sciences, would ever be able to
admit of it.
Yet still reason must remain restless, and unquiet, even
with regard to that scepticism, to which she is driven by-
these seeming absurdities and contradictions. How any clear,
distinct idea can contain circumstances, contradictory to
itself, or to any other clear, distinct idea, is absolutely in-
comprehensible ; and is, perhaps, as absurd as any propo-
sition, which can be formed. So that nothing can be more
sceptical, or more full of doubt and hesitation, than this
scepticism itself, which arises from some of the paradoxical
conclusions of geometry or the science of quantity. 1
1 It seems to me not impossible to is also usually applied to animals of
avoid these absurdities and contradic- other colours, figures and sizes, these
tions, if it be admitted, that there is no ideas, though not actually present to
such thing as abstract or general ideas, the imagination, are easily recalled ; and
properly speaking ; but that all general our reasoning and conclusion proceed in
ideas are, in reality, particular ones, the same way, as if they were actually
attached to a general term, which recalls, present. If this be admitted (as seems
upon occasion, other particular ones, reasonable) it follows that all the ideas
that resemble, in certain circumstances, of quantity, upon which mathematicians
the idea, present to the mind. Thus reason, are nothing but particular, and
when the term Horse, is pronounced, we . such as are suggested by the senses and
immediately figure to ourselves the idea imagination, and consequently, cannot
of a black or a white animal, of a par- be infinitely divisible.' It is sufficient
ticular size or figure : But as that term
1 ' [Editions E and F insert : In gene- being so exact or determinate as to be
ral, we may pronounce, that the Ideas the Foundation of such extraordinary
pi greater, less, or equal, which are the Inferences. Ask a Mathematician what
chief Objects of Geometry, are far from he means, when he pronounces two
VOL. IV. K
130 CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING.
The sceptical objections to moral evidence, or to the
reasonings concerning matter of fact, are either popular or
philosophical. The popular objections are derived from the
natural weakness of human understanding ; the contra-
dictory opinions, which have been entertained in different
ages and nations ; the variations of our judgment in sickness
and health, youth and old age, prosperity and adversity ; the
perpetual contradiction of each particular man's opinions
and sentiments ; with many other topics of that kind. It
is needless to insist farther on this head. These objections
are but weak. For as, in common life, we reason every
moment concerning fact and existence, and cannot possibly
subsist, without continually employing this species of argu-
ment, any popular objections, derived from thence, must be
insufficient to destroy that evidence. The great subverter of
Pyrrhonism or the excessive principles of scepticism, is action,
and employment, and the occupations of common life. These
principles may flourish and triumph in the schools ; where it
is, indeed, difficult, if not impossible, to refute them. But as
soon as they leave the shade, and by the presence of the real
objects, which actuate our passions and sentiments, are put
in opposition to the more powerful principles of our nature,
they vanish like smoke, and leave the most determined scep-
tic in the same condition as other mortals.
The sceptic, therefore, had better keep within his proper
sphere, and display those philosophical objections, which arise
from more profound researches. Here he seems to have
ample matter of triumph ; while he justly insists, that all
our evidence for any matter of fact, which lies beyond the
testimony of sense or memory, is derived entirely from the
relation of cause and effect ; that we have no other idea of
this relation than that of two objects, which have been fre-
quently conjoined together; that we have no argument to
convince us, that objects, which have, in our experience, been
to have dropped this hint at present, and contempt of the ignorant by their
without prosecuting it any farther. It conclusions ; and this seems the readiest
certainly concerns all lovers of science solution of Ihese difficulties,
not to expose themselves to the ridicule
Quantities to be equal, and he must say, it. Now this is an Appeal to the
that the Idea of Equality is one of general Appearances of Objects to the
those, which cannot be defin'd, and that Imagination or Senses, and consequently
'tis sufficient to place two equal Quali- can never afford Conclusions so directly
ties before any one, in order to suggest contrary to these Faculties.]
ACADEMICAL OR SCEPTICAL PHILOSOPHY. LSI
frequently conjoined, will likewise, in other instances, be con- SECT.
joined in the same manner ; and that nothing leads us to ^_ ***
this inference but custom or a certain instinct of our nature ; Pakt II.
which it is indeed difficult to resist, but which, like other
instincts, may be fallacious and deceitful. While the sceptic
insists upon these topics, he shews his force, or rather, indeed,
his own and our weakness ; and seems, for the time at least,
to destroy all assurance and conviction. These arguments
might be displayed at greater length, if any durable good
or benefit to society could ever be expected to result from
them.
For here is the chief and most confounding objection to
excessive scepticism, that no durable good can ever result
from it ; while it remains in its full force and vigour. We
need only ask such a sceptic, What his meaning is ? And
what he proposes by all these curious researches ? He is im-
mediately at a loss, and knows not what to answer. A
Copeenican or Ptolemaic, who supports each his different
system of astronomy, may hope to produce a conviction,
which will remain constant and durable, with his audience.
A Stoic or Epicurean displays principles, which may not
only be durable, but which have an effect on conduct and
behaviour. But a Pyeehonian cannot expect, that his
philosophy will have any constant influence on the mind :
Or if it had, that its influence would be beneficial to society.
On the contrary, he must acknowledge, if he will acknowledge
any thing, that all human life must perish, were his principles
universally and steadily to prevail. All discourse, all action
would immediately cease ; and men remain in a total lethargy,
till the necessities of nature, unsatisfied, put an end to their
miserable existence. It is true ; so fatal an event is very
little to be dreaded. Nature is always too strong for prin-
ciple. And though a Pteehonian may throw himself or
others into a momentary amazement and confusion by his
profound reasonings ; the first and most trivial event in life
will put to flight all his doubts and scruples, and leave him
the same, in every point of action and speculation, with the
philosophers of every other sect, or with those who never
concerned themselves in any philosophical researches. Whenj
he awakes from his dream, he will be the first to join in the
laugh against himself, and to confess, that all his objections
are mere amusement, and can have no other tendency tliaj
x 2
SECT.
XII.
Part II.
1SS CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING.
to show the whimsical condition of mankind, who must act
and reason and believe ; though they are not able, by their
most diligent enquiry, to satisfy themselves concerning the
foundation of these operations, or to remove the objections,
which may be raised against them.
PART III.
There is, indeed, a more mitigated scepticism or academical
philosophy, which may be both durable and useful, and which
may, in part, be the result of this Pyrrhonism, or excessive
scepticism, when its undistinguished doubts are, in some
measure, corrected by common sense and reflection. The
greater part of mankind are naturally apt to be affirmative
and dogmatical in their opinions ; and while they see objects
only on one side, and have no idea of any counterpoising argu-
ment, they throw themselves precipitately into the principles,
to which they are inclined ; nor have they any indulgence
for those who entertain opposite sentiments. To hesitate or
balance perplexes their understanding, checks their passion,
and suspends their action. They are, therefore, impatient
till they escape from a state, which to them is so uneasy ;
and they think, that they can never remove themselves far
enough from it, by the violence of their affirmations and
obstinacy of their belief. But could such dogmatical
reasoners become sensible of the strange infirmities of human
understanding, even in its most perfect state, and when most
accurate and cautious in its determinations ; such a reflection
would naturally inspire them with more modesty and reserve,
and diminish their fond opinion of themselves, and their pre-
judice against antagonists. The illiterate may reflect on the
disposition of the learned, who, amidst all the advantages of
study and reflection, are commonly still diffident in their
determinations : And if any of the learned be inclined, from
their natural temper, to haughtiness and obstinacy, a small
tincture of Pyrrhonism might abate their pride, by shewing
them, that the few advantages, which they may have attained
over their fellows, are but inconsiderable, if compared with
the universal perplexity and confusion, which is inherent in
human nature. In general, there is a degree of doubt, and
caution, and modesty, which, in all kinds of scrutiny and
.decision, ought for ever to accompany a just reasoner.
ACADEMICAL OR SCEPTICAL PHILOSOPHY. 133
Another species of mitigated scepticism, which may be of SECT.
advantage to mankind, and which may be the natural result ._ x * Ij ,
of the Pyeehonian doubt and scruples, is the limitation of Paut iil
our enquiries to such subjects as are best adapted to the
narrow capacity of human understanding. The imagination
of man is naturally sublime, delighted with whatever is
remote and extraordinary, and running, without controul,
into the most distant parts of space and time in order to
avoid the objects, which custom has rendered too familiar
to it. A correct Judgment observes a contrary method, and
avoiding all distant and high enquiries, confines itself to
common life, and to such subjects as fall under daily practice
and experience ; leaving the more sublime topics to the em-
bellishment of poets and orators, or to the arts of priests and
politicians. To bring us to so salutary a determination,
nothing can be more serviceable, than to be once thoroughly
convinced of the force of the Pyeehonian doubt, and of the
impossibility, that any thing, but the strong power of natural
instinct, could free us from it. Those who have a propensity
to philosophy, will still continue their researches; because
they reflect, that, besides the immediate pleasure, attending
such an occupation, philosophical decisions are nothing but
the reflections of common life, methodized and corrected.
But they will never be tempted to go beyond common life, so
long as they consider the imperfection of those faculties
which they employ, their narrow reach, and their inaccurate
operations. While we cannot give a satisfactory reason, why
we believe, after a thousand experiments, that a stone will
fall, or fire burn ; can we ever satisfy ourselves concerning
any determination, which we may form, with regard to the
origin of worlds, and the situation of nature, from, and to
eternity ?
This narrow limitation, indeed, of our enquiries, is, in
every respect, so reasonable, that it suffices to make the
slightest examination into the natural powers of the human
mind, and to compare them with their objects, in order to
recommend it to us. We shall then find what are the proper
subjects of science and enquiry.
It seems to me, that the only objects of the abstract
sciences or of demonstration are quantity and number, and
that all attempts to extend this more perfect species of
knowledge beyond these bounds are mere sophistry and
SECT.
XII.
Pakt III.
134 CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING.
illusion. As the component parts of quantity and number
are entirely similar, their relations become intricate and in-
volved ; and nothing can be more curious, as well as useful,
than to trace, by a variety of mediums, their equality or in-
equality, through their different appearances. But as all
other ideas are clearly distinct and different from each other,
we can never advance farther, by our utmost scrutiny, than
to observe this diversity, and, by an obvious reflection, pro-
Inounce one thing not to be another. Or if there be any
I difficulty in these decisions, it proceeds entirely from the un-
Ideterminate meaning of words, which is corrected by juster
Jdefinitions. That the square of the hypothenuse is equal to
ihe squares of the other two sides, cannot be known, let the
terms be ever so exactly defined, without a train of reasoning
and enquiry. But to convince us of this proposition, that
where there is no property, there can be no injustice, it is only
necessary to define the terms, and explain injustice to be a
violation of property. This proposition is, indeed, nothing
but a more imperfect definition. It is the same case with
all those pretended syllogistical reasonings, which may be
found in every other branch of learning, except the sciences
of quantity and number ; and these may safely, I think, be
pronounced the only proper objects of knowledge and demon-
stration.
All other enquiries of men regard only matter of fact and
existence ; and these are evidently incapable of demonstration.
Whatever is may not be. No negation of a fact can involve
a contradiction. The non-existence of any being, without
exception, is as clear and distinct an idea as its existence.
The proposition, which affirms it not to be, * however false, is
no less conceivable and intelligible, than that which affirms
it to be. The case is different with the sciences, properly so /*
called. Every proposition, which is not true, is there con- '
fused and unintelligible. That the cube root of 64 is equal
to the half of 10, is a false proposition, and can never be
distinctly conceived. But that CLesar, or the angel Gabeiel,
or any being never existed, may be a false proposition, but
still is perfectly conceivable, and implies no contradiction.
The existence, therefore, of any being can only be proved
by arguments from its cause or its effect ; and these argu-
ments are founded entirely on experience. If we reason
1 [However false : added in Ed. F.]
ACADEMICAL OR SCEPTICAL PHILOSOPHY. 136
a priori, any thing may appear able to produce any thing. SECT.
The falling of a pebble may, for aught we know, extinguish . X * L _^
the sun ; or the wish of a man controul the planets in their Past III.
orbits. It is only experience, which teaches us the nature
and bounds of cause and effect, and enables us to infer the
existence of one object from that of another. 1 Such is the
foundation of moral reasoning, which forms the greater part
of human knowledge, and is the source of all human action
and behaviour.
Moral reasonings are either concerning particular or general
facts. All deliberations in life regard the former; as also
all disquisitions in history, chronology, geography, and as-
tronomy.
The sciences, which treat of general facts, are politics,
natural philosophy, physic, chymistry, &c. where the qualities,
causes and effects of a whole species of objects are enquired
into.
Divinity or Theology, as it proves the existence of a Deity,
and the immortality of souls, is composed partly of reason-
ings concerning particular, partly concerning general facts.
It has a foundation in reason, so far as it is supported by
experience. But its best and most solid foundation is faith
and divine revelation.
Morals and criticism are not so properly objects of the
understanding as of taste and sentiment. Beauty, whether
moral or natural, is felt, more properly than perceived. Or
if we reason concerning it, and endeavour to fix its standard,
we regard a new fact, to wit, the general taste of mankind,
or some such fact, which may be the object of reasoning and
enquiry.
When we run over libraries, persuaded of these principles,
what havoc must we make ? If we take in our hand any.
volume ; of divinity or school metaphysics, for instance ; let!
us ask, Does it contain any abstract reasoning concerning
quantity or number ? No. Does it contain any experimental
reasoning concerning matter of fact and existence ? No. Com-
mit it then to the flames : For it can contain nothing but
sophistry and illusion.
1 That impious maxim of the ancient of the supreme Being may create matter ;
philosophy, Ex nihilo, nihil Jit, by bnt, for aught we know a priori, the
which the creation of matter was ex- will of any other being might creato it,
eluded, ceases to be a maxim, according or any other cause, that the most wtiim-
to this philosophy. Not only the will eical imagination can assign.
\
v
DISSERTATION
ON THE
PASSIONS.
4
A DISSERTATION ON THE PASSIONS.
Sect. I. sect.
i.
1. Some objects produce immediately an agreeable sensation^ * '
by the original structure of our organs, and are thence de-
nominated Good ; as others, from their immediate disagree-
able sensation, acquire the appellation of Evil. Thusjnode-
rate warmth is agreeable and good ; excessive heat painful
and evil.
Some objects again, by being naturally conformable or
contrary to passion, excite an agreeable or painful sensation ;
and are thence Called Good or Evil. The punishment of an
adversary, by gratifying revenge, is good ; the sickness of a
companion, by affecting friendship, is evil.
2. All good or evil, whence-ever it arises, produces various
passions and affections, according to the light in which it is
surveyed.
When good is certain or very probable, it produces Jot :
When evil is in the same situation, there arises Gbiep or
Sorrow.
When either good or evil is uncertain, it gives rise to Fear
or Hope, according to the degree of uncertainty on one side
or the other.
Desire arises from good considered simply ; and Aver-
sion, from evil. The Will exerts itself, when either the
presence of the good or absence of the evil may be attained
by any action of the mind or body.
3. None of these passions seem to contain any thing
curious or remarkable, except Hope and Fear, which, being
derived from the probability of any good or evil, are mixed
passions, that merit our attention.
Probability arises from an opposition of contrary chances
or causes, by which the mind is not allowed to fix on either
side ; but is incessantly tossed from one to another, and is
determined, one moment, to consider an object as existent,
140 A DISSERTATION ON THE PASSIONS.
SECT, and another moment as the contrary. The imagination or
_ . _- understanding, call it which you please, fluctuates between
the opposite views ; and though perhaps it may be oftener
turned to one side than the other, it is impossible for it, by
reason of the opposition of causes or chances, to rest on
either. The pro and con of the question alternately prevail ;
and the_mind, surveying the objects in their opposite causes,
finds such a contrariety as destroys all certainty or estab-
lished opinion.
Suppose, then, that the object, concerning which we are
doubtful, produces either desire or aversion ; it is evident,
that, according as the mind turns itself to one side or the
other, it must feeLa-momentary impression of joy or sorrow.
An object, whose existence we desire, gives satisfaction, when
we think of those causes, which produce it ; and for the same
reason, excites grief or uneasiness from the opposite con-
sideration. So that, as the understanding, in probable ques-
. tions, is divided between the contrary points of view, the
Jr~/ heart must in the same manner be divided between opposite
emotions.
Now, if we consider the human mind, we shall observe,
that, with regard to the passions, it is not like a wind in-
strument of music, which, in running over all the notes, im-
mediately loses the sound when the breath ceases ; but rather
resembles a string-instrument, where, after each stroke, the
vibrations still retain some sound, which gradually and
insensibly decays. The imagination is extremely quick and
agile ; but the passions, in comparison, are slow and restive :
For which reason, when any object is presented, which af-
fords a variety of views to the one and emotions to the other ;
though the fancy may change its views with great celerity ;
each stroke will not produce a clear and distinct note of pas-
sion, but the one passion will always be mixed and con-
founded with the other. According as the probability in-
clines to good or evil, the passion of grief or joy predomi-
nates in the composition; and these passions being inter-
mingled by means of the contrary views of the imagination,
produce by the union the passions of hope or fear.
4. As this theory seems to carry its own evidence along
with it, we shall be more concise in our proofs.
The passions of fear and hope may arise, when the chances
are equal on both sides, and no superiority can be discovered
in one above the other. Nay, in this situation the passions
A DISSERTATION ON THE PASSIONS. 141
are rather the strongest, as the mind has then the least foun- SECT,
dation to rest upon, and is tost with the greatest uncertainty. *
Throw in a superior degree of probability to the side of grief,
you immediately see that passion diffuse itself over the com-
position, and tincture it into fear. Encrease the probability,
and by that means the grief; the fear prevails still more and
more, 'till at last it runs insensibly, as the joy continually
diminishes, into pure grief. After you have brought it to
this situation, diminish the grief, by a contrary operation to
that, which encreased it, to wit, by diminishing the proba-
bility on the melancholy side ; and you will see the passion
clear every moment, 'till it changes insensibly into hope ;
which again runs, by slow degrees, into joy, as you encrease
that part of the composition, by the encrease of the pro-
bability. Are not these as plain proofs, that the passions of
fear and hope are mixtures of grief and joy, as in optics it is
a proof, that a coloured ray of the sun, passing through a
prism, is a composition of two others, when, as you diminish
or encrease the quantity of either, you find it prevail pro-
portionably, more or less, in the composition ?
5. Probability is of two kinds ; either when the object is x
jtself uncertain, and to be determined by chance : or wKeh,
though thlTobject be already certain, yet it is uncertain to our y
judgment, which finds a number of proofs or presumptions
on each side of the question. Both these kinds of pro-
bability cause fear and hope ; which must proceed from tly t
property, in which they agree ; namely, the uncertainty & d
fluctuation which they bestow on the passion, by that a >n-
trariety of views, which is common to both.
6. It is a probable good or evil, which commonly causes
hope or fear ; because probability, producing an inconstant
and wavering survey of an object, occasions naturally a like
mixture and uncertainty of passion. But we may observe,
that, wherever, from other causes, this mixture can be pro-
duced, the passions o77ear~and hope will arise, even~lhough
there be no probability.
An evil, conceived as barely possible, sometimes produces
fear ; especially if the evil be very great. A man cannot
think on excessive pain and torture without trembling, if he
runs the least risque of suffering them. The s mallness of
jthe probability is compensated by th.e__greatness of the evil.
Bute yen im possible evils cause_ear ; as when we tremble
on the brink of a precipice, though wo know ourselves to be
142 A DISSERTATION ON THE PASSIONS.
SECT, in perfect security, and have it in our choice, whether we
_ ' ^ will advance a step farther. The immediate presenc e of t he
evil influences the imagination and produces a species of
belief; but being opposed by the reflection on our security,
that belief is immediately retracted, and causes the same
kind of passion, as when, from a contrariety of chances,
contrary passions are produced.
Evils, which are certain, have sometimes the same effect as
the possible or impossible. A man, in a strong prison, with-
out the least means of escape, trembles at the thoughts of
the rack, to which he is sentenced. The evil is here jixeiLin
itself ; but the mind has not courage^to fix upon it ; and this
fluctuation gives rise to a passion ofa similar appearance with
fear.
7. But it is not only where good or evil is uncertain as to
its existence, but also as to its (kind) that fear or hope arises.
If any one were told that one of his sons is suddenly killed ;
the passion, occasioned by this event, would not settle into
grief, 'till he got certain information which of his sons he
had lost. Though each side of the question produces here
the same passion ; that passion cannot settle, but receives
from the imagination, which is unfixed, a tremulous unsteady
motion, resembling the mixture and contention of grief and joy.
8. Thus all kinds of uncertainty have a strong connexion
with fear, even though they do not cause any opposition of
passions, by the opposite views, which they present to us.
Should I leave a friend in any malady, I should feel more
anxiety upon his account, than if he were present ; though
perhaps I am not only incapable of giving him assistance,
but likewise of judging concerning the event of his sickness.
There are a thousand little circumstances of his situation
and condition, which I desire to know ; and the knowledge
of them would prevent that fluctuation and uncertainty, so
nearly allied to fear. Hoeace * has remarked this phenom-
enon.
Ut assidens implumibus pulls avisi
Serpentum allapsus timet,
Magis rdictis ; non, ut adsit, auxilt
Latura plus prcesentibus.
A virgin on her bridal-night goes to bed full of fears and
1 [In the Treatise, Vol. ii. p. 222, the tium.' Hume's quotations from Latin
quotation reads ' pullus ' and ' serpen- are frequently incorrect. Ed.]
A DISSERTATION ON THE PASSIONS. 143
apprehensions, though she expects nothing but pleasure. SECT
The confusion of wishes and joys, the newness and greatness . . --
of the unknown event, so embarrass the mind, that it knows
not in what image or passion to fix itself.
9. Concerning the mixture of affections, we may remark,
in general, that when contrary passioiia arisfiLjfrpjn^jpJtjjecis
nowise connected together, they take place alternately. Thus
when a man is afflicted for the loss of a law-suit, and joyful
for the birth of a son, the mind, running from the agreeable
to the calamitous object ; with whatever celerity it may per-
form this motion, can scarcely temper the one affection with
the other, and remain between them in a state of indifference.
It more easily attains that calm situation, when the same
event is of a mixed nature, and contains something adverse
and something prosperous in its different circumstances. For
in that case, both the passions, mingling with each other by
means of the relation;- often become mutually destructive,
and leave the mind in perfect tranquillityT"
But suppose, that the object is not a compound of good
and evil, but is considered as probable or improbable in any
degree ; in that case, the contrary passions will both of them
be present at once in the s'ouf, and instead of balancing and
tempering each other, will subsist together, and by their
union produce a third impression or affection, such as hope
or fear.
The influence of the relations of ideas (which we shall ]
explain more fully afterwards) is plainly seen in this affair. %
In contrary passions, if the objects be totally different, the . j
passions are like two opposite liquors in different bottles,
which have no influence on each other. If the objects be
intimately connected, the passions are like an alcali and an \
acid, which, being mingled, destroy each other. If the rela- T\ . Q/W
tion be more imperfect, and consist in the contradictory views
of the same object, the passions are like oil and vinegar,
which, however mingled, never perfectly unite and incorpo-
rate. W 5
The effect of a mixture of passions, when one of them is
predominant, and swallows up the other, shall be explained
afterwards.
144 A DISSERTATION ON TID3 PASSIONS.
S 1 ^ Sect. n.
' 1. Besides those passions above-mentioned, which arise
from a direct pursuit of good and aversion to evil, there are
.others which are of a more complicated nature, and imply
more than one view or consideration. Th.us\Pride is a certain
satisfaction in ourselves, on account of some accomplishment
or possession, which we enjoy : Humility, on the other hand,
is a dissatisfaction with ourselves, on account of some defect
or infirmity.
Love or Friendship is a complacency in another, on account
of his accomplishments or services : Hatred, the contrary.
2. In these two sets of passion, there is an obvious dis-
tinction to be made between the object of the passion and its
/fxmse?\ The object of pride and humility is self : The cause
OT"fche passion is some excellence in the former case ; some
fault, in the latter. The object of love and hatred is some
other person : The causes, in like manner, are either excel-
lencies or faults.
With regard to all these passions, the causes are what
excite the emotion ; the object is what the mind directs its
view to when the emotion is excited. Our merit, for instance,
raises pride ; and it is essential to pride to turn our view on
ourselves with complacency and satisfaction.
Now, as the causes of these passions are very numerous
and various, though their object be uniform and simple ; it
may be a subject of curiosity to consider, what th at cir cum-
stance is, in which all these various causes agree ; or in other
words, what is the real efficient cause of the passion. We
shall begin with pride and humility.
3. In order to explain the causes of these passions, we
must reflect on certain principles, which, though they have
a mighty influence on every operation, both of the under-
standing and passions, are not commonly much insisted on
by philosophers. The first of these is the ^association of
ideasj or that principle, by which we make an easy transition
"from one idea to another. However uncertain and change-
able our thoughts may be, they are not entirely without rule
and method in their changes. They usually pass with regu-
larity, from one object, to what resembles it, is contiguous to
A DISSERTATION ON THE PASSIONS. 145
it, or produced by it. 1 When one idea is present to the imagi- SECT.
nation, any other, united by these relations/fiaturally follows it, /
and^enters with more facility, by means of that introduction.
The second property, which I shall observe in the human -^
mind, is a like association of impressions or emotions. All
resembling impressions are connected together ; and no sooner
one arises, than the rest naturally follow. Grief and dis-
appointment give rise to anger, anger to envy, envy to malice,
and malice to grief again. In like manner, our temper, when
elevated with joy, naturally throws itself into love, generosity,
courage, pride, and other resembling affections.
In the third place, it is observable of these two kinds of
association, that they very much assist and forward each
other, and that the transition is more easily made, where
they both concur in the same object. Thus, a man, who, by
an injury received from another, is very much discomposed
and ruffled in his temper, is apt to find a hundred subjects of
hatred, discontent, impatience, fear, and other uneasy pas-
sions ; especially, if he can discover these subjects in or near
the person, who was the object of his first emotion. Those
principles, which forward the transition of ideas, here concur
with those which operate on the passions ; and both, uniting
in one action, bestow on the mind a double impulse..
Upon this occasion I may cite a passage from an elegant
writer, who expresses himself in the following manner : 2
' As the fancy delights in every thing, that is great, strange,
' or beautiful, and is stiU the more pleased the more it finds
' of these perfections in the same object, so it is capable of
1 receiving new satisfaction by the assistance of another
' sense. Thus, any continual sound, as the music of birds,
' or a fall of waters, awakens every moment the mind of the
* beholder, and makes him more attentive to the several
* beauties of the place, that lie before him. Thus, if there
* arises a fragrancy of smells or perfumes, they heighten the
* pleasure of the imagination, and make even the colours and
1 verdure of the landscape appear more agreeable ; for the
' ideas of both senses recommend each other, and are
- pleasanter together than where they enter the mind sepa-
' rately : As the different colours of a picture, when they
* are well disposed, set off one another, and receive an addi-
1 See Enquiry concerning Human ciation of Ideas, p. 1 7.
Understanding, Sect. Ill, Of the Asso- * Addisox, Spectator, No. 412.
VO .. IT. j,
140 A DISSERTATION ON THE PASSIONS.
SECT. ' tional beauty from the advantage of the situation.' In
/ r these phsenomena, w6 may remark the association both of
impressions and ideas : as well as the mutual assistance these
associations lend to each other.
4. It seems to me, that both these species of relations have
place in producing Pride or Humility, and are the real, efficient
causes of the passion.
With regard to the first relation, that of ideas, there can
be no question. Whatever we are proud of must, in some
manner, belong to us.n It is always owrknowledge, our sense ,
beauty, possessions, family, on which we value ourselves.
Self, which is the object of the passion, must still be related
to that quality or circumstance, which causes the passion.
There must be a connexion between them ; an easy transition
of the imagination ; or a facility of the conception in passing
from one to the other. Where this connexion is wanting, no
object can either excite pride or humility ; and the more you
weaken the connexion, the more you weaken th e passion .
5. The only subject of enquiry is, whether there be a like
\ relation of impressions or sentiments, wherever pride or
humility is felt ; whether the circumstance, which causes the
^passion, previously excites a sentiment similar to the pas-
sion ; and whether there be an easy transfusion of the one
iinto the other. r A i^
The feeling or sentiment of pride is agreeable ; of humility,
painful. An agreeable sensation is, therefore, related to the
former ; a painful, to the latter. And if we find, after ex-
amination, that every object, which produces pride, produces
also a separate pleasure; and every object, which causes
humility, excites in like manner a separate uneasiness ; we
must allow, in that case, that the present theory is fully
proved and ascertained. The doub le rel ation of ide as and
sentiments will be acknowledged incontestable.
6. To begin with personal merit and demerit, the most
obvious causes of these passions; it would be entirely foreign
to our present purpose to examine the foundation of moral
distinctions. It is sufficient to observe, that the foregoing
theory concerning the origin of the passions may be defended
on any hypothesis. The most probable system - , which has
been advanced to explain the difference between fice and
virtue, is, that either from a primary constitution of nature^
or from a sense of public or private interest, certain charac-
t - '
A. DISSERTATION ON THE PASSIONS. 147
ters, upon the very view and contemplation, produce uneasi- sect
ness ; and others, in like manner, excite pleasure. The un- , ]j_
easiness and satisfaction, produced in the spectator, are es-
sential to vice and virtue. To approve of a character, is to
feel a delight upon its appearance. To disapprove of it, is to
be sensible of an uneasiness. The pain andjpleasure^ there-
fore, beingj in a manner, the primary source of blame or
praise, must also be the causes of all their effects ; and con-
sequently, the causes of pride and humility, which are the
unavoidable attendants of that distinction.
But supposing this theory of morals should not be re-
ceived ; it is still evident that pain and pleasure, if notthe
sources of moral distinctions, are at least inseparable from
them! STgenerous and noble character affords a satisfaction
evenTn the survey ; and when presented to us, though only
in a poem or fable, never fails to charm and delight us. On
the other hand, cruelty and treachery displease from their
very nature ; nor is it possible ever to reconcile us to these
qualities, either in ourselves or others. Yirtue ^therefore.
produces always a pleasure distinct from the pride or self-
satisfaction which attends it : Vice, an uneasiness separate
from the humility or remorse.
But a high or low conceit of ourselves arises not from those
qualities alone of the mind, which, according to common
systems of ethics, have been defined parts of moral duty ;
but from any other, which have a connexion with pleasure or
uneasiness. Nothing flatters our vanity more than the talent
of pleasing by our wit, good-humour, or any other accom-
plishment ; and nothing gives us a more sensible mortifica-
tion, than a disappointment in any attempt of that kind. No
one has ever been able to tell precisely, what wit is, and to
shew why such a system of thought must be received under
that denomination, and such another rejected. It is bytfasBe}
alone we can decide concerning it ; nor are we possessed of any
other standard, by which we^ can form a judgment of this
nature. Now what is thi^ taste, from which true and false
wit in a manner receive their being, and without which no
thought can have a title to either of these denominations ?
It is plainly nothing but a sensation of pleasure from true
wit, and of disgust "from false, without our 'being able to tell
tha-rsasona of that satisfaction or uneasiness. The power of
exciting these opposite sensations is, therefore, the very es-
l2
148 A DISSERTATION ON THE PASSIONS.
sect, sence of true or false wit ; and consequently, the cause of that
, ' _ vanity or mortification, which arises from one or the other.
7. Be auty of _ajQ_kinds gives us a peculiar delight and
s atisfa ction; as deformity produces pain, upon whatever
subjecFTt may be placed, and whether surveyed in an ani-
mate or inanimate object. If the beauty or deformity belong
to our own face, shape, or person, this pleasure or uneasiness
is converted into pride or humility ; as having in this case
all the circumstances requisite to produce a perfect transi-
tion, according to the present theory.
It would seem, that the very essence of beauty consists in
its power of producing pleasure. All its effects, therefore,
must proceed from this circumstance : And if beauty is so
universally the subject of vanity, it is only from its being the
cause of pleasure.
Concerning all other bodily accomplishments, we may
observe in general, that whatever in ourselves is either useful ,
beautiful, or surprizing, is an object of pride ; and the contrary
of humility. These qualities agree in producing a separate
pleasure ; and agree in nothing else.
We are vain of the surprizing adventures which we have met
with, the escapes which we have made, the dangers to which
we have been exposed ; as well as of our surprizing feats of
vigour and activity. Hence the origin of vulgar lying;
where men, without any interest, and merely out of vanity,
heap up a number of extraordinary events, which are either
the fictions of their brain ; or, if true, have no connexion
with themselves. Their fruitful invention supplies them
with a variety of adventures ; and where that talent is want-
ing, they appropriate such as belong to others, in order to
gratify their jy_anity : _ For between that passion, and the
-sentiment of pleasure, there is always a close connexion.
8. But though pride and humility have the qualities of
our mind and body, that is, of self, for their natural and
more immediate causes ; we find by experience, that many
other objects produce these affections. We found vanity
upon houses, gardens, equipage, and other _ex.ternal._objects ;
as well as upon personal merit and accomplishments. This
happens when external objects acquire any particular rela-
tion to ourselves, -and are associated or connected with us.
A beautiful fish in the ocean, a well-proportioned animal in
a forest, and indeed, any thing, which neither belongs nor is
related to us, has no manner of influence on our vanity ;
A. DISSERTATION ON THE iASSIONS. 149
whatever extraordinary qualities it may be endowed with, SECT.
and whatever degree of surprize and admiration it may natu- **
rally occasion. It must b e .someway associated with us, in
order to touch our pride. Its idea must hang, in a manner,
upon that of ourselves ; and the transition from one to the
other must be easy and natural.
Men are vain of the beauty either of their country, or their
county, or even of their parish. Here the idea of beauty
plainly produces a pleasure. This pleasure is related to
pride. The object or cause of this pleasure is, by the sup-
position, related to self, the object of pride. By thi s double
relation of sentiments and ideas, a transition is made from
one to the other.
Men are also vain of the happy temperature of the cli-
mate, in which they are born ; of the fertility of their
native soil ; of the goodness of the wines, fruits, or victuals,
produced by it ; of the softness or force of their language,
with other particulars of that kind. These objects have
plainly a reference to the pleasures of sense, and are origin-
ally considered as agreeable to the feeling, taste or hearing.
How could they become causes of pride, except by means of
that transition above explained ?
There are some, who discover a vanity of an opposite kind,
and affect to depreciate their own country, in comparison of
those, to which they have travelled. These persons find,
when they are at home, and surrounded with their countrymen,
that the strong j^elation between them and their own nation
is shared with so many,~that~ ItTs in a manner lost to them ;
whereas, that distant relation to a foreign country, which is
formed by their having seen it, and lived in it, is augmented
by their considering how few have done the same. For this
reason, they always admire the beauty, utility, and rarity of
what they met with abroad, above what they find at home.
Since we can be vain of a country, climate or any inani-
mate object, which bears a relation to us ; it is no wonder wc
should be vain of the qualities of those, who are connected
with us by blood or friendship. Accordingly we find, that
any qualities which, when belonging to ourselves, produce
jpride, produce also, in a less degree, the same affection,
when discovered in persons, related to us. The beauty, ad-
dress, merit, credit, and honours of their kindred are care-
fully displayed by the proud, and are considerable sources of
their vanity.
150 A DISSERTATION ON THE PASSIONS.
SECT. As we are proud of riches in ourselves, wediesire? in order
_ ,._ to gratify our vanity, that every one who has any connexion
with us, should likewise be possessed of them, and are
ashamed of such as are mean or poor among our friends and
relations. Our forefathers being regarded as our nearest
relations ; every one naturally affects to be of a good family,
and to be descended from a long succession of rich and
honourable ancestors.
Those, who boast of the antiquity of their families, are
glad when they can join this circumstance, that their an-
cestors, for many generations, have been uninterrupted pro-
prietors of the same portion of land, and that their family
has never changed its possessions, or been transplanted into
any other county or province. It is an additional subject of
vanity, when they can boast, that these possessions have been
transmitted through a descent, composed entirely of males,
and that the honours and fortune have never passed through
any female. Let us endeavour to explain these phsenomena
from the foregoing theory.
When any one values himself on the antiquity of his
family, the subjects of his vanity are not merely the extent
of time and number of ancestorj^foj^in that respect all
mankind are alike), but these c^cumsteincei^ joined to the
riches and credit of his ancestors, which are supposed to
reflect a lustre on himself, upon account of his connexion
with them. Since therefore the_ passion depends on the
connexion, whatever strengthens the connexion must also
encrease the passion, and whatever weakens the connexion must
diminish the passion. But it is evident, that the sameness of
the possessions must strengthen the relation of ideas, arising
from blood and kindred, and convey the fancy with greater
facility from one generation to another ; from the remotest
ancestors to their posterity, who are both their heirs and
their descendants. By this facility, the sentiment is trans-
mitted more entire, and excites a greater degree of pride and
vanity.
The case is the same with the transmission of the honours
and fortune, through a succession of males, without their
passing through any female. .It is an obvious quality of
human nature, that the imagination naturally turns to what-
ever is important and considerable ; and where two objects are
presented, a small and a great, it usually leaves the former,
and dwells entirely on the latter. This is the reason, why
A DISSERTATION ON THE PASSIONS. 161
children commonly bear their father's name, and are es- SECT,
teemed to be of a nobler or meaner birth, according to his . _ /
family. And though the mother should be possessed of
superior qualities to the father, as often happens, the general
rule prevails, notwithstanding the exception, according to
the doctrine, which shall be explained afterwards. Nay,
even when a superiority of any kind is so great, or when
any other reasons have such an effect, as to make the
children rather represent the mother's family than the
father's, the general rule still retains an efficacy, sufficient to
weaken the relation, and make a kind of breach in the line
of ancestors. The imagination runs not along them with the
same facility, nor is able to transfer the honour and credit of
the ancestors to their posterity of the same name and family
so readily, as when the transition is conformable to the
general rule, and passes through the male line, from father
to son, or from brother to brother.
9. But property^ as it gives the fullest power and authority
over any object, is the relation, which has the greatest in-
fluence on these passions. 1
"Every thing, belonging to a vain man, is the best that is
any where to be found. His houses, equipage, furniture,
cloaths, horses, hounds, excel all others in his conceit ; and
it is easy to observe, that, from the least advantage in any
of these he draws a new subject of pride and vanity. His
wine, if you will believe him, has a finer flavour than any
other ; his cookery is more exquisite ; his table more orderly ;
his servants more expert : the air, in which he lives, more
healthful ; the soil, which he cultivates, more fertile ; his
fruits ripen earlier, and to greater perfection : Such a thing
is remarkable for its novelty ; such another for its antiquity :
1 That property is a species of rela- of it ; and in fact does commonly pro-
tion, which produces a connexion he- cure him that advantage. For rights
tween the person and the object is evi- which had no influence, and never took
dent : The imagination passes naturally place, would be no rights at all. Now
and easily from the consideration of a a person who disposes of an object, and
field to that of the person to whom it reaps benefit from it, both produces, or
belongs. It may only be asked, how may produce, effects on it, and is affeet-
this relation is resolvable into any of ed by it. Property therefore is a spe-
those three, viz. causation, contiguity, cies of cau safi&nT It enables the person
and resemblance, which we have affirmed to produce alterations on the object, and
to be the only connecting principles it supposes that his condition is im-
among ideas. To be the proprietor of proved and altered by it. It is indeed
any thing is to be the sole person, who, the relation the mostinterestingof any,
by the laws of society, has a right to and occurs the most frequently to the
dispose of it, and to enjoy the benefit mind. [This note was added in Ed.
of it. This right has at least a ten- N]
dency to procure the person the exercise
152 A DISSERTATION ON THE PASSIONS.
SECT, This is the workmanship of a famous artist ; that belonged
__rJ _^ once to such a prince or great man. All objects, in a word,
which are useful, beautiful, or surprizing, or are related to
such, may, by means of property, give rise to this passion.
These all agree in giving pleasure. This alone is common
to them ; and therefore mu3t be the quality, that produces the
passion, which is their common effect. As every new in-
stance is a new argument, and as the instances are here with-
out number ; it would seem, that this theory is sufficiently
confirmed by experience.
Riches imply the power of acquiring whatever is agreeable ;
and as they comprehend many particular objects of vanity,
necessarily become one of the chief causes of that passion.
10. Our opinions of all kinds are strongly affected by
society and sympathy, and it is almost impossible for us
to support any principle or sentiment, against the universal
consent of every one, with whom we have any friendship or
. correspondence. But of all our opinions, those, which we
form in our own favour ; however lofty dr presuming ; are,
at bottom, the frailest, and the most easily shaken by the
contradiction and opposition of others. Our great concern,
in this case, makes us soon alarmed, and keeps our passions
upon the watch : Our consciousness of partiality still makes
us dread a mistake : And the very difficulty of judging con-
cerning an object, which is never set at a due distance from
us, nor is seen in a proper point of view, makes us hearken
anxiously to the opinions of others, who are better qualified to
form just opinions concerning us. Hence that strong love of
fame, with which all mankind are possessed. Jt ig_i n order
to fix and confirm their favourable opinion of themsiliis,
not from any original passion, that they seek the applauses of
others. And when a man desires to be praised, it is for the
same reason, that a beauty is pleased with surveying herself
in a favourable looking-glass, and seeing the _reflectiQn_of
her own charms.
Though it be difficult, in all points of speculation, to dis-
tinguish a cause, which encreases an effect, from one, which
solely produces it ; yet in the present case the phenomena
seem pretty strong and satisfactory in confirmation of the
foregoing principle.
We receive a much greater satisfaction from the approba-
A DISSERTATION ON THE PASSIONS. 153
tion of those whom we ourselves esteem and approve of, than SECT,
of those whom we contemn and despise. ^y
When esteem is obtained after a long and intimate ac-
quaintance, it gratifies our vanity in a peculiar manner.
The suffrage of those, who are shy and backward in giving
praise, is attended with an additional relish and enjoyment,
if we can obtain it in our favour.
Where a great man is delicate in his choice of favourites,
every one courts with greater earnestness his countenance
and protection.
Praise never gives us much pleasure, unless it concur with
our own opinion, and extol us for those qualities, in which
we chiefly excel.
These phenomena seem to prove, that the favourable suf-
frages of the world are regarded only as authorities, or as
confirmations of our own opinion. And if the opinions of
others have more influence in this subject than in any other,
it is easily accounted for from the nature of the subject.
11. Thus few objects, however related to us, and whatever
pleasure they produce, are able to excite a great degree of
pride or self-satisfaction; unless they be also obvious to
others, and engage the approbation of the spectators. What
disposition of mind so desirable as the peaceful, resigned,
contented ; which readily submits to all the dispensations of
providence, and preserves a constant serenity amidst the
greatest misfortunes and disappointments ? Yet this dispo-
sition, though acknowledged to be a virtue or excellence, is
seldom the foundation of great vanity or self-applause ;
having no brilliancy or exterior lustre, and rather cheering
the heart, than animating the behaviour and conversation. c k
The case is the same with many other qualities of the mind,
body, or fortune ; and this circumstance, as well as the double
relations above mentioned, must be admitted to be of con-
sequence in the production of these passions.
A second circumstance, which is of consequence in this
affair, is the constancy and durableness of the object. What
is very casual and inconstant, beyond the common course ot
human affairs, gives little joy, and less pride. We are not
much satisfied with the thing itself; and are still less apt to
feel any new degree of self-satisfaction upon its account.
We foresee and anticipate its change ; which makes us little
satisfied with the thing itself: We compare it to ourselves,
154 A DISSERTATION ON THE PASSIONS.
SECT, whose existence is more durable ; by which means its in-
_.^_! - constancy appears still greater. It seems ridiculous to make
ourselves the object of a passion, on account of a quality or
possession, which is of so much shorter duration, and attends
us during so small a part of our existence.
A third circumstance, not to be neglected, is that the
objects, in order to produce pride or self-valujej^must be
peculiar to us, or at least common to us with a few others.
The advantages of sun- shine, good weather, a happy climate,
&c. distinguish us not from any of our companions, and give
us no preference or superiority. The comparison, which we
are every moment apt to make, presents no inference to our
advantage ; and we still remain, notwithstanding these en-
joyments, on a level with all our friends and acquaintance.
As health and sickness vary incessantly to all men, and
there is no one, who is solely or certainly fixed in either ;
these accidental blessings and calamities are in a manner
separated from us, and are not considered as a foundation
for vanity or humiliation. But wherever a malady of any
kind is so rooted in our constitution, that we no longer en-
tertain any hope of recovery, from that moment it damps
our self-conceit, as is evident in old men, whom nothing
mortifies more than the consideration of their age and in-
firmities. They endeavour, as long as possible, to conceal
their blindness and deafness, their rheums and gouts ; nor
do they ever avow them without reluctance and uneasiness.
And though young men are not ashamed of every head-ach
or cold which they fall into ; yet no topic is more proper to
mortify human pride, and make us entertain a mean opinion
of our nature, than this, that we are every moment of our
lives subject to such infirmities. This proves, that bodilv
pain and sickness arc in themselves proper causes of 1m-
4mility ; though the custom of estimating every thing, by
comparison, more than by its intrinsic worth and value,
makes us overlook those calamities, which we find incident
to every one, and causes us to form an idea of our merit and
character, independent of them.
We are ashamed of such maladies as affect others, and
are either dangerous or disagreeable to them. Of the epi-
lepsy ; because it gives horror to every one present : Of the
itch ; because it is infectious : Of the king's evil ; because
A DISSERTATION ON THE PASSIONS. 155
it often goes to posterity. Men always consider the senti- sect.
ments of others in their judgment of themselves.
A fourth circumstance, which has an influence on these ,-v.
passions, is general rules); by which^jwe^iorin a notion of \j)
different ranks of men, suitably to the power or riches of
which they are possessed ; and this notion is not changed by
any peculiarities of health or temper of the persons, which
may deprive them of all enjoyment in their possessions.
Custom readily carries us beyond the just bounds in our
passions, as well as in our reasonings.
It may not be amiss to observe on this occasion, that the
influence of general rules and maxims on the passions very
much contributes to facilitate the effects of all the principles
or internal mechanism, which we here explain. For it
seems evident, that, if a person full grown, and of the same
nature with ourselves, were on a sudden transported into our
world, he would be much embarrassed with every object, and
would not readily determine what degree of love or hatred,
of pride or humility, or of any other passion should be ex-
cited by it. The passions are often varied by very inconsider-
able principles ; and these do not always play with perfect
regularity, especially on the first trial. But as custom or
practice has brought to light all these principles, and has
settled the just value of every thing : this must certainly
contribute to the easy production of the passions, and guide
us, by means of general established rules, in the proportions,
which we ought to observe in preferring one object to another.
This remark may, perhaps, serve to obviate difficulties, that
arise concerning some causes, which we here ascribe to par-
ticular passions, and which may be esteemed too refined to
operate so universally and certainly, as they are found to do.
Sect. III.
1. In running over all the causes, which produce the pas-
sion of pride or that of humility ; it would readily occur,
that the same circumstance, if transferred from ourselves
to another person, would render him the object of love or
hatred, esteem or contempt. The virtue, genius, beauty,
family, riches, and authority of others beget favourable senti-
ments in their behalf; and their vice, folly, deformity,
poverty, and meanness excite the contrary sentiments. The
156 A DISSERTATION CM THE PASSIONS.
SECT, double relation of impressions and ideas still operates
/ - on these r assions of love and hatred ; as on the former of
pride and humility. Whatever gives a separate pleasure or
pain, and is related to another person or connected with him,
makes him the object of our affection or disgust.
Hence too injury or contempt towards us is one of the
greatest sources of our hatred ; services or esteem, of our
friendship.
2. Sometimes a relation to ourselves excites affection
towards any person. But there is always here implied a
relation of sentiments, without which the other relation
would have no influence. 1
A person, who is related to us, or connected with us, by
blood, by similitude of fortune, of adventures, profession, or
country, soon becomes an agreeable companion to us ; because
we enter easily and familiarly into his sentiments and concep-
tions : Nothing is strange or new to us : Our imagination,
passing from self, which is ever intimately present to us,
runs smoothly along the relation or connexion, and conceives
with a full sympathy the person, who is nearly related to self.^
He renders himself immediately acceptable, and is at once
on an easy footing with us : No distance, no reserve has
place, where the person introduced is supposed so closely
connected with us.
Relation has here the same influence as custom or ac-
quaintance, in exciting affection ; and from like causes. The
ease and satisfaction, which, in both cases, attend our inter-
course or commerce, is the source of the friendship.
3. The passions of love and hatred are always followed by,
or rather conjoined with, benevolence and anger. It is this
conjunction, which chiefly distinguishes these affections from
pride and humility. For pride and humility are pure
emotions in the soul, unattended with any desire, and not
immediately exciting us to action. But love and hatred
are not compleat within themselves, nor rest in that emo-
tion, which they produce ; but carry the mind to some-
thing farther. Love is always followed by a desire of
happiness to the person beloved, and an aversion to his
misery : As hatred produces a desire of the misery, and
1 The affection of parents to children depends on the principles here ex-
seems founded on an original instinct. plained.
The af&ction towards other relations
A DISSERTATION ON THE PASSIONS. 167
an aversion to the happiness of the person hated. These mrm
opposite desires seem to be originally and primarily conjoined m
with the passions of love and hatred. It is a constitution r ~~
of nature, of which we can give no farther explication.
4. Compassion frequently arises, where {Here'laTno pre-
ceding esteem or friendship ; and compassion is an uneasiness
in the sufferings of another. It seems to spring from the
intimate and strong conception of his sufferings ; and our
imagination proceeds by degrees, from the lively idea to the
real feeling of another's misery.
Malice and envy also arise in the mind without any pre-
ceding hatred or injury; though their tendency is exactly
the same with that of anger and ill-will. The comparison
of ourselves with others seems to be the source of envy and
malice. The more unhappy another is, the more happy do
we ourselves appear in our own conception.
5. The similar tendency of compassion to that of bene-
volence, and of envy to anger, forms a very close relation
between these two sets of passions ; though of a different
kind from that which was insisted on above. Jt is not a
resemblance of feeling or sentiment, but a resemblance of
tendency or direction. Its effect, however, is the same, in
producing an association of passions. Compassion is
seldom or never felt without some mixture of tenderness or
friendship : and envy is naturally accompanied with anger
or ill-will. To desire the happiness of another, from what-
ever motive, is a good preparative to affection ; and to delight
in another's misery almost unavoidably begets aversion to-
wards him.
Even where interest is the source of our concern, it is
commonly attended with the same consequences. A partner *
isli natural object of friendship ; a rival of enmity.
6. Poverty, meanness, disappointment, produce contempt
and dislike : But when these misfortunes are very great, or
are represented to us in very strong colours, they excite
compassion, and tenderness, and friendship. How is this
contradiction to be accounted for? The poverty and mean-
ness of another, in their common appearance, gives us _un-
easiness, by a species of\ imperfect sympathy 1 ; and this un-
easiness produces aversion" or dislike, from the resemblance
of sentiment. But when we enter more intimately into
toother's concerns, and wish for his happiness, as well as feel
s~*
158 A DISSERTATION ON TIIE PASSIONS.
SECT, his misery, friendship or goodwill arises, from the similar
n * - tendencyu)f-_the inclinations.
1 A bankrupt, at first, while the idea of his misfortunes is
fresh and recent, and while the comparison of his present
unhappy situation with his former prosperity operates
strongly upon us, meets with compassion and friendship.
After these ideas are weakened or obliterated by time, he is
in danger of compassion and contempt.
7. In respect, there is a mixture of humility, with the
esteem or affection : In contempt, a mixture of pride.
The amorous passion is usually compounded of compla-
cency in beauty, a bodily appetite, and friendship or affec-
tion. The close relation of these sentiments is very obvious,
as well as their origin from each other, by means of that rela-
tion. Were there no other phenomenon to reconcile us to
the present theory, this alone, methinks, were sufficient.
Sect. IV
1. The present theory of the passions depends entirely
on the double relations of sentiments and ideas, and the
mutual assistance, which these relations lend to each other.
It may not, therefore, be improper to illustrate these prin-
ciples by some farther instances.
2. The virtues, talents, accomplishments, and possessions
of others, make us love and esteem them : Because these
objects excite a pleasing sensation, which is related to love ;
and as they have also a relation or connexion with the person,
this union of ideas forwards the union of sentiments, ac-
cording to the foregoing reasoning.
But suppose, that the person, whom we love, is also re-
lated to us, by blood, country, or friendship ; it is evident,
that a species of pride must also be excited by his accom-
plishments and possessions ; there being the same double
relation, which we have all along insisted on. The person
is related to us, or there is an easy transition of thought
from him to us ; and sentiments, excited by his advantages
and virtues, are agreeable, and consequently related to pride.
Accordingly we find, that people are naturally vain of the
good qualities or high fortune of their friends and countrymen.
' [This paragraph was added in Edition R.]
A DISSERTATION CW THE PASSIONS. 15
3. But it is observable, that, if we reverse the order of the SEUx.
i / TV
passions, the same effect does not follow. We pass easily v^i^l*
"""from love and affection to pride and vanity ; but not from
the latter passions to the former, though all the relations be
the same. We love not those who are related to us, on ac-
count of our own merit ; though they are naturally vain on
account of our merit. What is the reason of this difference ?
The transition of the imagination to ourselves, from objects
related to us, is always easy; both on account of the rela-
tion, which facilitates the transition, and because we there *-* ^
pass from remoter objects, to those which are contiguous. ) *
But in passing from ourselves to objects, related to us;
though the former principle forwards the transition of
thought, yet the latter opposes it ; and consequently there
is not the same easy transfusion of passions from pride to
love as from love to pride.
4. The virtues, services, and fortune of one man inspire us
readily with esteem and affection for another related to him.
The son of our friend is naturally entitled to our friendship :
The kindred of a very great man value themselves, and are
valued by others, on account of that relation. The force of
the double relation is here fully displayed.
5. The following are instances of another kind, where the
operation of these principles may still be discovered. Envy
arises from a superiority in others ; but it is observable, that
it is not the great disproportion between us, which exites
tEaTpassion, but on the contrary, our proximity. A great
disproportion cuts off the relation of the ideas, and either
keeps us from comparing ourselves with what is remote from
us, or diminishes the effects of the comparison.
A poet is not apt to envy a philosopher, or a poet of a dif-
ferent kind, of a different nation, or of a different age. All
these differences, if they do not prevent, at least weaken the
comparison, and consequently the passion.
This too is the reason, why all objects appear great or
little, merely by a comparison with those of the same species.
A mountain neither magnifies nor diminishes a horse in our
eyes : But when a Flemish and a Welsh horse are seen to-
gether, the one appears greater and the other less, than when
viewed apart.
From the same principle we may account for that remark
of historians, that any party, in a civil war, or even factious
160 A DISSERTATION ON THE TASSIONS.
SECT, division, always choose to call in a foreign enemy at any
,' - hazard, rather than -submit to their fellow-citizens. Guicci-
ardin applies this remark to the wars in Italy ; where the
relations between the different states are, properly speaking,
nothing but of name, language, and contiguity. Yet even
these relations, when joined with superiority, by making the
comparison more natural, make it likewise more grievous,
and cause men to search for some other superiority, which
may be attended with no relation, and by that means, may
have a less sensible influence on the imagination. Wh en we
cannot break the association, we feel a stronger desire to
remove the superiority. This seems to be the reason, why
travellers, though commonly lavish of their praise to the
Chinese and Persians, take care to depreciate those neigh-
bouring nations, which may stand upon a footing of rivalship
with their native country.
6. The fine arts afford us parallel instances. Should an
author compose a treatise, of which one part was serious and
profound, another light and humorous ; every one would
condemn so strange a mixture, and would blame him for the
neglect of all rules of art and criticism. Yet we accuse not
Prior for joining his Alma and Solomonva. the same volume ;
though that amiable poet has perfectly succeeded in the
gaiety of the one, as well as in the melancholy of the other.
Even suppose the reader should peruse these two compo-
sitions without any interval, he would feel little or no diffi-
culty in the change of the passions. Why ? but because he
considers these performances as entirely different ; and by
that break in the ideas, breaks the progress of the affections,
and hinders the one from influencing or contradicting the
other.
An heroic and burlesque design, united in one picture,
would be monstrous ; though we place two pictures of so
opposite a character in the same chamber, and even close to-
gether, without any scruple.
7. It needs be no matter of wonder, that the easy transi-
tion of the imagination should have such an influence on
all the passions. It is this very circumstance, which forms
all the relations and connexions amongst objects. Weknojs
no real connexion between one thing and an other. We only
W i ^ know, that the idea of one thing is associated with that of
V another, and that the imagination makes an easy transition
/I
A DISSERTATION ON THE PASSIONS. 101
between them. And as the easy transition of ideas, and that SECT.
_of sentiments mutually assist each other ; we might before- >._ T '_
hand expect, that this principle must have a mighty influ-
ence on all our internal movements and affections. And ex-
perience sufficiently confirms the theory.
For, not to repeat all the foregoing instances : Suppose,
that I were travelling with a companion through a country,
to which we are both utter strangers ; it is evident, that, if
the prospects be beautiful, the roads agreeable, and the fields
finely cultivated ; this may serve to put me in good-humour,
both with myself and fellow-traveller. But as the country
has no connexion with myself or friend, it can never be the
immediate cause either of self-value or of regard to him :
And therefore, if I found not the passion on some other ob-
ject, which bears to one of us a closer relation, my emotions
are rather to be considered as the.oyerflowings of an elevated
or humane disposition} than as an established passion. But
supposing the agreeable prospect before us to be surveyed
either from his country-seat or from mine ; this new con-
nexion of ideas gives a new direction to the sentiment of
pleasure, derived from the prospect, and raises the emotion
of regard or vanity, according to the nature of the connexion.
There is not here, methinks, much room for doubt or difficulty.
seot.v. Hr ***
1. It seems evident, that reason, in a strict sense, as
meaning the judgment of truth and falsehood, can never, of
itself, be any motive to the will, and can have no influence
but so far as it touches some passion or affection. Abstract
relations of ideas are the object of curiosity, not of volition.
And matters of fad, where they are neither good nor evil,
where they neither excite desire nor aversion, are totally in-
different, and whether known or unknown, whether mistaken
or rightly apprehended, cannot be regarded as any motive to
action.
2. What is commonly, in a popular sense, called reason,
and is so much recommended in moral discourses, is nothing
but a general and a calm passion, which takes a comprehen-
sive and a distant view of its object, and actuates the will,
without exciting any sensible emotion. A man, we say, is
diligent in his profession from reason ; that is, from a calm
VOL. IV. M
c^
162 A DISSERTATION ON THE TASSIONS.
SECT, desire of riches and a fortune. A man adheres to justice
' from reason ; that is, from a calm regard to public good, or
to a character with himself and others.
3. The same objects, which recommend themselves^to
reason in ^his sense of the word, are also the objects of what
"Pf^ "we call passion, when they are brought near to us, and ac-
quire some other advantages, either of external situation, or
congruity to our internal temper ; and by that means excite
a turbulent and sensible emotion. Evil, at a great distance,
is avoided, we say, from reason : Evil, near at hand, produces
aversion, horror, fear, and is the object of passion.
4. The common error of metaphysicians has lain in
ascribing the direction of the will entirely to one of these
principles, and supposing the other to have no influence.
Men often act knowingly against their interest : It is not
therefore the view of the greatest possible good which always
influences them. Men often counteract a violent passion, in
prosecution of their distant interests and designs : It is not
therefore the present uneasiness alone, which determines
them. In general, we may observe, that both these princi-
ples operate on the will ; and where they are contrary, that
either of them prevails, according to the general character
or present disposition of the person. What we call s ^reng^ >] y
of mind implies the prevalence of the calm passi ons tfrbo ve [
the violent ; though we may easily observe, that there is no
person so constantly possessed of this virtue, as never, on
any occasion, to yield to the solicitation of violent affection
and desire. From these variations of temper proceeds the
great difficulty of deciding with regard to the future actions
and resolutions of men, where there is any contrariety of
motives and passions.
Sect. VI.
1. We shall here enumerate some of those circumstances,
which render a passion calm or violent, which heighten or
diminish any emotion.
It is a property in human nature, that any emotion, which
attends a passion, is easily converted into~it ; though in their
natures they be originally different from, and even contrary
to each other. It is true, Jin order to cause a perfect union
amongst passions, and make one produce the other, there is
A DISSERTATION ON THE PASSIONS. 163
always required a double relatio n, according to the theory SECT,
^.bdve deliver* d. But when two passions are already pro- . , _ VL
duced by their separate causes, and are both present in the
mind, they readily mingle and unite ; though they have but
one relation, and sometimes without any. The predominant
passion swallows up thednferior, and converts it into itself.
The spirits] when once excited, easily receive a change in
their direction ; and it is natural to imagine, that this
change will come from the prevailing affection. The con-
nexion is in many cases closer between any two passions
than between any passion and indifference.
When a person is once heartily in love, the little faults
and caprices of his mistress, the jealousies and quarrels, to
which that commerce is so subject : however unpleasant they
be, and rather connected with anger and hatred ; are yet
found, in many instances, to give additional force to the pre-
vailing passion. It is a common artifice of politicians, when
they would affect any person very much by a matter of fact,
of which they intend to inform him, first to excite his
curiosity ; delay as long as possible the satisfying of it ; and
by that means raise his anxiety and patience to the utmost,
before they give him a full insight into the business. They
know, that this curiosity will precipitate him into the passion,
which they purpose to raise, and will assist the object in its
influence on the mind. A soldier advancing to battle, is
naturally inspired with courage and confidence, when he
thinks on his friends and fellow-soldiers ; and is struck with
fear and terror, when he reflects on the enemy. Whatever
new emotion therefore proceeds from the former, naturally
encreases the courage ; as the same emotion proceeding
from the latter, augments the fear. Hence in martial disci-
pline, the uniformity and lustre of habit, the regularity of
figures and motions, with all the pomp and majesty of war,
encourage ourselves and our allies ; while the same objects
in the enemy strike terror into us, though agreeable and
beautiful in themselves.
Hope is, in itself, an agreeable passion, and allied to
friendship and benevolence ; yet is it able sometimes to blow
up anger, when that is the predominant passion. Spes
addita mscitat iras. VlEG.
2. Since passions, however independent, are naturally
transfused into each other, if they be both present at the
M 2
.
104 A DISSERTATION ON THE PASSIONS.
SECT. same time ; it follows, that when good or evil is placed in
*' , such a situation as to cause any particular emotion, besides
its direct passion of desire or aversion, this latter passion
must acquire new force and violence.
3. This often happens, when any object excites contrary
passions. For it is observable, that an opposition of passions
commonly causes a new emotion in the spirits, and produces
more disorder than the concurrence of any two affections of
equal force. This new emotion is easily convei'ted into the
predominant passion, and in many instances, is observed to
encrease its violence, beyond the pitch, at which it would
have arrived, had it met with no opposition. Hence we
naturally desire what is forbid, and often take a pleasure in
performing actions, merely because they are unlawful. The
notion of duty, when opposite to the passions, is not always
able to overcome them ; and when it fails of that effect, is
apt rather to encrease and irritate them, by producing an
opposition in our motives and principles.
4. The same effect follows, whether the opposition arise
from internal motives or external obstacles. The passion
commonly acquires new force in both cases. The efforts,
which the mind makes to surmount the obstacle, excite the
spirits, and enliven the passion.
5. Uncertainty has the same effect as opposition. The
agitation of the thought, the quick turns which it makes
from one view to another, the variety of passions which suc-
yr ceed each other, according to the different views : All these
produce an emotion in the mind ; and this emotion transfuses
, V \ itself into the predominant passion.
tj ^ f 'r\ Security, on the contrary, diminishes the passions. The
mind, when left to itself, immediately languishes; and in
~ <. order to preserve its ardour, must be every moment supported
by a new flow of passion. For the same reason, despair,
though contrary to security, has a like influence.
6. Nothing more powerfully excites any affection than to
conceal some part of its object, by throwing it into a kind
of shade, which at the same time that it shows enough to
prepossess us in favour of the object, leaves still some work
for the imagination. Besides that obscurity is always
attended with a kind of uncertainty ; the effort, which the
fancy makes to compleat the idea, rouzes the spirits, and
gives an additional force to the passion.
yvcw-%\
A DISSERTATION ON THE PASSIONS. 1(56
7. As despair and security, though contrary, produce the SECT.
same effects ; so absence is observed to have contrary effects, . _
and in different circumstances, either encreases or diminishes
our affection. Rochefoucault has very well remarked, aJ-*..^
that absence destroys weak passions, but encreases strong ;
as the wind extinguishes a candle, but blows up a fire. Long
absence naturally weakens our idea, and diminishes the pas- '- *
sion : But where the affection is so strong and lively as to
support itself, the uneasiness, arising from absence, encreases
the passion, and gives it new force and influence.
8. When the soul applies itself to the performance of any
action, or the conception of any object, to which it is not
accustomed, there is a certain unpliableness in the faculties,
and a difficulty of the spirits moving in their new direction.
As this difficulty excites the spirits, it is the source of wonder,
surprize, and of all the emotions, which arise from novelty ;
and is, in itself, agreeable, like every thing which enlivens
the mind to a moderate degree;* But though surprize be
agreeable in itself, yet, as it puts the spirits in agitation, it
not only augments our agreeable affections, but also our
painful, according to the foregoing principle. Hence every
thing that is new, is most affecting, and gives us either more
pleasure or pain, than what, strictly speaking, should naturally
follow from it. When it often returns upon us, the novelty
wears off ; the passions subside ; the hurry of the spirits is
over ; and we survey the object with greater tranquillity.
9. The imagination and affections have a close union
together. The vivacity of the former gives force to the
latter. Hence the prospect of any pleasure, with which we
are acquainted, affects us more than any other pleasure,
which we may own superior, but of whose nature we are
wholly ignorant. Of the one we can form a particular and
determinate idea. The other we conceive under the general
notion of pleasure.
Any satisfaction, which we lately enjoyed, and of which
the memory is fresh and recent, operates on the will with
more violence, than another of which the traces are decayed
and almost obliterated.
A pleasure, which is suitable to the way of life, in which
we are engaged, excites more our desire and appetite than
another, which is foreign to it.
Nothing is more capable of infusing any passion into the
106 A DISSERTATION ON THE PASSIONS.
SECT, mind, than eloquence, by which objects are represented in
VL . the strongest and most lively colours. The bare opinion of
another, especially when enforced with passion, will cause an
idea to have an influence upon us, though that idea might
otherwise have been entirely neglected.
It is remarkable, that lively passions commonly attend a
lively imagination. In this respect, as well as in others, the
force of the passion depends as much on the temper of the
person, as on the nature and situation of the object.
What is distant, either in place or time, has not equal in-
fluence with what is near and contiguous.
* * *
I pretend not to have here exhausted this subject. It is
sufficient for my purpose, if I have made it appear, that, in
the production and conduct of the passions, there is a certain
regular mechanism) which is susceptible of as accurate a
disquisition, as the laws of motion, optics, hydrostatics, or
any part of natural philosophy.
AN
E N Q U I E Y
CONCERNING THE
PRINCIPLES
OF
MORALS.
AN ENQUIRY CONCERNING
THE
PRINCIPLES OF MORALS.
Section I. Of the General Principles of Morals.
Disputes with men, pertinaciously obstinate in their prin- SECT.
ciples, are, of all others, the most irksome ; except, perhaps, . _ ;
those with persons, 'entirely disingenuous, who really do not
believe the opinions they defend, but engage in the con-
troversy, from affectation, from a spirit of opposition, or
from a desire of showing wit and ingenuity, superior to the
rest of mankind. The same blind adherence to their own
arguments is to be expected in both ; the same contempt of
their antagonists ; and the same passionate vehemence, in
inforcing sophistry and falsehood. And as reasoning is not
the source, whence either disputant derives his tenets ; it is
in vain to expect, that any logic, which speaks not to the
affections, will ever engage him to embrace sounder prin-
ciples.
Those who have denied the reality of moral distinctions,
may be ranked among the disingenuous disputants ; nor is
it conceivable, that any human creature could ever seriously
believe, that all characters and actions were alike entitled to
the affection and regard of every one. The difference, which
nature has placed between one man and another, is so wide,
and this difference is still so much farther widened, by
education, example, and habit, that, where the opposite
extremes come at once under our apprehension, there is no
scepticism so scrupulous, and scarce any assurance so deter-
mined, as absolutely to deny all distinction between them.
1 [Entirely disingenuous : added in Edition M.]
170 CONCERNING THE PRINCIPLES OF MORALS.
SECT. Let a man's insensibility be ever so great, he must often be
__i , touched with the images of EIGHT and WRONG ; and let
his prejudices be ever so obstinate, he must observe, that
others are susceptible of like impressions. The only way,
therefore, of converting an antagonist of this kind, is to
leave him to himself. For, finding that no body keeps up
the controversy with him, it is probable he will, at last, of
himself, from mere weariness, come over to the side of com-
mon sense and reason.
There has been a controversy started of late, much better
worth examination, concerning the general foundation of
MORALS ; whether they be derived from EEASON, or from
SENTIMENT ; whether we attain the knowledge of them
by a chain of argument and induction, or by an immediate
feeling and finer internal sense ; whether, like all sound
judgment of truth and falsehood, they should be the same to
every rational intelligent being ; or whether, like the per-
ception of beauty and deformity, they be founded entirely
on the particular fabric and constitution of the human
species.
The ancient philosophers, though they often affirm, that
virtue is nothing but conformity to reason, yet, in general,
seem to consider morals as deriving their existence from
taste and sentiment. On the other hand, our modern en-
quirers, though they also talk much of the beauty of virtue,
and deformity of vice, yet have commonly endeavoured to
account for these distinctions by metaphysical reasonings,-
and by deductions from the most abstract principles of the
understanding. Such confusion reigned in these subjects,
that an opposition of the greatest consequence could prevail
between one system and another, and even in the parts of
almost each individual system ; and yet no body, till very
lately, was ever sensible of it. The elegant * Lord Shaptes-
buet, who first gave occasion to remark this distinction, and
who, in general, adhered to the principles of the ancients, is
not, himself, entirely free from the same confusion.
It must be acknowledged, that both sides of the question
are susceptible of specious arguments. Moral distinctions,
it may be said, are discernible by pure reason : Else, whence
the many disputes that reign in common life, as well as in
philosophy, with regard to this subject : The long chain of
1 [Elegant and sublime : Editions G and K.]
OF TIIE GENERAL PRINCIPLES OF MORALS. 171
proofs often produced on both sides ; the examples cited, the SECT
authorities appealed to, the analogies employed, the fallacies ^.^
detected, the inferences drawn, and the several conclusions
adjusted to their proper principles. Truth is disputable ;
not taste: What exists in the nature of things is the
standard of our judgment ; what each man feels within him-
self is the standard of sentiment. Propositions in geometry
may be proved, systems in physics may be controverted ; but
the harmony of verse, the tenderness of passion, the bril-
liancy of wit, must give immediate pleasure. No man
reasons concerning another's beauty ; but frequently con-
cerning the justice or injustice of his actions. In every
criminal trial the first object of the prisoner is to disprove
the facts alleged, and deny the actions imputed to him : The
second to prove, that, even if these actions were real, they
might be justified, as innocent and lawful. It is confessedly
by deductions of the understanding, that the first point is
ascertained : How can we suppose that a different faculty of
the mind is employed in fixing the other ?
On the other hand, those who would resolve all moral
determinations into sentiment, may endeavour to show, that
it is impossible for reason ever to draw conclusions of this
nature. To virtue, say they, it belongs to be amiable, and
vice odious. This forms their very nature or essence. But
can reason or argumentation distribute these different
epithets to any subjects, and pronounce before-hand, that
this must produce love, and that hatred? Or what other
reason can we ever assign for these affections, but the
original fabric and formation of the human mind, which is
naturally adapted to receive them ?
The end of all moral speculations is to teach us our duty ;
and, by proper representations of the deformity of vice and
beauty of virtue, beget correspondent habits, and engage us
to avoid the one, and embrace the other. But is this ever to
be expected from inferences and conclusions of the under-
standing, which of themselves have no hold of the affections
or set in motion the active powers of men ? They discovei
truths : But where the truths which they discover are in-
different, and beget no desire or aversion, they can have no
influence on conduct and behaviour. What is honourable,
what is fair, what is becoming, what is noble, what is gene-
rous, takes possession of the heart, and animates us to
m CONCERNING THE PRINCIPLES OF MORALS.
SECT, embrace and maintain it. What is intelligible, what is evi-
* dent, what is probable, what is true, procures only the cool
assent of the understanding ; and gratifying a speculative
curiosity, puts an end to our researches.
Extinguish all the warm feelings and prepossessions in
favour of virtue, and all disgust or aversion to vice : Render
men totally indifferent towards these distinctions; and
morality is no longer a practical study, nor has any tendency
to regulate our lives and actions.
These arguments on each side (and many more might be
produced) are so plausible, that I am apt to suspect, they
may, the one as well as the other, be solid and satisfactory,
and that reason and sentiment concur in almost all moral
determinations and conclusions. The final sentence, it is
probable, which pronounces characters and actions amiable
or odious, praise-worthy or blameable ; that which stamps on
them the mark of honour or infamy, approbation or censure ;
that which renders morality an active principle,, and con-
stitutes virtue our happiness, and vice our misery : It is pro-
bable, I say, that this final sentence depends on some internal
sense or feeling, which nature has made universal in the
whole species. For what else can have an influence of this
nature ? But in order to pave the way for such a sentiment,
and give a proper discernment of its object, it is often neces-
sary, we find, that much reasoning should precede, that nice
distinctions be made, just conclusions drawn, distant com-
parisons formed, complicated relations examined, and gene-
ral facts fixed and ascertained. Some species of beauty,
especially the natural kinds, on their first appearance, com-
mand our affection and approbation ; and where they fail of
this effect, it is impossible for any reasoning to redress their
influence, or adapt them better to our taste and sentiment.
But in many orders of beauty, particularly those of the finer
arts, it is requisite to employ much reasoning, in order to
feel the proper sentiment ; and a false relish may frequently
be corrected by argument and reflection. There are just
grounds to conclude, that moral beauty partakes much of
this latter species, and demands the assistance of our intfi-
lectual faculties, in order to give it a suitable influence on
the human mind.
But though this question, concerning the general principles
of morals, be curious and important, it is needless for us, at
OF THE GENERAL PRINCIPLES OF MORALS. 173
present, to employ farther care in our researches concerning SECT,
it. For if we can be so happy, in the course of this enquiry, [ ._
as to discover the true origin of morals, it will then easily J
appear how far either sentiment or reason enters into all,
determinations of this nature. 1 2 In order to attain this-
purpose, we shall endeavour to follow a very simple method :
We shall analyse that complication of mental qualities,
which form what, in common life, we call Personal Merit : '
"We shall consider every attribute of the mind, which renders s
a man an object either of esteem and affection, or of hatred ,
and contempt ; every habit or sentiment or faculty, which, if
ascribed to any person, implies either praise or blame, and
may enter into any panegyric or satire of his character and
manners. The quick sensibility, which, on this head, is so
universal among mankind, gives a philosopher sufficient
assurance, that he can never be considerably mistaken in
framing the catalogue, or incur any danger of misplacing
the objects of his contemplation : He needs only enter into
his own breast for a moment, and consider whether or not he
should desire to have this or that quality ascribed to him,
and whether such or such an imputation would proceed from
a friend or an enemy. The very nature of language guides
us almost infallibly in forming a judgment of this nature ;
and as every tongue possesses one set of words which are
taken in a good sense, and another in the opposite, the least
acquaintance with the idiom suffices, without any reasoning,
to direct us in collecting and arranging the estimable or
blameable qualities of men. The only object of reasoning is
to discover the circumstances on both sides, which are com-
mon to these qualities ; to observe that particular in which
the estimable qualities agree on the one hand, and the
blameable on the other ; and thence to reach the foundation
of ethics, and find those universal principles, from which all
1 See Appendix I. Concerning Moral will every quality or action of the mind,
Sentiment. virtuous, which is attended with the gene-
2 [Editions G to N omit as far as ral approbation of mankind: and we
' ultimately derived,' and substitute the shall denominate vicious, every quality
following: Meanwhile.it will scarce which is the object of general blame or
be possible for us, ere this controversy is censure. These qualities we shall en-
fully decided, to proceed in that accu- deavour to collect; and after examining,
rate manner, required in the sciences; on both sides, the several cireumstai:..
bv beginning with exact definitions of in which they agree, 'tis hoped we may,
virtue and vice, which are the objects at last, reach the foundation of ethics,
of our present enquiry. But we Khali and find those universal principles, from
do what may justly be esteemed as satis- which all moral blame or approbation
factory. We shall consider the matter is ultimately derived.]
as an object of experience. We shall
171 CONCERNING THE PRINCIPLES OF MORALS.
SECT, censure or approbation is ultimately derived. As this is a
__ Y L_^ question of fact, not of abstract science, we can only expect
success, by following the experimental method, and deducing
general maxims from a comparison of particular instances.
The other scientifical method, where a general abstract prin-
ciple is first established, and is afterwards branched out into
a variety of inferences and conclusions, may be more perfect
in itself, but suits less the imperfection of human nature, and
is a common source of illusion and mistake in this as well as
in other subjects. Men are now cured of their passion for
hypotheses and systems in natural philosophy, and will
hearken to no arguments but those which are derived from
experience. It is full time they should attempt a like refor-
mation in all moral disquisitions ; and reject every system of
ethics, however subtile or ingenious, which is not founded
on fact and observation.
1 We shall begin our enquiry on this head by the consi-
deration of social virtues, benevolence and justice. The ex-
plication of them will probably give us an opening by which
others may be accounted for.
Section II. 2 Of Benevolence.
PART I.
It may be esteemed, perhaps, a superfluous task to prove,
that the benevolent or softer affections 3 are ESTIMABLE ;
and wherever they appear, engage the approbation, and
good-will of mankind. The epithets sociable, good-natured,
humane, merciful, grateful, friendly, generous, beneficent, or
their equivalents, are known in all languages, and univer-
sally express the highest merit, which human nature is
capable of attaining. Where these amiable qualities are
attended with birth and power and eminent abilities, and
display themselves in the good government or useful instruc-
tion of mankind, they seem even to raise the possessors of
them above the rank of human nature, and make them ap-
proach in some measure to the disrine. Exalted capacity,
undaunted courage, prosperous success ; these may only ex-
pose a hero or politician to the envy or ill-will of the public :
1 [This paragraph was added in Edi- i. which subsequently appeared as Ap-
tion 0.1 pendix ii., Of Self-Love.]
2 [In Editions Gt^Q this Section was s [AreVmTOOus engage the esteem,
introduced by paragraphs, forming Part approbation, and &c : Editions Q to N.j
OF BENEVOLENCE. 175
But as soon as the praises are added of humane and beneti- sect.
cent ; when instances are displayed of lenity, tenderness, or J ' _
friendship : envy itself is silent, or joins the general voice Ta^t L
of approbation and applause.
When Pericles, the great Athenian statesman and
general, was on his death-bed, his surrounding friends,
deeming him now insensible, began to indulge their sorrow
for their expiring patron, by enumerating his great qualities
and successes, his conquests and victories, the unusual
length of his administration, and his nine trophies erected
over the enemies of the republic. You forget, cries the dying
hero, who had heard all, you forget the most eminent of my
praises, while you dwell so much on those vulgar advantages,
in which fortune had a principal share. You have not observed,
that no citizen has ever yet worne mourning on my account}
In men of more ordinary talents and capacity, the social
virtues become, if possible, still more essentially requisite ;
there being nothing eminent, in that case, to compensate
for the want of them, or preserve the person from our
severest hatred, as well as contempt. A high ambition, an
elevated courage, is apt, says Cicero, in less perfect cha-
racters, to degenerate into a turbulent ferocity. The more
social and softer virtues are there chiefly to be regarded.
These are always good and amiable. 2
The principal advantage, which Juvenal discovers in the
extensive capacity of the human species is, that it renders
our benevolence also more extensive, and gives us larger
opportunities of spreading our kindly influence than what
are indulged to the inferior creation. 3 It must, indeed, be
confessed, that by doing good only, can a man truly enjoy
the advantages of being eminent. His exalted station, of
itself, but the more exposes him to danger and tempest. His
sole prerogative is to afford shelter to inferiors, who repose
themselves under his cover and protection.
But I forget, that it is not my pi*esent business to recom-
mend generosity and benevolence, or to paint, in their true
colours, all the genuine charms of the social virtues. These,
indeed, sufficiently engage every heart, on the first appre-
hension of them ; and it is difficult to abstain from some
sally of panegyric, as often as they occur in discourse or
reasoning. But our object here being more the speculative,
1 Plttt. in Pbeici.k, 38. * Cic. d Officiis, lib. i. * Sat xv. 139. & seq.
170 CONCERNING THE PRINCIPLES OF MORALS.
SECT, than the practical part of morals, it will suffice to remark,
. (what will readily, I Relieve, be allowed) that no qualities
Paet I. ar e more intitled to the general good-will and approbation
of mankind than benevolence and humanity, friendship and
gratitude, natural affection and public spirit, or whatever
proceeds from a tender sympathy with others, and a gene-
rous concern for our kind and species. These, wherever they
appear, seem to transfuse themselves, in a manner, into each
beholder, and to call forth, in their own behalf, the same
favourable and affectionate sentiments, which they exert on
all around.
PART n.
We may observe, that, in displaying the praises of any
Jmniane, beneficent man, there is one circumstance which
never fails to be amply insisted on, namely, the happiness
and satisfaction, derived to society from his intercourse and
good offices. To his parents, we are apt to say, he endears
himself by his pious attachment and duteous care, still more
than by the connexions of nature. His children never feel
his authority, but when employed for their advantage. With
him, the ties of love are consolidated by beneficence and
friendship. The ties of friendship approach, in a fond ob-
servance of each obliging office, to those of love and incli-
nation. His domestics and dependants have in him a sure
resource ; and no longer dread the power of fortune, but so
far as she exercises it over him. From him the hungry
receive food, the naked cloathing, the ignorant and slothful
skill and industry. Like the sun, an inferior minister of
providence, he cheers, invigorates, and sustains the sur-
rounding world.
If confined to private life, the sphere of his activity is
narrower; but his influence is all benign and gentle. If
exalted into a higher station, mankind and posterity reap
the fruit of his labours.
As these topics of praise never fail to be employed, and
with success, where we would inspire esteem for any one ;
may it not thence be concluded, that the UTILITY, re-
sulting from the social virtues, forms, at least, a part of their
merit, and is one source of that approbation and regard so
universally paid to them ?
1 [Part in. in Editions G to Q.]
OF BENEVOLENCE. 177
When we recommend even an animal or a plant as useful SECT,
and beneficial, we give it an applause and recommendation . . * _ ,
suited to its nature. As, on the other hand, reflection on 1>ART n -
the baneful influence of any of these inferior beings always
inspires us with the sentiment of aversion. The eye is
pleased with the prospect of corn-fields and loaded vine-
yards; horses grazing, and flocks pasturing: But flies the
view of briars and brambles, affording shelter to wolves and
serpents.
A machine, a piece of furniture, a vestment, a house well
contrived for use and conveniency, is so far beautiful, and is
contemplated with pleasure and approbation. An expe-
rienced eye is here sensible to many excellencies, which
escape persons ignorant and uninstructed.
Can anything stronger be said in praise of a profession,
such as merchandize or manufacture, than to observe the
advantages which it procures to society? And is not a
monk and inquisitor enraged when we treat his order as
useless or pernicious to mankind ?
The historian exults in displaying the benefit arising from
his labours. The writer of romance alleviates or denies the
bad consequences ascribed to his manner of composition.
In general, what praise is implied in the simple epithet
useful ! What reproach in the contrary !
Your Gods, says Ciceeo, 1 in opposition to the Epicureans,
cannot justly claim any worship or adoration, with whatever
imaginary perfections you may suppose them endowed.
They are totally useless and unactive. Even the EGYPTIANS,
whom you so much ridicule, never consecrated any animal
but on account of its utility.
The sceptics assert, 2 though absurdly, that the origin of all
religious worship was derived from the utility of inanimate
objects, as the sun and moon, to the support and well-being
of mankind. This is also the common reason assigned by
historians, for the deification of eminent heroes and legis-
lators. 3
To plant a tree, to cultivate a field, to beget children ;
meritorious acts, according to the religion of Zoroaster.
In all determinations of morality, this circumstance of
public utility is ever principally in view ; and wherever dis-
1 De Nat. Deor. lib. i. 36. ' Skxt. Emp. ud versus Math, lib. uc
Diod. Sic. passim. 394, 18.
VOL. IV. N
178 CONCERNING THE PRINCIPLES OF MORALS.
SECT, putes arise, either in philosophy or common life, concerning
' . , - the bounds of duty, the question cannot, by any means, be
Pikt II. decided with greater certainty, than by ascertaining, on any
side, the true interests of mankind. If any false opinion,
embraced from appearances, has been found to prevail ; as
soon as farther experience and sounder reasoning have given
us juster notions of human affairs ; we retract our first
sentiment, and adjust anew the boundaries of moral good
and evil.
Giving alms to common beggars is naturally praised ;
because it seems to carry relief to the distressed and indi-
gent : But when we observe the encouragement thence
arising to idleness and debauchery, we regard that species of
charity rather as a weakness than a virtue.
Tyrannicide, or the assassination of usurpers and oppres-
sive princes, was highly extolled in ancient times ; because
it both freed mankind from many of these monsters, and
seemed to keep the others in awe, whom the sword or
poinard could not reach. But history and experience having
since convinced us, that this practice encreases the jealousy
and cruelty of princes, a Timoleon and a Bkutus, though
treated with indulgence on account of the prejudices of their
times, are now considered as very improper models for
imitation.
Liberality in princes is regarded as a mark of beneficence :
But when it occurs, that the homely bread of the honest and
industrious is often thereby converted into delicious cates
for the idle and the prodigal, we soon retract our heedless
praises. The regrets of a prince, for having lost a day, were
noble and generous : But had he intended to have spent it
in acts of generosity to his greedy courtiers, it was better
lost than misemployed after that manner.
Luxury, or a refinement on the pleasures and conveniencies
of life, had long been supposed the source of every corrup-
tion in government, and the immediate cause of faction,
sedition, civil wars, and the total loss of liberty. It was,
therefore, universally regarded as a vice, and was an object of
declamation to all satyrists, and severe moralists. Those,
who prove, or attempt to prove, that such refinements rather
tend to the encrease of industry, civility, and arts, regulate
anew our moral as well as political sentiments, and represent,
ii - laudable or innocent, what had formerly been regarded as
pernicious and blameable.
OF BENEVOLENCE. 179
Upon the whole, then, it seems undeniable, that nothing SECT,
can bestow more merit on any human creature than the . ,
sentiment of benevolence in an eminent degree ; and that Part U.
a party at least, of its merit arises from its tendency to
promote the interests of our species, and bestow happiness
on human society. We carry our view into the salutary con-
sequences of such a character and disposition ; and whatever
has so benign an influence, and forwards so desirable an end,
is beheld with complacency and pleasure. The social virtues
are never regarded without their beneficial tendencies, nor
viewed as barren and unfruitful. The happiness of mankind,
the order of society, the harmony of families, the mutual
support of friends, are always considered as the result of
their gentle dominion over the breasts of men.
How considerable a part of their merit we ought to ascribe
to their utility, will better appear from future disquisitions ; l
as well as the reason, why this circumstance has such a
oonimand over our esteem and approbation. 2
Section III. Of Justice.
PART I.
That Justice is useful to society, and consequently that part
of its merit, at least, must arise from that consideration, it
would be a superfluous undertaking to prove. That public
utility is the sole origin of justice, and that reflections on
the beneficial consequences of this virtue are the sole founda-
tion of its merit ; this proposition, being more curious and
important, will better deserve our examination and enquiry.
Let us suppose, that nature has bestowed on the human
race such profuse abundance of all external conveniencies,
that, without any uncertainty in the event, without any care
or industry on our part, every individual finds himself fully
provided with whatever his most voracious appetites can
want, or luxurious imagination wish or desire. His natural
beauty, we shall suppose, surpasses all acquired ornaments :
The perpetual clemency of the seasons renders useless all
cloaths or covering : The raw herbage affords him the most
delicious fare ; the clear fountain, the richest beverage. No
laborious occupation required : No tillage : No navigation.
Sect. 3d and 4th. Of Justice: and * Sect. 5th. Why Utility Please*.
Of Political Society.
n 2
180 CONCERNING THE PRINCIPLES OF MORALS.
SECT. Music, poetry, and contemplation form his sole business :
. Conversation, mirth, and friendship his sole amusement.
Part I. It seems evident, that, in such a happy state, every other
social virtue would nourish, and receive tenfold encrease ;
but the cautious, jealous virtue of justice would never once
have been dreamed of. For what purpose make a partition
of goods, where every one has already more than enough ?
Why give rise to property, where there cannot possibly be any
injury ? Why call this object mine, when, upon the seizing of
it by another, I need but stretch out my hand to possess
myself of what is equally valuable ? Justice, in that case,
being totally USELESS, would be an idle ceremonial, and
could never possibly have place in the catalogue of virtues.
We see, even in the present necessitous condition of man-
kind, that, wherever any benefit is bestowed by nature in an
unlimited abundance, we leave it always in common among
the whole human race, and make no subdivisions of right
and property. Water and air, though the most necessary of
all objects, are not challenged as the property of individuals ;
nor can any man commit injustice by the most lavish use and
enjoyment of these blessings. In fertile extensive countries,
with few inhabitants, land is regarded on the same footing.
And no topic is so much insisted on by those, who defend
the liberty of the seas, as the unexhausted use of them in
navigation. Were the advantages, procured by navigation,
as inexhaustible, these reasoners had never had any adver-
saries to refute ; nor had any claims ever been advanced of
a separate, exclusive dominion over the ocean.
It may happen, in some countries, at some periods, that
there be established a property in water, none in land ; ! if
the latter be in greater abundance than can be used by the
inhabitants, and the former be found, with difficulty, and in
very small quantities.
Again; suppose, that, though the necessities of human
race continue the same as at present, yet the mind is so en-
larged, and so replete with friendship and generosity, that
every man has the utmost tenderness for every man, and feels
no more concern for his own interest than for that of his
fellows : It seems evident, that the USE of justice would, in
this case, be suspended by such an extensive benevolence,
1 Genesis, chap. xiii. and xxi.
OF JUSTICE. 181
tior would the divisions and barriers of property and obliga- BBCT.
tion have ever been thought of. Why should I bind another, . _ /_
by a deed or promise, to do me any good office, when I know Part *>
that he is already prompted, by the strongest inclination, to
seek my happiness, and would, of himself, perform the
desired service ; except the hurt, he thereby receives, be
greater than the benefit accruing to me ? in which case, he
knows, that, from my innate humanity and friendship, I
should be the first to oppose myself to his imprudent gene-
rosity. Why raise land-mark3 between my neighbour's field
and mine, when my heart has made no division between our
interests ; but shares all his joys and sorrows with the same
force and vivacity as if originally my own? Every man,
upon this supposition, being a second self to another, would
trust all his interests to the discretion of every man ; without
jealousy, without partition, without distinction. And the
whole human race would form only one family; where all
would lie in common, and be used freely, without regard to
property ; but cautiously too, with as entire regard to the
necessities of each individual, as if our own interests were
most intimately concerned.
In the present disposition of the human heart, it would,
perhaps, be difficult to find compleat instances of such en-
larged affections ; but still we may observe, that the case of
families approaches towards it ; and the stronger the mutual
benevolence is among the individuals, the nearer it ap-
proaches ; till all distinction of property be, in a great
measure, lost and confounded among them. Between mar-
ried persons, the cement of friendship is by the laws supposed
so strong as to abolish all division of possessions : and has
often, in reality, the force ascribed to it. And it is observ-
able, that, during the ardour of new enthusiasms, when every
principle is inflamed into extravagance, the community of
goods has frequently been attempted : and nothing but ex-
perience of its inconveniencies, from the returning or dis-
guised selfishness of men, could make the imprudent fanatics
adopt anew the ideas of justice and of separate property.
So true is it, that this virtue derives its existence entirely
from its necessary use to the intercourse and social state of
mankind.
To make this truth more evident, let us reverse the fore-
going suppositions ; and carrying every thing to the opposite
I'M CONCERNING THE PRINCIPLES OF MORALS.
extreme, consider -what would be the effect of these new
situations. Suppose a" society to fall into such want of all
common necessaries, that the utmost frugality and industry
cannot preserve the greater number from perishing, and the
whole from extreme misery : It will readily, I believe, be
admitted, that the strict laws of justice are suspended, in
such a pressing emergence, and give place to the stronger
motives of necessity and self-preservation. Is it any crime,
after a shipwreck, to seize whatever means or instrument of
safety one can lay hold of, without regard to former limita-
tions of property ? Or if a city besieged were perishing with
hunger; can we imagine, that men will see any means of
preservation before them, and lose their lives, from a scru-
pulous regard to what, in other situations, would be the
rules of equity and justice? The USE and TENDENCY of
that virtue is to procure happiness and security, by preserving
order in society : But where the society is ready to perish
from extreme necessity, no greater evil can be dreaded from
violence and injustice ; and every man may now provide for
himself by all the means, which prudence can dictate, or
humanity permit. The public, even in less urgent necessi-
ties, opens granaries, without the consent of proprietors ; as
justly supposing, that the authority of magistracy may,
consistent with equity, extend so far : But were any number
of men to assemble, without the tye of laws or civil jurisdic-
tion ; would an equal partition of bread in a famine, though
effected by power and even violence, be regarded as criminal
or injurious ?
Suppose likewise, that it should be a virtuous man's fate
to fall into the society of ruffians, remote from the protection
of laws and government ; what conduct must he embrace in
that melancholy situation ? He sees such a desperate rapa-
ciousness prevail ; such a disregard to equity, such contempt
of order, such stupid blindness to future consequences, as
must immediately have the most tragical conclusion, and
must terminate in destruction to the greater number, and in
a total dissolution of society to the rest. He, mean while,
can have no other expedient than to arm himself, to whom-
ever the sword he seizes, or the buckler, may belong : To
make provision of all means of defence and security : And
his particular regard to justice being no longer of U S E to
his own safety or that of others, he must consult the dictates
OF JUSTICE. 183
of self-preservation alone, without concern for those who no
longer merit his care and attention.
When any man, even in political society, renders himself,
by his crimes, obnoxious to the public, he is punished by the
laws in his goods and person ; that is, the ordinary rules of
justice are, with regard to him, suspended for a moment,
and it becomes equitable to inflict on him, for the benefit of
society, what, otherwise, he could not suffer without wrong
or injury.
The rage and violence of public war ; what is it but a
suspension of justice among the warring parties, who per-
ceive, that this virtue is now no longer of any use or advan-
tage to them? The laws of war, which then succeed to
those of equity and justice, are rules calculated for the
advantage and utility of that particular state, in which men
are now placed. And were a civilized nation engaged with
barbarians, who observed no rules even of war ; the former
must also suspend their observance of them, where they no
longer serve to any purpose ; and must render every action
or rencounter as bloody and pernicious as possible to the
first aggressors.
Thus, the rules of equity or justice depend entirely on the
particular state and condition, in which men are placed, and
owe their origin and existence to that UTILITY, which
results to the public from their strict and regular obser-
vance. Reverse, in any considerable circumstance, the
condition of men : Produce extreme abundance or extreme
necessity : Implant in the human breast perfect moderation
and humanity, or perfect rapaciousness and malice : By ren-
dering justice totally useless, you thereby totally destroy its
essence, and suspend its obligation upon mankind*
The common situation of society is a medium amidst all
these extremes. We are naturally partial to ourselves, and
to our friends; but are capable of learning the advantage
resulting from a more equitable conduct. Few enjoyments
are given us from the open and liberal hand of nature ; but
by art, labour, and industry, we can extract them in great
abundance. Hence the ideas of property become necessary
in all civil society : Hence justice derives its usefulness to
the public : And hence alone arises its merit and moral
obligation.
These conclusions are so natural and obvious, that they
184 CONCERNING THE PRINCIPLES OE MORALS,
have not escaped even the poets, in their descriptions of the
felicity, attending the golden age or the reign of Saturn.
The seasons, in that first period of nature, were so tem-
perate, if we credit these agreeable fictions, 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 flowed with wine and milk : The oaks yielded
honey ; and nature spontaneously produced her greatest
delicacies. Nor were these the chief advantages of that
happy age. Tempests were not alone removed from nature ;
but those more furious tempests were unknown to human
breasts, which now cause such uproar, and engender such
confusion. Avarice, ambition, cruelty, selfishness, were never
heard of: Cordial affection, compassion, sympathy, were the
only movements with which the mind was yet acquainted.
Even the punctilious distinction of mine and thine was
banished from among that happy race of mortals, and carried
with it the very notion of property and obligation, justice
and injustice.
This poetical fiction of the golden age is, in some respects,
of a piece with the philosophical fiction of the state of nature ;
only that the former is represented as the most charming
and most peaceable condition, which can possibly be ima-
gined ; whereas the latter is painted out as a state of mutual
war and violence, attended with the most extreme necessity.
On the first origin of mankind, we are told, their ignorance
and savage nature were so prevalent, that they could give
no mutual trust, but must each depend upon himself, and
his own force or cunning for protection and security. No
law was heard of: No rule of justice known : No distinction
of property regarded : Power was the only measure of right ;
and a perpetual war of all against all was the result of men's
untamed selfishness and barbarity. 1
1 This fiction of a state of nature, on the contrary, supposes it certain and
as a state of war, was not first started universally acknowledged in the follow-
by Mr. Hobbes, as is commonly ima- ing passage. 1 ' Quis enim vestrum,
gined. Plato endeavours to refute an judices, ignorat. ita naturam rerum
hypothesis very like it in the 2nd, 3rd, tulisse, ut quodam tempore homines,
and 4th books de republica. Cicebo, nondum neque naturali, neque civili
1 [Editions G to N add : Which is the Ovid or Pi.atjtus or Pktronitjs a necea-
only authority I shall cite for these sary warrant for every moral truth ; or
reasonings : not imitating in this the the example of Mr. Woolaston, who
example of Pukfkndorf. nor even that has constant recourse to Hebrkw and
of Gkotius, who think a verse from Arabic authors for the same purpose. j
OF JUSTICE. 186
"Whether such a condition of human nature could ever SECT,
exist, or if it did, could continue so long as to merit the ._ r '_,
appellation of a state, may justly be doubted. Men are Part *
necessarily born in a family-society, at least ; and are trained
up by their parents to some rule of conduct and behaviour.
But this must be admitted, that, if such a state of mutual
war and violence was ever real, the suspension of all laws
of justice, from their absolute inutility, is a necessary and
infallible consequence.
The more we vary our views of human life, and the newer
and more unusual the lights are, in which we survey it, the
more shall we be convinced, that the origin here assigned for'
the virtue of justice is real and satisfactory.
Were there a species of creatures, intermingled with
men, which, though rational, were possessed of such inferior
strength, both of body and mind, that they were incapable
of all resistance, and could never, upon the highest provoca-
tion, make us feel the effects of their resentment ; the neces-
sary consequence, I think, is, that we should be bound, by
the laws of humanity, to give gentle usage to these crea-
tures, but should not, properly speaking, lie under any
restraint of justice with regard to them, nor could they
possess any right or property, exclusive of such arbitrary
lords. Our intercourse with them could not be called society,
which supposes a degree of equality ; but absolute command
on the one side, and servile obedience on the other. What-
ever we covet, they must instantly resign : Our permission
is the only tenure, by which they hold their possessions :
Our compassion and kindness the only check, by which they
curb our lawless will : And as no inconvenience ever results
from the exercise of a power, so firmly established in nature,
the restraints of justice and property, being totally useless,
would never have place in so unequal a confederacy.
jure deseripto. fusi per agros. ac dis- tates nominatse sunt, turn domicilia
persi vagarentur tantumque haberent conjuncta, quas urbes dicamns. invento
quantum manu ac viribus, per caedem et divino et humano jure, moenibus sep-
ac vulnera, aut eripere, aut retinere serunt. Atque inter hanc vitam, per-
potuissent? Qui igiturprimi virtuteet politam humanitate, et ilbrnj immanom,
consilio praestanti extiterunt, ii per- nihil tam interest quam JUS atque VIS.
specto genere humanse docilitatis atque Horum utro uti nolimus, alteroest uteu-
ingenii, dissipatos, unum in locum con- dum. Vim volumus extingui ? Jus
gre2arunt, eosque ex feritate ilia ad valeat necesseest, id est, jndicia, quibui
justitiam ac mansuetudinem transdux- omne jus continetur. Judicia displi-
erunt. Turn res ad communem utili- cent, aut nulla sunt? Vis dominetur
tatem, quas publieas appellamus. turn necesseest. Haec vident omnes.' Pr
conventicula honiinum, quae posteacivi- Sat. 1. 42.
18G CONCERNING THE PRINCIPLES OF MORALS.
SECT. Tliis is plainly the situation of men, with regard to
_. animals; and how far these may be said to possess reason,
Part I. I leave it to others to determine. The great superiority of
civilized Europeans above barbarous Indians, tempted us
to imagine ourselves on the same footing with regard to
them, and made us throw off all restraints of justice, and
even of humanity, in our treatment of them. In many
nations, the female sex are reduced to like slavery, and are
rendered incapable of all property, in opposition to their
"" A lordly masters. But though the males, when united, have,
m all countries, bodily force sufficient to maintain this
^severe tyranny ; yet such are the insinuation, address, and
" charms of their fair companions, that women are commonly
able to break the confederacy, and share with the other sex
in all the rights and privileges of society.
-" Were the human species so framed by nature as that each
individual possessed within himself every faculty, requisite
both for his own preservation and for the propagation of his
kind : Were all society and intercourse cut off between man
and man, by the primary intention of the supreme Creator :
It seems evident, that so solitary a being would be as much
incapable of justice, as of social discourse and conversation.
Where mutual regards and forbearance serve to no manner
of purpose, they would never direct the conduct of any rea-
sonable man. The headlong course of the passions would
be checked by no reflection on future consequences. And
as each man is here supposed to love himself alone, and to
depend only on himself and his own activity for safety and
happiness, he would, on every occasion, to the utmost of
his power, challenge the preference above every other being,
to none of which he is bound by any ties, either of nature or
of interest.
But suppose the conjunction of the sexes to be established
in nature, a family immediately arises ; and particular rules
being found requisite for its subsistence, these are imme-
diately embraced ; though without comprehending the rest
of mankind within their prescriptions. Suppose, that several
families unite together into one society, which is totally
disjoined from all others, the rules, which preserve peace
and. order, enlarge themselves to the utmost extent of that
society ; but becoming then entirely useless, lose their force
when carried one step farther. But again suppose, that
OF JUSTICE. 187
several distinct societies maintain a kind of intercourse for SECT,
mutual convenience and advantage, the boundaries of justice ______
still grow larger, in proportion to the largeness of men's P * KT L
views, and the force of their mutual connexions. History,
experience, reason sufficiently instruct us in this natural
progress of human sentiments, and in the gradual enlarge-
ment of our regards to justice, in proportion as we become
acquainted with the extensive utilitv of that virtue.
PART II.
If we examine the particular laws, by which justice is
directed, and property determined ; we shall still be pre-
sented with the same conclusion. The good of mankind is
the only object of all these laws and regulations. Not only
it is requisite, for the peace and interest of society, that
men's possessions should be separated ; but the rules, which
we follow, in making the separation, are such as can best be
contrived to serve farther the interests of society.
We shall suppose, that a creature, possessed of reason, but
unacquainted with human nature, deliberates with himself
what KTJLES of justice or property would best promote
public interest, and establish peace and security among man-
kind: His most obvious thought would be, to assign the
largest possessions to the most extensive virtue, and give
every one the power of doing good, proportioned to his incli-
nation. In a perfect theocracy, where a being, infinitely
intelligent, governs by particular volitions, this rule would
certainly have place, and might serve to the wisest purposes:
But were mankind to execute such a law ; so great is the
uncertainty of merit, both from its natural obscurity, and
from the self-conceit of each individual, that no determinate
rule of conduct would ever result from it ; and the total
dissolution of society must be the immediate consequence.
Fanatics may suppose, that dominion is founded on grace, and
that saints alone inherit the earth ; but the civil magistrate
very justly puts these sublime theorists on the same footing
with common robbers, and teaches them by the severest dis-
cipline, that a rule, which, iu speculation, may seem the
most advantageous to society, may yet be found, in practice,
totally pernicious and destructive.
That there were religious fanatics of this kind in England,
188 CONCERNING THE PRINCIPLES OF MORALS.
during the civil wars,, we learn from history ; though it is
probable, that the obvious tendency of these principles excited
such horror in mankind, as soon obliged the dangerous en-
thusiasts to renounce, or at least conceal their tenets. Per-
haps, the levellers, who claimed an equal distribution of
property, were a kind of political fanatics, which arose from
the religious species, and more openly avowed their preten-
sions ; as carrying a more plausible appearance, of being
practicable in themselves, as well as useful to human society.
It must, indeed, be confessed, that nature is so liberal to
mankind, that, were all her presents equally divided among
the species, and improved by art and industry, every indivi-
dual would enjoy all the necessaries, and even most of the
comforts of life ; nor would ever be liable to any ills, but
such as might accidentally arise from the sickly frame and
constitution of his body. It must also be confessed, that,
wherever we depart from this equality, we rob the poor of
more satisfaction than we add to the rich, and that the
slight gratification of a frivolous vanity, in one individual,
frequently costs more than bread to many families, and even
provinces. It may appear withal, that the rule of equality,
as it would be highly useful, is not altogether impracticable ;
but has taken place, at least in an imperfect degree, in
some republics ; particularly that of Sparta ; where it was
attended, it is said, with the most beneficial consequences.
Not to mention, that the Agrarian laws, so frequently
claimed in Eome, and carried into execution in many Greek
cities, proceeded, all of them, from a general idea of the
utility of this principle.
But historians, and even common sense, may inform us,
that, however specious these ideas of perfect equality may
seem, they are really, at bottom, impracticable; and were
they not so, would be extremely pernicious to human society.
Render possessions ever so equal, men's different degrees of
art, care, and industry will immediately break that equality.
Or if you check these virtues, you reduce society to the most
extreme indigence ; and instead of preventing want and
beggary in a few, render it unavoidable to the whole com-
munity. The most rigorous inquisition too is requisite to
watch every inequality on its first appearance ; and the most
severe jurisdiction, to punish and redress it. But besides,
that so much authority must soon degenerate into tyranny,
OF JUSTICE. 189
and be exerted with great partialities ; who can possibly be SECT,
possessed of it, in such a situation as is here supposed? . _ .
Perfect equality of possessions, destroying all subordination, P AaT u -
weakens extremely the authority of magistracy, and must
reduce all power nearly to a level, as well as property.
We may conclude, therefore, that, in order to establish
laws for the regulation of property, we must be acquainted
with the nature and situation of man ; must reject appear-
ances, which may be false, though specious ; and must search
for those rules, which are, on the whole, most useful and
beneficial. Vulgar sense and slight experience are sufficient
for this purpose ; where men give not way to too selfish
avidity, or too extensive enthusiasm.
Who sees not, for instance, that whatever is produced or
improved by a man's art or industry ought, for ever, to be
secured to him, in order to give encouragement to such useful
habits and accomplishments ? That the property ought also
to descend to children and relations, for the same useful pur-
pose? That it may be alienated by consent, in order to
beget that commerce and intercourse, which is so beneficial
to human society? And that all contracts and promises
ought carefully to be fulfilled, in order to secure mutual
trust and confidence, by which the general interest of man-
kind is so much promoted?
Examine the writers on the laws of nature ; and you will
always find, that, whatever principles they set out with, they
are sure to terminate here at last, and to assign, as the ulti-
mate reason for every rule which they establish, the con-
venience and necessities of mankind. A concession thus
extorted, in opposition to systems, has more authority, than
if it had been made in prosecution of them.
What other reason, indeed, could writers ever give, why
this must be mine and that yours ; since uninstructed nature,
surely, never made any such distinction ? The objects, which
receive those appellations, are, of themselves, foreign to us ;
they are totally disjoined and separated from us ; and nothing
but the general interests of society can form the connexion.
Sometimes, the interests of society may require a rule of
justice in a particular case ; but may not determine any par-
ticular rule, among several, which are all equally beneficial.
In that case, the slightest analogies are laid hold of, in order
to prevent that indifference and ambiguity, which would be
J90 CONCERNING THE PRINCIPLES OF MORALS.
SECT, the source of perpetual dissention. Thus possession alont,
, ' _ . and first possession, is supposed to convey property, where
:>art II. n0 body else has any preceding claim and pretension. Many
of the reasonings of lawyers are of this analogical nature,
and depend on very slight connexions of the imagination.
Does any one scruple, in extraordinaay cases, to violate all
regard to the private property of individuals, and sacrifice
to public interest a distinction, which had been established
for the sake of that interest ? The safety of the people is
the supreme law : All other particular laws are subordinate
to it, and dependant on it : And if, in the common course of
things, they be followed and regarded ; it is only because
the public safety and interest commonly demand so equal
and impartial an administration.
Sometimes both utility and analogy fail, and leave the
laws of justice in total uncertainty. Thus, it is highly re-
quisite, that prescription or long possession should convey
property; but what number of days or months or years
should be sufficient for that purpose, it is impossible for
reason alone to determine. Civil laws here supply the place
of the natural code, and assign different terms for prescrip-
tion, according to the different utilities, proposed by the
legislator. Bills of exchange and promissory notes, by the
laws of most countries, prescribe sooner than bonds, and
mortgages, and contracts of a more formal nature.
In general, we may observe, that all questions of property
are subordinate to authority of civil laws, which extend,
restrain, modify, and alter the rules of natural justice, ac-
cording to the particular convenience of each community.
The laws have, or ought to have, a constant reference to
the constitution of government, the manners, the climate,
the religion, the commerce, the situation of each society.
A late author * of genius, as well as learning, has prosecuted
this subject at large, and has established, from these prin-
ciples, a system of political knowledge, which abounds in
ingenious and brilliant thoughts, and is not wanting in
solidity. 2
1 [Editions G and K read: Of great This illustrious writer, however, sets
genius as well as extensive learning, out with a different theory, and supposes
the best system of political knowledge, all right to be founded on certain ra/>-
that, perha ps, has ever yet been com- ports or relations; which is a system,
muni ea ted to the world.] that, in my opinion, never will be recon-
2 The author of L'Esprit des Loix. ciled with true philosophy. Father
\
OF JUSTICE. 191
What is a man's property ? Any thing, which it is lawful
for him, and for him alone, to use. But what rule have we,
by which we can distinguish these objects ? Here we must
have recourse to statutes, customs, precedents, analogies,
and a hundred other circumstances ; some of which are con-
stant and inflexible, some variable and arbitrary. But the
ultimate point, in which they all professedly terminate, is,
the interest and happiness of human society. Where this
enters not into consideration, nothing can appear more
whimsical, unnatural, and even superstitious, than all or
most of the laws of justice and of property.
Those, who ridicule vulgar superstitions, and expose the
folly of particular regards to meats, days, places, postures,
apparel, have an easy task ; while they consider all the
qualities and relations of the objects, and discover no ade-
quate cause for that affection or antipathy, veneration or
horror, which have so mighty an influence over a consider-
able part of mankind. A Syrian would have starved rather
than taste pigeon ; an Egyptian would not have approached
bacon: But if these species of food be examined by the
senses of sight, smell, or taste, or scrutinized by the sciences
Malebranche, as far as I can learn, terests of society, it loses all its au-
was the first that started this abstract thority, and men judge by the ideas of
theory of morals, which was afterwards natural justice, which are conformable to
adopted by ' Cudworth, Clarke, and those interests. Sometimes also civil
others ; and as it excludes all senti- laws, for useful purposes, require a cere-
ment, and pretends to found every thing mony or form to any deed ; and where
on reason, it has not wanted followers that is wanting, their decrees run con-
in this philosophic age. See Section 1. trary to the usual tenour of justice; but
and Appendix I. With regard to justice, onewhotakesadvantageof such chicanes,
the virtue here treated of, the inference is not commonly regarded as an honest
against this theory seems short and con- man. Thus, the interests of society
elusive. Property is allowed to be de- require, that contracts be fulfilled ; and
pendent on civil laws ; civil laws are there is not a more material article
allowed to have no other object, but either of natural or civil justice : Bur,
the interest of society : This therefore the omission of a trifling circum-
must be allowed to be the sole founda- stance will often, by law, invalidate a
tion of property and justice. Not to contract, in foro humano. but not in
mention, that our obligation itself to foro conscientia, as divines express
obey the magistrate and his laws is themselves. In these cases, the magis-
founded on nothing but the interests of trate is supposed only to withdraw his
society. power of enforcing the right, not to
If the ideas of justice, sometimes, do have altered the right. Where his in
not follow the dispositions of civil law : tention extends to the right, and is con-
we shall find, that these cases, instead formable to the inten >ts of society; it
of objections, are confirmations of the never fails to alter the right; a clear
theory delivered above. Where a civil proof of the origin of justice and of
law is so perverse as to cross all the in- property, as assigned above.
[The reference to Ccdwohth was added in Edition O.J
192 CONCERNING THE PRINCIPLES OF MORALS.
of chyinistry, medicine, or physics; no difference is ever
found between them and any other species, nor can that
precise circumstance be pitched on, which may afford a just
foundation for the religious passion. A fowl on Thursday
is lawful food ; on Friday abominable : Eggs, in this house,
and in this diocese, are permitted during Lent ; a hundred
paces farther, to eat them is a damnable sin. This earth or
building, yesterday was profane ; to-day, by the muttering
of certain words, it has become holy and sacred. Such re-
flections as these, in the mouth of a philosopher, one may
safely say, are too obvious to have any influence ; because
they must always, to every man, occur at first sight ; and
where they prevail not, of themselves, they are surely ob-
structed by education, prejudice, and passion, not by igno-
rance or mistake.
It may appear to a careless view, or rather a too abstracted
reflection, that there enters a like superstition into all the
sentiments of justice ; and that, if a man expose its object,
or what we call property, to the same scrutiny of sense and
science, he will not, by the most accurate enquiry, find any
foundation for the difference made by moral sentiment. I
may lawfully nourish myself from this tree ; but the fruit of
another of the same species, ten paces off, it is criminal for
me to touch. Had I worne this apparel an hour ago, I had
merited the severest punishment ; but a man, by pronounc-
ing a few magical syllables, has now rendered it fit for my
use and service. Were this' house placed in the neighbour-
ing territory, it had been immoral for me to dwell in it ; but
being built on this side of the river, it is subject to a dif-
ferent municipal law, and, l by its becoming mine, I incur no
blame or censure. The same species of reasoning, it may
be thought, which so successfully exposes superstition, is
also applicable to justice ; nor is it possible, in the one case
more than in the other, to point out, in the object, that pre-
cise quality or circumstance, which is the foundation of the
sentiment.
But there is this material difference between superstition and
mstice, that the former is frivolous, useless, and burdensome ;
the latter is absolutely requisite to the well-being of mankind
and existence of society. When we abstract from this circum-
1 [By its becoming mine : added in Edition Q.]
OF JUSTICE,
103
stance (for it is too apparent ever to be overlooked) it must be
confessed, that all regards to right and property, seem entirely
without foundation, as much as the grossest and most vulgar
superstition. Were the interests of society nowise con-
cerned, it is as unintelligible, why another's articulating
certain sounds implying consent, should change the nature
of my actions with regard to a particular object, as why the
reciting of a liturgy by a priest, in a certain habit and pos-
ture, should dedicate a heap of brick and timber, and render
it, thenceforth and for ever, sacred. 1
BEOT.
Ill,
Part II.
1 It is evident, that the will or con-
sent alone never transfers property, nor
causes the obligation of a promise (for
the same reasoning extends to both)
but the will must be expressed by words
or signs, in order to impose a tye 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, though he secretly give a
different direction to his intention, and
with-hold the assent of his mind. But
though the expression makes, on most
occasions, the whole of the promise, yet
it does not always so ; and one who
should make use of any expression, of
which he knows not the meaning, and
which he uses without any sense of the
consequences, would not certainly be
lx>und by it. Nay, though he kuow its
meaning, yet if he use it in jest only, and
with such signs as evidently show, that
he has no serious intention of binding
himself, he would not lie under any
obligation of performance ; but it is
necessary, that the words be a perfect
expression of the will, without any con-
trary signs. Nay, even this we must
not carry so far as to imagine, that one,
whom, by our quickness of understand-
ing, 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 conclusion to those cases
where the signs are of a different nature
from those of deceit. All these con-
tradictions are easily accounted for, if
justice arise entirely from its usefulness
to society ; but will never be explained
on any other hypothesis.
It is remarkable, that the moral deci-
sions of the Jesuits and other relaxed
casuists, were commonly formed in pro-
secution of some such subtilties of
reasoning as are here pointed out, and
proceed as much from the habit cf
scholastic refinement as from any cor-
ruption of the heart, if we may follow
the authority of Mons. Bayle. See his
Dictionary, article Loyola. And why
has the indignation of mankind risen so
high against these casuists ; but because
every one perceived, that human society
could not subsist were such practices
authorized, and that morals must alwaj's
be handled with a view to public in-
terest, more than philosophical regu-
larity? If the secret direction of the
intention, said every man of sense,
could invalidate a contract; where is
our security ? And yet a metaphysical
schoolman might think, that where an
intention was supposed to be requisite,
if that intention really had not place,
no consequence ought to follow, and no
obligation be imposed. The casuistical
subtilties may not be greater than the
subtilties of lawyers, hinted at above ;
but as the former are pernicious, and
the latter innocent and even necessary,
this is the reason of the very different
reception they meet with from the
world.
* It is a doctrine of the church of
Rome, that the priest, by a secret di-
rection of his intention, can invalidate
any sacrament. This position is de-
rived from a strict and regular prosecu-
tion of the obvious truth, that empty
words alone, without any meaning or
intention in the speaker, can never be
attended with any effect. If the same
conclusion be not admitted in reason-
ings concerning civil contracts, where
VOL. IV.
[This paragraph was added in Edition 0.]
O
194 CONCERNING THE PRINCIPLES OF MORALS.
SECT. These reflections are far from weakening the obligations of
. , _ IIL , justice, or diminishing any thing from the most sacred at-
at II. tention to property. On the contrary, such sentiments must
. acquire new force from the present reasoning. For what
stronger foundation can be desired or conceived for any duty,
than to observe, that human society, or even human nature
could not subsist, without the establishment of it ; and will
still arrive at greater degrees of happkiess and perfection,
the more inviolable the regard is, which is paid to that duty ? *
The dilemma seems obvious : As justice evidently tends
to promote public utility and to support civil society, the
sentiment of justice is either derived from our reflecting on
that tendency, or like hunger, thirst, and other appetites,
resentment, love of life, attachment to offspring, and other
passions, arises from a simple original instinct in the human
breast, which nature has implanted for like salutary pur-
poses. 2 If the latter be the case, it follows, that property,
which is the object of justice, is also distinguished by a
simple, original instinct, and is not ascertained by any argu-
ment or reflection. But who is there that ever heard of
such an instinct? Or is this a subject, in which new dis-
coveries can be made? We may as well attempt to discover,
in the body, new senses, which had before escaped the ob-
servation of all mankind.
But farther, though it seems a very simple proposition
to say, that nature, by an instinctive sentiment, distinguishes
property, yet in reality we shall find, that there are required
for that purpose ten thousand different instincts, and these
employed about objects of the greatest intricacy and nicest
discernment. For when a definition of property is required,
that relation is found to resolve itself into any possession
acquired by occupation, by industry, by prescription, by in-
the affair is allowed to be of so much dogmatical any superstition may ap-
less consequence than the eternal salva- pear, it never can convey any thorough
tion of thousands, it proceeds entirely persuasion of the reality of its objects,
from men's sense of the danger and in- or put them, in any degree, on a balance
convenience of the doctrine in the for- with the common incidents of life,
mer case : And we may thence observe, which we learn from daily observation
that however positive, arrogant, and and experimental reasoning.
1 [Edition G omits all between this from a simple, original instinct in the
point and the concluding paragraph of human breast, without any reflection,
the section.] even o n those obvious interests of
s [Edition N omits the preceding society, which absolutely require that
sentence, and reads : If justice arose virtue, it follows, &c]
OF JUSTICE. 186
heritance, by contract, &c. Can we think, that nature, by SECT.
an original instinct, instructs us in all these methods of , UJ -
acquisition ? ^abt H.
These words too, inheritance and contract, stand for ideas
infinitely complicated ; and to define them exactly, a hundred
volumes of laws, and a thousand volumes of commentators,
have not been found sufficient. Does nature, whose instincts
in men are all simple, embrace such complicated and artificial
objects, and create a rational creature, without trusting any
thing to the operation of his reason ?
But even though all this were admitted, it would not be
satisfactory. Positive laws can certainly transfer property.
Is it by another original instinct, that we recognize the
authority of kings and senates, and mark all the boundaries
of their jurisdiction ? Judges too, even though their sen-
tence be erroneous and illegal, mast be allowed, for the sake
of peace and order, to have decisive authority, and ultimately
to determine property. Have we original, innate ideas of
praetors and chancellors and juries? Who sees not, that all
these institutions arise merely from the necessities of human
society ?
All birds of the same species, in every age and country,
build their nests alike : In this we see the force of instinct.
Men, in different times and places, frame their houses diffe-
rently : Here we perceive the influence of reason and custom.
A like inference may be drawn from comparing the instinct
of generation and the institution of property.
How great soever the variety of municipal laws, it must
be confessed, that their chief out-lines pretty regularly con-
cur ; because the purposes, to which they tend, are every
where exactly similar. In like manner, all houses have a
roof and walls, windows and chimneys ; though diversified
in their shape, figure, and materials. The purposes of the
latter, directed to the conveniencies of human life, discover
not more plainly their origin from reason and reflection,
than do those of the former, which point all to a like end.
I need not mention the variations, which all the rules of
property receive from the finer turns and connexions of the
imagination, and from the subtilties and abstractions of law-
topics and reasonings. There is no possibility of reconciling
this observation to the notion of original instincts.
What alone will beget a doubt concerning the theory, on
o 2
196 CONCERNING THE PRINCIPLES OF MORALS.
SECT, which I insist, is the influence of education and acquired
1IL habits, by which we are so accustomed to blame injustice,
Part II. that we are not, in every instance, conscious of any imme-
diate reflection on the pernicious consequences of it. The
views the most familiar to us are apt, for that very reason,
to escape us ; and what we have very frequently performed
from certain motives, we are apt likewise to continue
mechanically, without recalling, on every occasion, the re-
flections, which first determined us. The convenience, or
rather necessity, which leads to justice, is so universal, and
every where points so much to the same rules, that the habit
takes place in all societies ; and it is not without some
scrutiny, that we are able to ascertain its true origin. The
matter, however, is not so obscure, but that, even in common
life, we have, every moment, recourse to the principle of
public utility, and ask, What must become of the world, if
such practices prevail ? How could society subsist under such
disorders ? Were the distinction or separation of possessions
entirely useless, can any one conceive, that it ever should
have obtained in society ?
Thus we seem, upon the whole, to have attained a know-
ledge of the force of that principle here insisted on, and can
determine what degree of esteem or moral approbation may
result from reflections on public interest and utility. The
necessity^! ' ju_stice_ toJJie jsupport of society is the SOLE
foundation of that virtue ; and since no moral excellence is
more highly esteemed, we may conclude, that this circum-
stance of usefulness has, in general, the strongest energy,
and most entire command over our sentiments. It must,
therefore, be the source of a considerable part of the merit
ascribed to humanity, benevolence, friendship, public spirit,
and other social virtues of that stamp ; as it is the SOLE
source of the moral approbation paid to fidelity, justice,
veracity, integrity, and those other estimable and useful
qualities and principles. It is entirely agreeable to the rules
of philosophy, and even of common reason; where any
principle has been found to have a great force and energy
in one instance, to ascribe to it a like energy in all similar
instances. ' This indeed is Newton's chief rule of philo-
sophizing. 2
1 [This spntence is printed as a not* it the second rule.]
in Editions G to P; and they also call 2 Principia, lib. iii.'
OF POLITICAL SOCIETY. 197
Section IV. Of Political Society.
Had every man sufficient sagacity to perceive, at all times, S ^^ T -
the strong interest, which binds him to the observance of < ,-1
justice and equity, and strength of mind sufficient to persevere
in a steady adherence to a general and a distant interest, in
opposition to the allurements of present pleasure and advan-
tage ; there had never, in that case, been any such thing as ^
government or political society, but each man, following bis
natural liberty, had lived in entire peace and harmony with
all others. What need of positive law where natural justice
is, of itself, a sufficient restraint ? Why create magistrates,
where there never arises any disorder or iniquity? Why
abridge our native freedom, when, in every instance, the
utmost exertion of it is found innocent and beneficial ? It
is evident, that, if government were totally useless, it never
could have place, and that the SOLE foundation of tbe duty
of ALLEGIANCE is the advantage, wbich it procures to
society, by preserving peace and order among mankind.
When a number of political societies are erected, and
maintain a great intercourse together, a new set of rules are
immediately discovered to be useful in that particular situa-
tion ; and accordingly take place under the title of LAWS
of NATIONS. Of this kind are, the sacredness of the
person of ambassadors, abstaining from poisoned arms,
quarter in war, with others of that kind, which are plainly
calculated for the advantage of states and kingdoms, in their
intercourse with each other.
The rules of justice, such as prevail among individuals,
are not entirely suspended among political societies. All
princes pretend a reg'ard to the rights of other princes ; and
some, no doubt, without hypocrisy. Alliances and treaties
are every day made between independent states, which would
only be so much waste of parchment, if they were not found,
by experience, to have some influence and authority. But
here is the difference between kingdoms and individuals.
Human nature cannot, by any means, subsist, without the
association of individuals ; and that association never could
have place, were no regard paid to the laws of equity and
justice. Disorder, confusion, the war of all against all, are
the necessary consequences of such a licentious conduct.
198 CONCERNING THE PRINCIPLES OF MORALS.
But nations can subsist without intercourse. They may even
subsist, in some degree, under a general war. The obser-
vance of justice, though useful among them, is not guarded
by so strong a necessity as among individuals ; and the moral
obligation holds proportion with the usefulness. All politicians
will allow, and most philosophers, that EEASONS of STATE
may, in particular emergencies, dispense with the rules of
justice, and invalidate any treaty or alliance, where the strict
observance of it would be prejudicial, in a considerable
degree, to either of the contracting parties. But nothing
less than the most extreme necessity, it is confessed, can
justify individuals in a breach of promise, or an invasion of
the properties of others.
In a confederated commonwealth, such as the Achaean
republic of old, or the Swiss Cantons and United Provinces
in modern times ; as the league has here a peculiar utility,
the conditions of union have a peculiar sacredness and
authority, and a violation of them would be regarded as no
less, or even as more criminal, than any private injury or
injustice.
The long and helpless infancy of man requires the com-
bination of parents for the subsistence of their young ; and
that combination requires the virtue of CHASTITY or
fidelity to the marriage bed. Without such a utility, it will
readily be owned, that such a virtue would never have been
thought of. 1
An infidelity of this nature is much more pernicious in
women than in men. Hence the laws of chastity are much
stricter over the one sex than over the other.
These rules have all a reference to generation ; and yet
women past child-bearing are no more supposed to be ex-
empted from them than those in the flower of their youth
1 The only solution, which Plato meaning. And indeed to -what other
gives to all the objections, that might purpose do all the ideas of chastity and
be raised against the community of modesty serve? Nisi utile est quod
women, established in his imaginary facimus, frustra est gloria, says Thx-
commonwealth, is KdWiara y&p 5); tovto deus, 3, 17,12. KaXbv t&v fi\a$tpa>v
Kol \4ycrat ko! \e\e'|eTat, 8rt rb /xiv ovStv, says Plutarch de vitioso pudore,
UKptXi/jiov ko\6u. Tb Se fi\afiepbv alaxP^"- *>29, F. Nihil eorum quae damnosa
Scite enim istud# dicitur $ dicetur, Id sunt, pulchrum est. The same was the
quod utile sit honeslum esse, quod autem opinion of the Stoics. Qaoiv olv ol StoxkoI
inutile sit turpe esse. De Rep. lib. 5. p. 0706^1* flvcu wx ertpav
467. ex edit. Ser. And this maxim uxpeKtias, wtptKaav nei\4yofTts TTivapfT^it
will admit of no doubt, where public kc& ttjc a-irovSalav irpafyv. Sext. Emp,
utility is concerned ; which is Plato's lib. 3. cap. 20.
OF POLITICAL SOCIETY. 199
and beauty. General rules are often extended beyond the SECT,
principle, whence they first arise ; and this in all matters of . _ /
taste and sentiment. It is a vulgar story at Paris, that,
during the rage of the Mississippi, a hump-backed fellow
went every day into the Rue de Quincempoix, where the
stock-jobbers met in great crowds, and was well paid for
allowing them to make use of his hump as a desk, in order
to sign their contracts upon it. Would the fortune, which
he raised by this expedient, make him a handsome fellow ;
though it be confessed, that personal beauty arises very
much from ideas of utility ? The imagination is influenced
by associations of ideas ; which, though they arise at first
from the judgment, are not easily altered by every particular
exception that occurs to us. To which we may add, in
the present case of chastity, tliat the example of the old
would be pernicious to the young ; and that women, con-
tinually foreseeing that a certain time would bring them the
liberty of indulgence, would naturally advance that period,
and think more lightly of this whole duty, so requisite to
society.
Those who live in the same family have such frequent
opportunities of licence of this kind, that nothing could pre-
serve purity of manners, were marriage allowed, among the
nearest relations, or any intercourse of love between them
ratified by law and custom. INCEST, therefore, being
pernicious in a superior degree, has also a superior turpitude
and moral deformity annexed to it.
What is the reason, why, by the Athenian laws, one
might marry a half-sister by the father, but not by the
mother? Plainly this: The manners of the Athenians
were so reserved, that a man was never permitted to approach
the women's apartment, even in the same family, unless
where he visited his own mother. His step-mother and her
children were as much shut up from him as the women of
any other family, and there was as little danger of any
criminal correspondence between them. Uncles and nieces,
for a like reason, might marry at Athens ; but neither these,
nor half-brothers and sisters, could contract that alliance at
Rome, where the intercourse was more open between the
sexes. Public utility is the cause of all these variations.
To repeat, to a man's prejudice, any thing that escaped
him in private conversation, or to make any such use of his
200 CONCERNING THE PRINCIPLES OF MORALS.
) ^ T ' private letters, is highly blamed. The free and social inter-
. ' course of minds must be extremely checked, where no such
rules of fidelity are established.
Even in repeating stories, whence we can foresee no ill
consequences to result, the giving of one's author is regarded
as a piece of indiscretion, if not of immorality. These
stories, in passing from hand to hand, and receiving all the
usual variations, frequently come about to the persons con-
cerned, and produce animosities and quarrels among people,
whose intentions are the most innocent and inoffensive.
To pry into secrets, to open or even read the letters of
others, to play the spy upon their words and looks and
actions ; what habits more inconvenient in society ? What
habits, of consequence, more blameable?
This principle is also the foundation of most of the laws
of good manners ; a kind of lesser morality, calculated for
the ease of company and conversation. Too much or too
little ceremony are both blamed, and every thing, which pro-
motes ease, without an indecent familiarity, is useful and
laudable.
Constancy in friendships, attachments, and familiarities,
is commendable, and is requisite to support trust and good
correspondence in society. But in places of general, though
casual concourse, where the pursuit of health and pleasure
brings people promiscuously together, public conveniency has
dispensed with this maxim ; and custom there promotes an
unreserved conversation for the time, by indulging the
privilege of dropping afterwards every indifferent acquaint-
ance, without breach of civility or good manners.
Even in societies, which are established on principles the
most immoral, and the most destructive to the interests of
the general society, there are required certain rules, which a
species of false honour, as well as private interest, engages
the members to observe. Robbers and pirates, it has often
been remarked, could not maintain their pernicious con-
federacy, did they not establish a new distributive justice
among themselves, and recal those laws of equity, which
they have violated with the rest of mankind.
I hate a drinking companion, says the Greek proverb,
who never forgets. The follies of the last debauch should
be buried in eternal oblivion, in order to give full scope to
the follies of the next.
OF POLITICAL SOCIETY. 201
Among nations, where an immoral gallantry, if covered SECT.
with a thin veil of mystery, is, in some degree, authorised by - _ /
custom, there immediately arise a set of rules, calculated for
the conveniency of that attachment. The famous court or
parliament of love in Provence formerly decided all difficult
cases of this nature.
In societies for play, there are laws required for the con-
duct of the game ; and these laws are different in each game.
The foundation, I own, of such societies is frivolous ; and
the laws are, in a great measure, though not altogether,
capricious and arbitrary. So far is there a material difference
between them and the rules of justice, fidelity, and loyalty.
The general societies of men are absolutely requisite for the
subsistence of the species ; and the public conveniency,
which regulates morals, is inviolably established in the nature
of man, and of the world, in which he lives. The com-
parison, therefore, in these respects, is very imperfect. We
may only learn from it the necessity of rules, wherever men
have any intercourse with each other.
They cannot even pass each other on the road without
rules. Waggoners, coachmen, and postilions have principles,
by which they give the way ; and these are chiefly founded
on mutual ease and convenience. Sometimes also they are
arbitrary, at least dependent on a kind of capricious analogy,
like many of the reasonings of lawyers. 1
To carry the matter farther, we may observe, that it is im-
possible for men so much as to murder each other without
statutes, and maxims, and an idea of justice and honour.
War has its laws as well as peace ; and even that sportive
kind of war, carried on among wrestlers, boxers, cudgel-
players, gladiators, is regulated by fixed principles. Common
interest and utility beget infallibly a standard of right and
wrong among the parties concerned.
1 That the lighter machine yield to the great city, and of the preference of
the heavier, and, in machines of the the future to the past. From like rea-
same kind, that the empty yield to the sons, among foot-walkers, the right-
loadted: this rule is founded on con- hand int.itles a man to tho wall, and
venience. That those who are going to prevents jostling, which peaceable peo-
the capital take place of those who pie find very disagreeable and incon-
are coming from it; this seems to be venient.
founded on some idea of the dignity of
Part I.
202 CONCERNING THE PRINCIPLES OF MORALS.
Sect. V. Why Utility pleases.
PAET I.
SECT. j T seems so natural a thought to ascribe to their utility the
praise, which we bestow on the social virtues, that one would
expect to meet with this principle every where in moral
writers, as the chief foundation of their reasoning and enquiry.
In common life, we may observe, that the circumstance of
utility is always appealed to; nor is it supposed, that a greater
eulogy can be given to any man, than to display his usefulness
to the public, and enumerate the services, which he has
performed to mankind and society. What praise, even of an
inanimate form, if the regularity and elegance of its parts
destroy not its fitness for any useful purpose ! And how satis-
factory an apology for any disproportion or seeming deformity,
if we can show the necessity of that particular construction
for the use intended ! A ship appears more beautiful to an
artist, or one moderately skilled in navigation, where its prow
is wide and swelling beyond its poop, than if it were framed
with a precise geometrical regularity, in contradiction to all the
laws of mechanics. A building, whose doors and windows
were exact squares, would hurt the eye by that very propor-
tion ; as ill adapted to the figure of a human creature, for
whose service the fabric was intended. What wonder then,
that a man, whose habits and conduct are hurtful to society,
and dangerous or pernicious to every one who has an inter-
course with him, should, on that account, be an object of
disapprobation, and communicate to every spectator the
strongest sentiment of disgust and hatred. 1
1 We ought not to imagine, because the very same qualities be transferred
an inanimate object may be useful as to an insensible, inanimate being, they
well as a man, that therefore it ought will not excite the same sentiments,
also, according to this system, to merit The beneficial qualities of herbs and
the appellation of virtuous. The senti- minerals are, indeed, sometimes called
ments, excited by utility, are, in the two their virtues ; but this is an effect of the
cases, very different ; and the one is caprice of language, which ought not to
mixed with affection, esteem, approba- be regarded in reasoning. For though
tion, S[c. and not the other. In like there be a species of approbation attend-
manner, an inanimate object may have ing even inanimate objects when bene-
good colour and proportions as well as ficial, yet this sentiment is so weak, and so
a human figure. J3.it can we ever be different from that which is directed to
in love with the former ? There are a beneficent magistrates or statesmen,
numerous set of passions and senti- that they ought not to be ranked under
ments, of which thinking rational beings the same class or appellation,
are, bytheoriginalconstitution of nature, A very small variation of the object,
the only proper objects : And though even Avhere the same qualities are pre-
WHY UTILITY PLEASES. 203
But perhaps the difficulty of accounting for these effects of SECT,
usefulness, or its contrary, has kept philosophers from ad- - ^
mitting them into their systems of ethics, and has induced Pabt *
them rather to employ any other principle, in explaining the
origin of moral good and evil. But it is no just reason for
rejecting any principle, confirmed by experience, that we
cannot give a satisfactory account of its origin, nor are able
to resolve it into other more general principles. And if we
would employ a little thought on the present subject, we need
be at no loss to account for the influence of utility, and to
deduce it from principles, the most known and avowed in
human nature.
From the apparent usefulness of the social virtues, it has
readily been inferred by sceptics, both ancient and modern,
that all moral distinctions arise from education, and were, at
first, invented, and afterwards encouraged, by the art of poli-
ticians, in order to render men tractable, and subdue their
natural ferocity and selfishness, which incapacitated them for
society. This principle, indeed, of precept and education,
must so far be owned to have a powerful influence, that it
may frequently encrease or diminish, beyond their natural
standard, the sentiments of approbation or dislike ; and may
even, in particular instances, create, without any natural
principle, a new sentiment of this kind ; as is evident in all
superstitious practices and observances : But that all moral
affection or dislike arises from this origin, will never surely
be allowed by any judicious enquirer. Had nature made no
such distinction, founded on the original constitution of the
mind, the words, honourable and shameful, lovely and odious,
noble and despicable, had never had place in any language ;
nor could politicians, had they invented these terms, ever
have been able to render them intelligible, or make them
convey any idea to the audience. So that nothing can be
more superficial than this paradox of the sceptics; and it
were well, if, in the abstruser studies of logic and metaphysics,
we could as easily obviate the cavils of that sect, as in the
practical and more intelligible sciences of politics and
morals.
The social virtues must, therefore, be allowed to have a
eerved, will destroy a sentiment. Thus, where nature is not extremely per-
the same beauty, transferred to a dif- verted,
farent sex, excites no amorous passion,
204 CONCERNING THE PRINCIPLES OF MORALS.
SECT, natural beauty and amiableness, which, at first, antecedent
r to all precept or education, recommends them to the esteem
Paht L f uninstructed mankind, and engages their affections. And
as the public utility of these virtues is the chief circum-
stance, whence they derive their merit, it follows, that the
end, which they have a tendency to promote, must be some
way agreeable to us, and take hold of some natural affection.
It must please, either from considerations of self-interest, or
from more generous motives and regards.
It has often been asserted, that, as every man has a strong
connexion with society, and perceives the impossibility of his
solitary subsistence, he becomes, on that account, favourable
to all those habits or principles, which promote order in so-
ciety, and insure to him the quiet possession of so inestimable
a blessing. As much as we value our own happiness and
welfare, as much must we applaud the practice of justice and
humanity, by which alone the social confederacy can be main-
tained, and every man reap the fruits of mutual protection
and assistance.
This deduction of morals from self-love, or a regard to
private interest, is an obvious thought, and has not arisen
wholly from the wanton sallies and sportive assaults of the
sceptics. To mention no others, Poltbius, one of the gravest
and most judicious, as well as most moral writers of antiquity,
has assigned this selfish origin to all our sentiments of virtue. 1
But though the solid, practical sense of that author, and his
aversion to all vain subtilties, render his authority on the
present subject very considerable ; yet is not this an affair to
be decided by authority, and the voice of nature and experi-
ence seems plainly to oppose the selfish theory.
We frequently bestow praise on virtuous actions, performed
in very distant ages and remote countries ; where the utmost
subtilty of imagination would not discover any appearance of
self-interest, or find any connexion of our present happiness
and security with events so widely separated from us.
A generous, a brave, a noble deed, performed by an adver-
1 Undutifulness to parents is disap- e| Siv vwoylyvfTal tis evvoia irap tKaartp
proved of by mankind, irpoopwixivovs rb rod KadrjKovros Swafxtoos koI Bediptas.
li4k\ov, Kal avWoyifanivovs, Sri rb Lib. vi. cap. 6. Perhaps the historian
irapcnrA^(Tioi/ tK&orois avrwv _ ,' _, must, a priori, conclude it impossible for such a creature as
Part II. man to be totally indifferent to the well or ill-being of his
fellow-creatures, and not readily, of himself, to pronounce,
where nothing gives him any particular byass, that what pro-
motes their happiness is good, what tends to their misery is
evil, without any farther regard or consideration. Here then
are the faint rudiments, at least, or out-lines, of a general dis-
tinction between actions ; and in proportion as the humanity
of the person is supposed to encrease, his connexion with
those who are injured or benefited, and his lively conception
of their misery or happiness ; his consequent censure or appro-
bation acquires proportionable vigour. There is no necessity,
that a generous action, barely mentioned in an old history or
remote gazette, should communicate any strong feelings of
applause and admiration. Virtue, placed at such a distance,
is liked a fixed star, which, though to the eye of reason, it
may appear as luminous as the sun in his meridian, is so
infinitely removed, as to affect the senses, neither with light
nor heat. Bring this virtue nearer, by our acquaintance or
connexion with the persons, or even by an eloquent recital of
the case ; our hearts are immediately caught, our sympathy
enlivened, and our cool approbation converted into the warmest
sentiments of friendship and regard. These seem necessary
and infallible consequences of the general principles of human
nature, as discovered in common life and practice.
Again ; reverse these views and reasonings : Consider the
matter a posteriori ; and weighing the consequences, enquire
if the merit of social virtue be not, in a great measure,
derived from the feelings of humanity, with which it affects
the spectators. It appears to be matter of fact, that the cir-
cumstance of utility, in all subjects, is a source of praise and
I approbation : That it is constantly appealed to in all moral
I decisions concerning the merit and demerit of actions : That
/ it is the sole source of that high regard paid to justice,
/ fidelity, honour, allegiance, and chastity : That it is insepa-
rable from all the other social virtues, humanity, generosity,
charity, affability, lenity, mercy, and moderation : And, in a
I word, that it is a foundation of the chief part of morals,
( which has a reference to mankind and our fellow-creatures.
It appears also, that, in our general approbation of cha-
racters and manners, the useful tendency of the social virtues
WIIY UTILITY PLEASES. 217
moves us not by any regards to self-interest, but has an in- SECT,
fluence much more universal and extensive. It appears, that , _ , _
a tendency to public good, and to the promoting of peace, Pabt ii
harmony, and order in society, does always, by affecting
the benevolent principles of our frame, engage us on the
side of the social virtues. And it appears, as an additional
confirmation, that these principles of humanity and sympathy
enter so deeply into all our sentiments, and have so powerful
an influence, as may enable them to excite the strongest
censure and applause. The present theory is the simple
result of all these inferences, each of which seems founded
on uniform experience and observation.
Were it doubtful, whether there were any such principle
in our nature as humanity or a concern for others, yet when
we see, in numberless instances, that whatever has a ten-
dency to promote the interests of society, is so highly
approved of, we ought thence to learn the force of the bene-
volent principle ; since it is impossible for any thing to please
as means to an end, where the end is totally indifferent. On
the other hand, were it doubtful, whether there were, im-
planted in our nature, any general principle of moral blame
and approbation, yet when we see, in numberless instances,
the influence of humanity, we ought thence to conclude, that /
it is impossible, but that every thing, which promotes the/
interest of society, must communicate pleasure, and whatj
is pernicious give uneasiness. But when these different
reflections and observations concur in establishing the same
conclusion, must they not bestow an undisputed evidence
upon it ?
It is however hoped, that the progress of this argument
will bring a farther confirmation of the present theory, by
showing the rise of other sentiments of esteem and regard
from the same or like principles.
Section VI. Of Qualities Useful to Ourselves.
PAET I. 1
It seems evident, that where a quality or habit is subjected
to our examination, if it appear, in any respect, prejudicial
to the person possessed of it, or such as incapacitates him
1 [In Editions G- to N this Section Part I., which subsequently appeared as
was introduced by paragraphs, forming Appendix IV., Of some Verbal Disputes.
218 CONCERNING TILE PRINCIPLES OF MORALS.
SECT, for business and action, it is instantly blamed, and ranked
___,__, among bis faults and imperfections. Indolence, negligence,
Part I. want of order and method, obstinacy, fickleness, rashness,
credulity ; these qualities were never esteemed by any one
indifferent to a character ; much less, extolled as accom-
plishments or virtues. The prejudice, resulting from them,
immediately strikes our eye, and gives us the sentiment of
pain and disapprobation.
No quality, it is allowed, is absolutely either blameable or
praise-worthy. It is all according to its degree. A due
medium, say the Peripatetics, is the characteristic of
virtue. But this medium is chiefly determined by utility.
A proper celerity, for instance, and dispatch in business, is
commendable. When defective, no progress is ever made in
the execution of any purpose : When excessive, it engages
us in precipitate and ill-concerted measures and enterprises :
By such reasonings, we fix the proper and commendable
mediocrity in all moral and prudential disquisitions ; and
never lose view of the advantages, which result from any
character or habit.
Now as these advantages are enjoyed by the person pos-
sessed of the character, it can never be self-love which renders
the prospect of them agreeable to us, the spectators, and
prompts our esteem and approbation. No force of imagina-
tion can convert us into another person, and make us fancy,
that we, being that person, reap benefit from those valuable
qualities, which belong to him. Or if it did, no celerity of
imagination could immediately transport us back, into
ourselves, and make us love and esteem the person, as dif-
ferent from us. Views and sentiments, so opposite to known
truth, and to each other, could never have place, at the same
time, in the same person. All suspicion, therefore, of selfish
regards, is here totally excluded. It is a quite different
principle, which actuates our bosom, and interests us in the
felicity of the person whom we contemplate. Where his
natural talents and acquired abilities give us the prospect of
elevation, advancement, a figure in life, prosperous success,
a steady command over fortune, and the execution of great
or advantageous undertakings; we are struck with such
agreeable images, and feel a complacency and regard imme-
diately arise towards him. The ideas of happiness, joy,
triumph, prosperity, are connected with every circumstance
OF QUALITIES USEFUL TO OURSELVES. 219
of his character, and diffuse over our minds a pleasing senti- SECT,
ment of sympathy and humanity. 1 / .
Let us suppose a person originally framed so as to have no l* ARr L
manner of concern for his fellow-creatures, but to regard the
happiness and misery of all sensible beings with greater
indifference than even two contiguous shades of the same
colour. Let us suppose, if the prosperity of nations were
laid on the one hand, and their ruin on the other, and he
were desired to choose ; that he would stand, like the school-
man's ass, irresolute and undetermined, between equal
motives ; or rather, like the same ass between two pieces of
wood or marble, without any inclination or propensity to
either side. The consequence, I believe, must be allowed
just, that such a person, being absolutely unconcerned, either
for the public good of a community or the private utility of
others, would look on every quality, however pernicious, or
however beneficial, to society, or to its possessor, with the
same indifference as on the most common and uninteresting
object.
But if, instead of this fancied monster, we suppose a man
to form a judgment or determination in the case, there is to
him a plain foundation of preference, where every thing else
is equal ; and however cool his choice may be, if his heart
be selfish, or if the persons interested be remote from him ;
there must still be a choice or distinction between what is
useful, and what is pernicious. Now this distinction is the
same in all its parts, with the moral distinction, whose
foundation has been so often, and so much in vain, enquired
after. The same endowments of the mind, in every circum-
stance, are agreeable to the sentiment of morals and to that
of humanity ; the same temper is susceptible of high degrees
1 One may venture to affirm, that cency or censure, and makes them ap-
there is no human creature, to whom ply to the object either honourable or dis-
the appearance of happiness (where honourable appellations. Agriping miser,
envy or revenge has no place) does not for instance, praises extremely industry
give pleasure, that of misery, uneasi- and frugality even in others, and sets
ne3. This seems inseparable from our them, in his estimation, above all the
make and constitution. But they are other virtues. He knows the good that
only the more generous minds, that are results from them, and feels that species
thence prompted to seek zealously the of happiness with a more lively sym-
good of others, and to have a real pas- pathy, than any other you could repre-
sion for their welfare. With men of sent to him ; though perhaps he would
narrow and ungenerous spirits, this not part with a shilling to make the
sympathy goes not beyond a slight fortune of the industrious man, whom
feeling of the imagination, which serves he praises so highly,
only to excite sentiments of compla-
220 CONCERNING THE PRINCIPLES OF MORALS.
SECT, of the one sentiment and of the other ; and the same altera-
,_ , tion in the objects, by their nearer approach or by connexions,
Pabt I. enlivens the one and the other. By all the rules of philo-
sophy, therefore, we must conclude, that these sentiments
are originally the same ; since, in each particular, even the
most minute, they are governed by the same laws, and are
moved by the same objects.
Why do philosophers infer, with the greatest certainty,
that the moon is kept in its orbit by the same force of gravity,
that makes bodies fall near the surface of the earth, but
because these effects are, upon computation, found similar
and equal? And must not this argument bring as strong
conviction, in moral as in natural disquisitions ?
To prove, by any long detail, that all the qualities, useful
to the possessor, are approved of, and the contrary censured,
would be superfluous. The least reflection on what is every
day experienced in life, will be sufficient. We shall only
mention a few instances, in order to remove, if possible, all
doubt and hesitation.
The quality, the most necessary for the execution of any
useful enterprise, is DISCRETION ; by which we carry on
a safe intercourse with others, give due attention to our own
and to their character, weigh each circumstance of the
business which we undertake, and employ the surest and
safest means for the attainment of any end or purpose. To
a Cromwell, perhaps or a De Retz, discretion may appear
an alderman-like virtue, as Dr. Swift calls it ; and being
incompatible with those vast designs, to which their courage
and ambition prompted them, it might really, in them, be a
fault or imperfection. But in the conduct of ordinary life,
no virtue is more requisite, not only to obtain success, but to
avoid the most fatal miscarriages and disappointments. The
greatest parts without it, as observed by an elegant writer,
may be fatal to their owner ; as Polyphemus, deprived of
his eye, was only the more exposed, on account of his enor-
mous strength and stature.
The best character, indeed, were it not rather too perfect
for human nature, is that which is not swayed by temper of
any kind ; but alternately employs enterprise and caution,
as each is useful to the particular purpose intended. Such
is the excellence which St. Evremond ascribes to mareschal
Tubenne, who displayed every campaign, as he grew older,
OF QUALITIES USEFUL TO OURSELVES. 221
more temerity in his military enterprises ; and being now, SECT,
from long experience, perfectly acquainted with every incident ._ / _,
in war, he advanced with greater firmness and security, in a I>ART *
road so well known to him. Fabius, says Machiavel, was
cautious ; Scipio enterprising : And both succeeded, because
the situation of the Roman affairs, during the command of
each, was peculiarly adapted to his genius ; but both would
have failed, had these situations been reversed. He is happy,
whose circumstances suit his temper ; but he is more excel-
lent, who can suit his temper to any circumstances.
What need is there to display the praises of INDUSTRY,
and to extol its advantages, in the acquisition of power and
riches, or in raising what we call a fortune in the world ? The
tortoise, according to the fable, by his perseverance, gained
the race of the hare, though possessed of much superior swift-
ness. A man's time, when well husbanded, is like a cultivated
field, of which a few acres produce more of what is useful to
life, than extensive provinces, even of the richest soil, when
over-run with weeds and brambles.
But all prospect of success in life, or even of tolerable sub-
sistence, must fail, where a reasonable FRUGALITY is want-
ing. The heap, instead of encreasing, diminishes daily, and
leaves its possessor so much more unhappy, as, not having
been able to confine his expences to a large revenue, he will
still less be able to live contentedly on a small one. The souls
of men, according to Plato ! , inflamed with impure appetites,
and losing the body, which alone afforded means of satisfac-
tion, hover about the earth, and haunt the places where their
bodies are deposited ; possessed with a longing desire to re-
cover the lost organs of sensation. So may we see worthless
prodigals, having consumed their fortune in wild debauches,
thrusting themselves into every plentiful table, and every party
of pleasure, hated even by the vicious, and despised even by
fools.
The one extreme of frugality is avarice, which, as it both
deprives a man of all use of his riches, and checks hospitality
and every social enjoyment, is justly censured on a double
account. Prodigality, the other extreme, is commonly more
hurtful to a man himself; and each of these extremes is
blamed above the other, according to the temper of the person
1 Phaedo. 81.
222 CONCERNING THE PRINCIPLES OF MORALS.
SECT, who censures, and according to his greater or less sensibility
, , to pleasure, either social or sensual.
Paet i. i Qualities often derive their merit from complicated sources.
Honesty, fidelity, truth, are praised for their immediate ten-
dency to promote the interests of society ; but after those
virtues are once established upon this foundation, they are
also considered as advantageous to the person himself, and as
the source of that trust and confidence, which can alone give
a man any consideration in life. One becomes contemptible,
no less than odious, when he forgets the duty, which, in this
particular, he owes to himself as well as to society.
Perhaps, this consideration is one chief source of the high
blame, which is thrown on any instance of failure among
women in point of chastity. The greatest regard, which can
be acquired by that sex, is derived from their fidelity ; and
a woman becomes cheap and vulgar, loses her rank, and is
exposed to every insult, who is deficient in this particular.
The smallest failure is here sufficient to blast her character.
A female has so many opportunities of secretly indulging these
appetites, that nothing can give us security but her absolute
modesty and reserve ; and where a breach is once made, it
can scarcely ever be fully repaired. If a man behave with
cowardice on one occasion, a contrary conduct reinstates him
in his character. But by what action can a woman, whose
behaviour has once been dissolute, be able to assure us, that
she has formed better resolutions, and has self-command
enough to carry them into execution ?
All men, it is allowed, are equally desirous of happiness ;
but few are successful in the pursuit : One considerable cause
is the want of STEENGTH of MIND, which might enable
them to resist the temptation of present ease or pleasure, and
carry them forward in the search of more distant profit and
enjoyment. Our affections, on a general prospect of their
objects, form certain rules of conduct, and certain measures
of preference of one above another: And these decisions,
though really the result of our calm passions and propensities,
(for what else can pronounce any object eligible or the con-
trary?) are yet said, by a natural abuse of terms, to be the
determinations of pure reason and reflection. But when some
of these objects approach nearer to us, or acquire the advan-
1 [This paragraph and the next were added in Edition N.]
OF QUALITIES USEFUL TO OURSELVES. 223
tages of favourable lights and positions, which catch the heart SECT.
or imagination ; our general resolutions are frequently con- ,_ / _
founded, a small enjoyment preferred, and lasting shame and Paut L
sorrow entailed upon us. And however poets may employ
their wit and eloquence, in celebrating present pleasure, and
rejecting all distant views to fame, health, or fortune ; it is
obvious, that this practice is the source of all dissoluteness
and disorder, repentance and misery. A man of a strong and
determined temper adheres tenaciously to his general resolu-
tions, and is neither seduced by the allurements of pleasure,
nor terrified by the menaces of pain ; but keeps still in view
those distant pursuits, by which he, at once, ensures his
happiness and his honour.
Self-satisfaction, at least in some degree, is an advantage,
which equally attends the. FOOL and the WISE MAN : But
it is the only one ; nor is there any other circumstance in the
conduct of life, where they are upon an equal footing. Busi-
ness, books, conversation ; for all of these, a fool is totally
incapacitated, and except condemned by his station to the
coarsest drudgery, remains a useless burthen upon the earth.
Accordingly, it is found, that men are extremely jealous of
their character in this particular ; and many instances are
seen of profligacy and treachery, the most avowed and unre-
served ; none of bearing patiently the imputation of ignorance
and stupidity. Dicaeaechus, the Macedonian general, who,
as Poltbius tells us l , openly erected one altar to impiety,
another to injustice, in order to bid defiance to mankind ; even
he, I am well assured, would have started at the epithet of
fool, and have meditated revenge for so injurious an appella-
tion. Except the affection of parents, the strongest and
most indissoluble bond in nature, no connexion has strength
sufficient to support the disgust arising from this character.
Love itself, which can subsist under treachery, ingratitude,
malice, and infidelity, is immediately extinguished by it, when
perceived and acknowledged ; nor are deformity and old age
more fatal to the dominion of that passion. So dreadful are
the ideas of an utter incapacity for any purpose or undertaking,
and of continued error and misconduct in life !
When it is asked, whether a quick or a slow apprehension
be most valuable ? Whether one, that, at first view, penetrates
* Lib. xvii. cap. 35.
224 CONCERNING TIIE PRINCIPLES OF MORALS.
SECT, far into a subject, but can perform nothing upon study ; or a
__ r _L_^ contrary character, which must work out every thing by dint
PautL of application ? Whether a clear head or a copious invention?
Whether a profound genius or a sure judgment ? In short,
what character, or peculiar turn of understanding is more
excellent than another 9 It is evident, that 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 undertaking.
If refined sense and exalted sense be not so useful as com-
mon sense, their rarity, their novelty, and the nobleness of
their objects make some compensation, and render them the
admiration of mankind : As gold, though less serviceable
than iron, acquires, from its scarcity, a value, which is much
superior.
The defects of judgment can be supplied by no art or
invention; but those of MEMOEY frequently may, both
in business and in study, by method and industry, and by
diligence in committing every thing to writing; and we
scarcely ever hear a short memory given as a reason for a
man's failure in any undertaking. But in ancient times,
when no man could make a figure without the talent of
speaking, and when the audience were too delicate to bear
such crude, undigested harangues as our extemporary orators
offer to public assemblies ; the faculty of memory was then
of the utmost consequence, and was accordingly much more
valued than at present. Scarce any great genius is mentioned
in antiquity, who is not celebrated for this talent; and
Cicero enumerates it among the other sublime qualities ot
CLesar himself. 1
Particular customs and manners alter the usefulness of
qualities : They also alter their merit. Particular situations
and accidents have, in some degree, the same influence. He
will always be more esteemed, who possesses those talents
and accomplishments, which suit his station and profession,
than he whom fortune has misplaced in the part which she
has assigned him. The private or selfish virtues are, in this
respect, more arbitrary than the public and social. In
other respects, they are, perhaps, less liable to doubt and
controversy.
Fuit in illo ingenium, ratio, memoria, literse, cura, cogitatio, diligentia, &c
Philip. 2. 45.
OF QUALITIES USEFUL TO OURSELVES. 225
In this kingdom, such continued ostentation, of late years, SECT,
has prevailed among men in active life with regard to public t ' ^
spirit, and among those in speculative with regard to benevo- V * RT L
lence ; and so many false pretensions to each have been, no
doubt, detected, that men of the world are apt, without any
bad intention, to discover a sullen incredulity on the head of
those moral endowments, and even sometimes absolutely to
deny their existence and reality. In like manner, I find,
that, of old, the perpetual cant of the Stoics and Cynics con-
cerning virtue, their magnificent professions and slender
performances, bred a disgust in mankind ; and Lucian, who,
though licentious with regard to pleasure, is yet, in other
respects, a very moral writer, cannot, sometimes, talk of
virtue, so much boasted, without betraying symptoms of
spleen and irony. 1 But surely this peevish delicacy, whence-
ever it arises, can never be carried so far as to make us deny
the existence of every species of merit, and all distinction of
manners and behaviour. Besides discretion, caution, enter-
prise, industry, assiduity, frugality, economy, good-sense,
prudence, discernment', besides these endowments, I say,
whose very names force an avowal of their merit, there are
many others, to which the most determined scepticism can-
not, for a moment, refuse the tribute of praise and approba-
tion. Temperance, sobriety, patience, constancy, perseverance,
forethought, consider ateness, secrecy, order, insinuation, address,
presence of mind, quickness of conception, facility of expression ;
these, and a thousand more of the same kind, no man will
ever deny to be excellencies and perfections. As their merit
consists in their tendency to serve the person, possessed of
them, without any magnificent claim to public and social
desert, we are the less jealous of their pretensions, and
readily admit them into the catalogue of laudable qualities.
We are not sensible, that, by this concession, we have paved
the way for all the other moral excellencies, and cannot con-
fidently hesitate any longer, with regard to disinterested
benevolence, patriotism, and humanity.
It seems, indeed, certain, that first appearances are here, as
usual, extremely deceitful, and that it is more difficult, in a
1 'Aptr-fiv riva. nal a we ascribe to the selfish virtues above-mentioned, than that
Paht l even of the social virtues, justice and beneficence. For this
latter purpose, we need but say, that whatever conduct
promotes the good of the community is loved, praised, and
esteemed by the community, on account of that utility and
interest, of which every one partakes : And though this
affection and regard be, in reality, gratitude, not self-love,
yet a distinction, even of this obvious nature, may not
readily be made by superficial reasoners ; and there is room,
at least, to support the cavil and dispute for a moment. But
as qualities, which tend only to the utility of their possessor,
without any reference to us, or to the community, are yet
esteemed and valued; by what theory or system can we
account for this sentiment from self-love, or deduce it from
that favourite origin? There seems here a necessity for
confessing that the happiness and misery of others are not
spectacles entirely indifferent to us ; but that the view of the
former, whether in its causes or effects, like sun- shine or the
prospect of well-cultivated plains, (to carry our pretensions
no higher) communicates a secret joy and satisfaction ; the
appearance of the latter, like a lowering cloud or barren
landskip, throws a melancholy damp over the imagination.
And this concession being once made, the difficulty is over ;
and a natural unforced interpretation of the phenomena of
human life will afterwards, we may hope, prevail among all
speculative enquirers.
PAKT II. 1
It may not be improper, in this place, to examine the in-
fluence of bodily endowments, and of the goods of fortune,
over our sentiments of regard and esteem, and to consider
whether these phenomena fortify or weaken the present
theory. 2 It will naturally be expected, that the beauty of
the body, as is supposed by all ancient moralists, will be
similar, in some respects, to that of the mind ; and that
every kind of esteem, which is paid to a man, will have
something similar in its origin, whether it arise from his
mental endowments, or from the situation of his exterior
circumstances.
It is evident, that one considerable source of beauty in all
1 [Part 3 in Editions to N.] Edition N, which, however, stops at
f [This sentence was added in ' origin.']
OF QUALITIES USEFUL TO OURSELVES. 227
animals is the advantage, which they reap from the particular SECT,
structure of their limbs and members, suitably to the par- . -
ticular manner of life, to which they are by nature destined. Pabt u -
The just proportions of a horse, described by Xenophon and
Virgil, are the same, that are received at this day by our
modern jockeys ; because the foundation of them is the
same, namely, experience of what is detrimental or useful in
the animal.
Broad shoulders, a lank belly, firm joints, taper legs ; all
these are beautiful in our species, because signs of force and
vigour. Ideas of utility and its contrary, though they do
not entirely determine what is handsome or deformed, are
evidently the source of a considerable part of approbation
or dislike.
In ancient times, bodily strength and dexterity, being of
greater use and importance in war, was also much more
esteemed and valued, than at present. Not to insist on
Homer and the poets, we may observe, that historians
scruple not to mention force of body among the other ac-
complishments even of Epaminondas, whom they acknow-
ledge to be the greatest hero, statesman, and general of all
the Greeks. 1 A like praise is given to Pompey, one of the
greatest of the Eomans. 2 This instance is similar to what
we observed above, with regard to memory.
What derision and contempt, with both sexes, attend
impotence ; while the unhappy object is regarded as one de-
prived of so capital a pleasure in life, and at the same time,
as disabled from communicating it to others. Barrenness
in women, being also a species of inutility, is a reproach, but
not in the same degree : Of which the reason is very obvious,
according to the present theory. 3
1 Diodohtjs Siculus, lib. 15, 88. I 4 eursu ; cum validis recte certabat. Sal-
may not be improper to give the charac- lust apud Veobt. De Ee Mil. 19.
ter of Epaminondas, as drawn by the * [Edition G adds in a note ; To the
historian, in order to show the ideas of same Purpose, we may observe a Phae-
perfect merit, which prevailed in those nomenon, which might appear some-
ages. In other illustrious men, says he, what trivial and ludicrous; if any Thing
you will observe, that each possessed could be trivial, which fortify'd Conclu-
some o*ie shining quality, which was sions of such Importance ; or ludicrous,
the foundation of his fame: In Epami- which was employ'd in a philosophical
xondas all the virtues are found united ; Reasoning. 'Tis a general Remark, that
force of body, eloquence of expression, those we call good Women's Men, who
vigour of mind, contempt of riches, have either signaliz'd themselves by
gentleness of disposition, and what is their amorous Exploits, or whose Make
chiefly to be regarded, courage and con- of Body or other symptoms promise
duct in war. any extraordinary Vigour of that kind,
* Cum alacribus, saltu ; cum velocibus, are well receiv'd by the fair sex, and
Q2
228 CONCERNING THE PRINCIPLES OF MORALS.
SECT. There is no rule in painting or statuary more indispensible
. ^L_ than that of balancing the figures, and placing them with
Pat II. the greatest exactness on their proper center of gravity.
A figure, which is not justly balanced, is ugly ; because it
conveys the disagreeable ideas of fall, harm, and pain'.
A disposition or turn of mind, which qualifies a man to
rise in the world, and advance his fortune, is entitled to
esteem and regard, as has already been explained. It may,
therefore, naturally be supposed, that the actual possession
of riches and authority will have a considerable influence
over these sentiments.
Let us examine any hypothesis, by which we can account
for the regard paid to the rich and powerful : We shall find
none satisfactory, but that which derives it from the enjoy-
ment communicated to the spectator by the images of
prosperity, happiness, ease, plenty, authority, and the gratifi-
cation of every appetite. Self-love, for instance, which some
affect so much to consider as the source of every sentiment,
is plainly insufficient for this purpose. Where no good- will
or friendship appears, it is difficult to conceive on what
we can found our hope of advantage from the riches of
others ; though we naturally respect the rich, even before
they discover any such favourable disposition towards us.
We are affected with the same sentiments, when we lie so
much out of the sphere of their activity, that they cannot
even be supposed to possess the power of serving us. A
prisoner of war, in all civilised nations, is treated with a
regard suited to his condition ; and riches, it is evident, go
far towards fixing the condition of any person. If birth and
naturally engage the Affections even of species to superior ones, it is a very
those whose Virtue or Situation pre- mortifying consideration, that we should
vents any Design of ever giving Employ- all be so liable to diseases and infirmi-
ment to those Talents. The Imagina- ties ; and divines accordingly employ
tion is pleas'd with these Conceptions, this topic, in order to depress self-con-
and entering with Satisfaction into the ceit and vanity. They would have
Ideas of so favourite an Enjoyment, more success, if the common bent of
feels a Complacency and Good-will to- our thoughts were not perpetually
wards the Person. A like Principle turned to compare ourselves with
operating more extensively, is the gene- others. The infirmities of old age are
ral Source of more Affection and Ap- mortifying ; because a comparison with
probation.] the young may take place. The king's
1 All men are equally liable to pain evil is industriously concealed, because
and disease and sickness ; and may it affects others, and is often trans-
again recover health and ease. These cir- mitted to posterity. The case is nearly
cumstances, as they make no distinction the same with such diseases as convey
between one man and another, are no any nauseous or frightful images ; the
source of pride or humility, regard or epilepsy, for instance, ulcers, sores,
contempt. But comparing our own scabs, etc.
OF QUALITIES USEFUL TO OURSELVES. 229
quality enter for a share, this still affords us an argument to S] ^ T -
our present purpose. For what is it we call a man of birth, > ,_! .
but one who is descended from a long succession of rich and Pakt ^
powerful ancestors, and who acquires our esteem by his
connexion with persons whom we esteem ? His ancestors,
therefore, though dead, are respected, in some measure, on
account of their riches ; and consequently, without any kind
of expectation.
But not to go so far as prisoners of war or the dead, to .
find instances of this disinterested regard of riches ; we may
only observe, with a little attention, those phenomena, which
occur in common life and conversation. A man, who is
himself, we shall suppose, of a competent fortune, and of
no profession, being introduced to a company of strangers,
naturally treats them with different degrees of respect, as he
is informed of their different fortunes and conditions;
though it is impossible that he can so suddenly propose, and
perhaps he would not accept of, any pecuniary advantage
from them. A traveller is always admitted into company,
and meets with civility, in proportion as his train and
equipage speak him a man of great or moderate fortune. In
short, the different ranks of men are, in a great measure,
regulated by riches ; and that with regard to superiors as
well as inferiors, strangers as well as acquaintance.
What remains, therefore, but to conclude, that, as riches
are desired for ourselves only as the means of gratifying our
appetites, either at present or in some imaginary future
period; they beget esteem in others merely from their having
that influence. This indeed is their very nature or essence :
They have a direct reference to the commodities, conve-
niencies, and pleasures of life : The bill of a banker, who is i
broke, or gold in a desart island, would otherwise be full as |
valuable. When we approach a man, who is, as we say, at
his ease, we are presented with the pleasing ideas of plenty,
satisfaction, cleanliness, warmth ; a chearful house, elegant
furniture, ready service, and whatever is desirable in meat,
drink, or apparel. On the contrary, when a poor man
appears, the disagreeable images of want, penury, hard
labour, dirty furniture, coarse or ragged cloaths, nauseous
meat and distasteful liquor, immediately strike our fancy.
What else do we mean by saying that one is rich, the other
poor ? And as regard or contempt is the natural consequence
230 CONCERNING THE PRINCIPLES OF MORALS.
SECT, of those different situations in life ; it is easily seen what
- _ - additional light and'evidence this throws on our preceding
Past II. theory, with regard to all moral distinctions. 1
A man, who has cured himself of all ridiculous pre-
possessions, and is fully, sincerely, and steadily convinced,
from experience as well as philosophy, that the difference of
fortune makes less difference in happiness than is vulgarly
imagined ; such a one does not measure out degrees of esteem
according to the rent-rolls of his acquaintance. He may,
indeed, externally pay a superior deference to the great lord
above the vassal ; because riches are the most convenient,
being the most fixed and determinate, source of distinction :
But his internal sentiments are more regulated by the
personal characters of men, than by the accidental and
capricious favours of fortune.
In most countries of Europe, family, that is, hereditary
riches, marked with titles and symbols from the sovereign, is
the chief source of distinction. In England, more regard
is paid to present opulence and plenty. Each practice has
its advantages and disadvantages. Where birth is respected,
unactive, spiritless minds remain in haughty indolence, and
dream of nothing but pedigrees and genealogies : The
generous and ambitious seek honour and authority and re-
putation and favour. Where riches are the chief idol, cor-
ruption, venality, rapine prevail : Arts, manufactures, com-
merce, agriculture flourish. The former prejudice, being
favourable to military virtue, is more suited to monarchies.
The latter, being the chief spur to industry, agrees better
with a republican government. And we accordingly find, that
each of these forms of government, by varying the utility of
those customs, has commonly a proportionable effect on the
sentiments of mankind.
1 There is something extraordinary, onr fellows often cause pity, which has
and seemingly unaccountable in the in it a strong mixture of good-will,
operation of our passions, when we This sentiment of pity is nearly allied
consider the fortune and situation of to contempt, which is a species of dis-
others. Very often another's advance- like, with a mixture of pride. I only
ment and prosperity produces envy, point out these phenomena, as a subject
which has a strong mixture of hatred, of speculation to such as are curious
and arises chiefly from the comparison with regard to moral enquiries. It is
of ourselves with the person. At the sufficient for the present purpose to ob-
very same time, or at least in very short serve in general, that power and riches
intervals, we may feel the passion of commonly cause respect, poverty and
respect, which is a species of affection meanness contempt, though particular
or good-will, with a mixture of humility. views and incidents may sometimes
On the other hand, the misfortunes of raise the passions of envy and of pity.
OF QUALITIES IMMEDIATELY AGREEABLE TO OURSELVES. 231
Sect. VII. Of Qualities immediately agreeable to
Ourselves,
Whoever has passed an evening with serious melancholy sect.
people, and has observed how suddenly the conversation was VH.
animated, and what sprightliness diffused itself over the
countenance, discourse, and behaviour of every one, on the
accession of a good-humoured, lively companion ; such a one
will easily allow, that CHEAKFTJLNESS carries great merit
with it, and uaturally conciliates the good- will of mankind.
No quality, indeed, more readily communicates itself to all
around ; because no one has a greater propensity to display
itself, in jovial talk and pleasant entertainment. The flame
spreads through the whole circle ; and the most sullen and
morose are often caught by it. That the melancholy hate
the merry, even though Horace says it, I have some diffi-
culty to allow ; because I have always observed, that, where
the jollity is moderate and decent, serious people are so
much the more delighted, as it dissipates the gloom, with
which they are commonly oppressed; and gives them an
unusual enjoyment.
From this influence of chearfulness, both to communicate
itself, and to engage approbation, we may perceive, that
there is another set of mental qualities, which, without any
utility or any tendency to farther good, either of the com-
munity or of the possessor, diffuse a satisfaction on the be-
holders, and procure friendship and regard. Their imme-
diate sensation, to the person possessed of them, is agree-
able : Others enter into the same humour, and catch the
sentiment, by a contagion or natural sympathy : And as we
cannot forbear loving whatever pleases, a kindly emotion
arises towards the person, who communicates so much satis-
faction. He is a more animating spectacle : His presence
diffuses over us more serene complacency and enjoyment :
Our imagination, entering into his feelings and disposition,
is affected in a more agreeable manner, than if a melancholy,
dejected, sullen, anxious temper were presented to us. Hence
the affection and approbation, which attend the former : The
aversion and disgust, with which we regard the latter. 1
1 There is no man, who, on particn- the disagreeable passions, fear, anger,
lar occasions, is not affected with all dejection, grief, melancholy, anxiety,
i32 CONCERNING THE PRINCIPLES OF MORALS.
SECT. Few men would envy the character, which CLesar gives of
VIL - Cassius.
He loves no play,
As thou do'st, Akthony : He hears no music :
Seldom he smiles ; and smiles in 6uch a sort,
As if he mock'd himself, and scorn'd his spirit
That could be mov'd to smile at any thing.
Not only such men, as &esar adds, are commonly dangerous,
but also, having little enjoyment within themselves, they can
never become agreeable to others, or contribute to social
entertainment. In all polite nations and ages, a relish for
pleasure, if accompanied with temperance and decency, is
esteemed a considerable merit, even in the greatest men ;
and becomes still more requisite in those of inferior rank
and character. It is an agreeable representation, which a
French writer gives of the situation of his own mind in this
particular, Virtue I love, says he, without austerity : Pleasure,
without effeminacy : And life, without fearing its end. 1
Who is not struck with any signal instance of GREAT-
NESS of MIND or Dignity of Character ; with elevation of
sentiment, disdain of slavery, and with that noble pride and
spirit, which arises from conscious virtue? The sublime,
says Longinus, is often nothing but the echo or image of
magnanimity ; and where this quality appears in any one,
even though a syllable be not uttered, it excites our applause
and admiration ; as may be observed of the famous silence
of Ajax in the Odyssey, which expresses more noble disdain
and resolute indignation, than any language can convey. 2
Were I Alexander, said Parmenio, I would accept of these
offers made by Darius. So would I too, replied Alexander,
were I Parmenio. This saying is admirable, says Longinus,
from a like principle. 3
Go ! cries the same hero to his soldiers, when they refused
to follow him to the Indies, go tell your countrymen, that
you left Alexander compleating the conquest of the world.
1 Alexander/ said the Prince of Conde, who always
$c. But these, so far as they are vey the sentiment of disapprobation to
natural, and universal, make no differ- the spectator,
ence between one man and another, and ' ' J'aime la vertu, sans rudesse ;
can never be the object of blame. It J'aime le plaisir, sans molesse ;
is only when the disposition gives a J'aime la vie, & n'en crains point
'propensity to any of these disagreeable la fin.' St. Eveemond.
passions, that they disfigure the cha- 2 Cap. 9.
racter, and by giving uneasiness, con- 8 Idem.
OF QUALITIES IMMEDIATELY AGREEABLE TO OURSELVES. 233
admired this passage, abandoned by his soldiers, among SECT.
* Barbarians, not yet fully subdued, felt in himself such a .^ __, ,
1 dignity and right of empire, that he could not believe it
* possible, that any one would refuse to obey him. Whether
1 in Europe or in Asia, among Greeks or Persians, all was
* indifferent to him : Wherever he found men, he fancied he
* should find subjects.'
The Confident of Medea in the tragedy recommends
caution and submission ; and enumerating all the distresses
of that unfortunate heroine, asks her, what she has to sup-
port her against her numerous and implacable enemies.
Myself, replies she ; Myself, I say, and it is enough. Boileau
justly recommends this passage as an instance of true
sublime. 8
When Phocion, the modest, the gentle Phocion, was led
to execution, he turned to one of his fellow-sufferers, who
was lamenting his own hard fate. Is it not glory enough for
you, says he, that you die with Phocion ? 3
Place in opposition the picture, which Tacitus draws of
Vitellius, fallen from empire, prolonging his ignominy
from a wretched love of life, delivered over to the merciless
rabble ; tossed, buffeted, and kicked about ; constrained, by
their holding a poinard under his chin, to raise his head,
and expose himself to every contumely. What abject in-
famy ! What low humiliation ! Yet even here, says the
historian, he discovered some symptoms of a mind not
wholly degenerate. To a tribune, who insulted him, he
replied, I am still your emperor.*
We never excuse the absolute want of spirit and dignity
of character, or a proper sense of what is due to one's self,
in society and the common intercourse of life. This vice
constitutes what we properly call meanness ; when a man can
submit to the basest slavery, in order to gain his ends ; fawn
upon those who abuse him ; and degrade himself by intima-
cies and familiarities with undeserving inferiors. A certain
degree of generous pride or self-value is so requisite, that
1 [' Confidant ' in several Editions.] diam abstulerat. To enter thoroughly
* Eeflexion 10 sur Longin. into this method of thinking, we must
* Plutarch in Phoc. 36. make allowance for the ancient maxims,
4 Tacit, hist. lib. iii. 84. The author that no one ought to prolong hiB life
entering upon the narration, says, after it became dishonourable ; but, as
Laniata veste, fadum spectaculum duce- he had always a right to dispose of it,
batur, muitis iru-repantibiis, nullo inla- it then became a duty to part with it.
crimante: deformitas exit us misericor-
234 CONCERNING THE PRINCIPLES OF MORALS.
SECT. ^ ue aDsence of it in the mind displeases, after the same
VII. manner as the want of a nose, eye, or any of the most
material features of the face or members of the body. 1
The utility of COURAGE, both to the public and to the
person possessed of it, is an obvious foundation of merit :
But to any one who duly considers of the matter, it will
appear, that this quality has a peculiar lustre, which it
derives wholly from itself, and from that noble elevation
inseparable from it. Its figure, drawn by painters and by
poets, displays, in each feature, a sublimity and daring con-
fidence ; which catches the eye, engages the affections, and
diffuses, by sympathy, a like sublimity of sentiment over
every spectator.
Under what shining colours does Demosthenes 2 represent
Philip ; where the orator apologizes for his own administra-
tion, and justifies that pertinacious love of liberty, with
which he had inspired the Athenians. ' I beheld Philip,'
says he, * he with whom was your contest, resolutely, while
1 in pursuit of empire and dominion, exposing himself to
* every wound ; his eye goared, his neck wrested, his arm,
* his thigh pierced, whatever part of his body fortune should
* seize on, that cheerfully relinquishing ; provided that, with
* what remained, he might live in honour and renown. And
' shall it be said, that he, born in Pella, a place heretofore
* mean and ignoble, should be inspired with so high an
* ambition and thirst of fame : While you, Athenians, &c.'
These praises excite the most lively admiration; but the
views presented by the orator, carry us not, we see, beyond
the hero himself, nor ever regard the future advantageous
consequences of his valour.
The martial temper of the Romans, inflamed by continual
wars, had raised their esteem of courage so high, that, in
their language, it was called virtue, by way of excellence
and of distinction from all other moral qualities. The Suevi,
1 Tho absence of a virtue may often have any higher esteem of him. And
be a vice ; and that of the highest kind ; if the same person, who crouches to
as in the instance of ingratitude, as well his superiors, is insolent to his inferiors
as meanness. Where we expect a beauty, (as often happens), this contrariety of
the disappointment gives an uneasy sen- behaviour, instead of correcting the
eation, and produces a real deformity. former vice, aggravates it extremely
An abjectness of character, likewise, is by the addition of a vice still more
disgustful and contemptible in another odious. See sect. 8. Of Qualities im-
view. Where a man has no sense of mediately agreeable to Others,
value in himself, we are not likely to 2 Pro corona, 247.
OF QUALITIES IMMEDIATELY AGREEABLE TO OURSELVES. 236
in the opinion of Tacitus, 1 dressed their hair with a laudable SECT.
intent : Not for the purpose of loving or being loved : They . , ^
adorned themselves only for their enemies, and in order to
appear more terrible. A sentiment of the historian, which
would sound a little oddly in other nations and other ages.
The Scythians, according to Herodotus, 8 after scalping
their enemies, dressed the skin like leather, and used it as a
towel ; and whoever had the most of those towels was most
esteemed among them. So much had martial bravery, in
that nation, as well as in many others, destroyed the senti-
ments of humanity : a virtue surely much more useful and
engaging.
It is indeed observable, that, among all uncultivated
nations, who have not, as yet, had full experience of the
advantages attending beneficence, justice, and the social
virtues, courage is the predominant excellence; what is
most celebrated by poets, recommended by parents and
instructors, and admired by the public in general. The
ethics of Homee are, in this particular, very different from
those of Fenelon, his elegant imitator; and such as were
well suited to an age, when one hero, as remarked by
Thuctdides, 3 could ask another, without offence, whether he
were a robber or not. Such also, very lately, was the system
of ethics, which prevailed in many barbarous parts of
Ieeland ; if we may credit Spenceb, in his judicious
account of the state of that kingdom. 4
Of the same class of virtues with courage is that undis-
turbed philosophical TRANQUILLITY, superior to pain,
sorrow, anxiety, and each assault of adverse fortune. Con-
scious of his own virtue, say the philosophers, the sage
elevates himself above every accident of life ; and securely
placed in the temple of wisdom, looks down on inferior
mortals, engaged in pursuit of honours, riches, reputation,
and every frivolous enjoyment. These pretensions, no
doubt, when stretched to the utmost, are, by far, too
magnificent for human nature. They carry, however, a
De moribus Germ. 38. iDg a while up and down idly the
* Lib. iv. 64. ' Lib. i. 5. country, taking only meat, he at last
4 It is a common use, says he, amongst falleth into some bad occasion, that
their gentlemen's sons, that, as soon as shall be offered ; which being once
they are able to use their weapons, they made known, he is thenceforth counted
strait gather to themselves three or four a man of worth, in whom there is
straggler* or kern, with whom wander- courage.
236 CONCERNING THE PRINCIPLES OF MORALS.
SECT, grandeur with them, which seizes the spectator, and strikes
>- , * - him with admiration. And the nearer we can approach in
practice, to this sublime tranquillity and indifference (for we
must distinguish it from a stupid insensibility) the more
secure enjoyment shall we attain within ourselves, and the
more greatness of mind shall we discover to the world. The
philosophical tranquillity may, indeed, be considered only as
a branch of magnanimity.
Who admires not Soceates; his perpetual serenity and
contentment, amidst the greatest poverty and domestic
vexations ; his resolute contempt of riches, and his mag-
nanimous care of preserving liberty, while he refused all
assistance from his friends and disciples, and avoided even
the dependence of an obligation? Epictetus had not so
much as a door to his little house or hovel ; and therefore,
soon lost his iron lamp, the only furniture which he had
worth taking. But resolving to disappoint all robbers for
the future, he supplied its place with an earthen lamp, of
which he very peaceably kept possession ever after.
Among the ancients, the heroes in philosophy, as well as
those in war and patriotism, have a grandeur and force of
sentiment, which astonishes our narrow souls, and is rashly
rejected as extravagant and supernatural. They, in their
turn, I allow, would have had equal reason to consider as
romantic and incredible, the degree of humanity, clemency,
order, tranquillity, and other social virtues, to which, in the
administration of government, we have attained in modern
times, had any one been then able to have made a fair
representation of them. Such is the compensation, which
nature, or rather education, has made in the distribution of
excellencies and virtues, in those different ages.
The merit of BENEVOLENCE, arising from its utility,
and its tendency to promote the good of mankind, has been
already explained, and is, no doubt, the source of a con-
siderable part of that esteem, which is so universally paid to
it. But it will also be allowed, that the very softness and
tenderness of the sentiment, its engaging endearments, its
fond expressions, its delicate attentions, and all that flow of
mutual confidence and regard, which enters into a warm
attachment of love and friendship : It will be allowed, I say,
that these feelings, being delightful in themselves, are
necessarily communicated to the spectators, and melt them
OF QUALITIES IMMEDIATELY AGREEABLE TO OURSELVES. 237
into the same fondness and delicacy. The tear naturally SECT,
starts in our eye on the apprehension of a warm sentiment ., , ^
of this nature : Our breast heaves, our heart is agitated, and
every humane tender principle of our frame is set in motion,
and gives us the purest and most satisfactory enjoyment.
When poets form descriptions of Elysian fields, where
the blessed inhabitants stand in no need of each other's
assistance, they yet represent them as maintaining a con-
stant intercourse of love and friendship, and sooth our fancy
with the pleasing image of these soft and gentle passions.
The idea of tender tranquillity in a pastoral Arcadia is
agreeable from a like principle, as has been observed above. 1
Who would live amidst perpetual wrangling, and scolding,
and mutual reproaches ? The roughness and harshness of
these emotions disturb and displease us : We suffer by
contagion and sympathy; nor can we remain indifferent
spectators, even though certain, that no pernicious conse-
quences would ever follow from such angry passions.
As a certain proof, that the whole merit of benevolence is
not derived from its usefulness, we may observe, that, in a
kind way of blame, we say, a person is too good ; when he
exceeds his part in society, and carries his attention for
others beyond the proper bounds. In like manner, we say
a man is too high-spirited, too intrepid, too indifferent about
fortune : Keproaches, which really, at bottom, imply more
esteem than many panegyrics. Being accustomed to rate
the merit and demerit of characters chiefly by their useful
or pernicious tendencies, we cannot forbear applying the
epithet of blame, when we discover a sentiment, which rises
to a degree, that is hurtful : But it may happen, at the
same time, that its noble elevation, or its engaging tender-
ness so seizes the heart, as rather to encrease our friendship
and concern for the person. 2
The amours and attachments of Harry the IVth of
France, during the civil wars of the league, frequently hurt
his interest and his cause ; but all the young, at least, and
amorous, who can sympathize with the tender passions, will
allow, that this very weakness (for they will readily call it
1 Sect v. Part 2. Why Utility dissolute mirth, without a proper cause
pleases. or subject, is a sure symptom and cha-
* Cheerfulness could scarce admit of mcteristic of folly, and on that account
blame from its excess, were it not that disgustful.
238 CONCERNING THE PRINCIPLES OF MORALS.
SECT, such) chiefly endears that hero, and interests them in his
._ t '_. fortunes.
The excessive bravery and resolute inflexibility of Charles
the Xllth ruined his own country, and infested all his
neighbours ; but have such splendour and greatness in their
appearance, as strikes us with admiration ; and they might,
in some degree, be even approved of, if they betray not some-
times too evident symptoms of madness and disorder.
The Athenians pretended to the first invention v,f agri-
culture and of laws ; and always valued themselves extremely
on the benefit thereby procured to the whole race of man-
kind. They also boasted, and with reason, of their warlike
enterprizes ; particularly against those innumerable fleets
and armies of Persians, which invaded Greece during the
reigns of Darius and Xerxes. But though there be no
comparison, in point of utility, between these peaceful and
military honours ; yet we find, that the orators, who have
writ such elaborate panegyrics on that famous city, have
chiefly triumphed in displaying the warlike atchievements.
Lysias, Thucydides, Plato, and Isocrates discover, all of
them, the same partiality ; which, though condemned by
calm reason and reflection, appears so natural in the mind
of man.
It is observable, that the great charm of poetry consists in
lively pictures of the sublime passions, magnanimity, courage,
disdain of fortune ; or those of the tender affections, love and
friendship ; which warm the heart, and diffuse over it similar
sentiments and emotions. And though all kinds of passion,
even the most disagreeable, such as grief and anger, are
observed, when excited by poetry, to convey a satisfaction,
from a mechanism of nature, not easy to be explained : Yet
those more elevated or softer affections have a peculiar in-
fluence, and please from more than one cause or principle.
Not to mention, that they alone interest us in the fortune
of the persons represented, or communicate any esteem and
affection for their character.
And can it possibly be doubted, that this talent itself of
poets, to move the passions, this PATHETIC and SUBLIME
of sentiment, is a very considerable merit ; and being en-
hanced by its extreme rarity, may exalt the person possessed
of it, above every character of the age in which he lives ?
The prudence, address, steadiness, and benign government
OF QUALITIES IMMEDIATELY AGREEABLE TO OURSELVES. 239
of Augustus, adorned with all the splendour of his noble SECT,
birth and imperial crown, render him but an unequal com- ._ _ r
petitor for fame with Virgil, who lays nothing into the
opposite scale but the divine beauties of his poetical genius.
The very sensibility to these beauties, or a DELICACY
of taste, is itself a beauty in any character ; as conveying
the purest, the most durable, and most innocent of all
enjoyments.
These are some instances of the seieraL species of merit,
that are valued for the immediate pleasure, which they com-
municate to the person possessed of them. No views of utility
or of future beneficial consequences enter into this sentiment
of approbation ; yet is it of a kind similar to that other
sentiment, which arises from views of a public or private
utility. The same social sympathy, we may observe, or
fellow-feeling with human happiness or misery, gives rise to
both ; and this analogy, in all the parts of the present
theory, may justly be regarded as a confirmation of it.
Sect. VIII. Of Qualities immediately agreeable to Others. 1
As the mutual shocks, in society, and the oppositions of
interest and self-love have constrained mankind to establish
the laws of jiistice ; in order to preserve the advantages of
mutual assistance and protection : In like manner, the
eternal contrarieties, in company, of men's pride and self-
conceit, have introduced the rules of GOOD-MANNERS or
POLITENESS; in order to facilitate the intercourse of
minds, and an undisturbed commerce and conversation.
Among well-bred people, a mutual deference is affected : Con-
tempt of others disguised : Authority concealed : Attention
given to each in his turn : And an easy stream of conversation
maintained, without vehemence, without interruption, with-
out eagerness for victory, and without any airs of superiority.
These attentions and regards are immediately agreeable to
others, abstracted from any consideration of utility or bene-
ficial tendencies : They conciliate affection, promote esteem,
1 It is the nature, and, indeed, the pleasure, because they are useful to
definition of virtue, that it is a quality society, or useful or agreeable to the
of the mind agreeable to or approved of person himself; others produce it more
by every one, who considers or contem- immediately : Which is the case with
plates it. But some qualities produce the class of virtues hero considered.
240 CONCERNING THE PRINCIPLES OF MORALS.
SECT, and extremely enhance the merit of the person, who regulates
._ '_* his behaviour by them.
Many of the forms of breeding are arbitrary and casual :
But the thing expressed by them is still the same. A Span-
iard goes out of his own house before his guest, to signify
that he leaves him master of all. In other countries, the
landlord walks out last, as a common mark of deference and
regard.
But, in order to render a man perfect good company, he
must have WIT and INGENUITY as well as good-manners.
What wit is, it may not be easy to define ; but it is easy
surely to determine, that it is a quality immediately agreeable
to others, and communicating, on its first appearance, a
lively joy and satisfaction to every one who has any compre-
hension of it. The most profound metaphysics, indeed, might
be employed, in explaining the various kinds and species of
wit; and many classes of it. which are now received on the sole
testimony of taste and sentiment, might, perhaps, be resolved
into more general principles. But this is sufficient for our
present purpose, that it does affect taste and sentiment,
and bestowing an immediate enjoyment, is a sure source of
approbation and affection.
In countries, where men pass most of their time in con-
versation, and visits, and assemblies, these companionable
qualities, so to speak, are of high estimation, and form a
chief part of personal merit. In countries, where men live
a more domestic life, and either are employed in business,
or amuse themselves in a narrower circle of acquaintance,
the more solid qualities are chiefly regarded. Thus, I have
often observed, that, among the French, the first questions,
with regard to a stranger, are, Is he polite ? Has he wit ? In
our own country, the chief praise bestowed, is always that
of a good-natured, sensible fellow.
In conversation, the lively spirit of dialogue is agreeable,
even to those who desire not to have any share in the dis-
course : Hence the teller of long stories, or the pompous de-
claimer, is very little approved of. But most men desire
likewise their turn in the conversation, and regard, with a
very evil eye, that loquacity, which deprives them of a right
they are naturally so jealous of.
There is a sort of harmless liars, frequently to be met
with in company, who deal much in the marvellous. Their
OF QUALITIES IMMEDIATELY AGREEABLE TO OTHERS. 241
usual intention is to please and entertain ; but as men are SECT.
VII]
most delighted with what they conceive to be truth, these ' -
people mistake extremely the means of pleasing, and incur
universal blame. Some indulgence, however, to lying or
fiction is given in humorous stories ; because it is there
really agreeable and entertaining ; and truth is not of any
importance.
Eloquence, genius of all kinds, even good sense, and
sound reasoning, when it rises to an eminent degree, and is
employed upon subjects of any considerable dignity and nice
discernment ; all these endowments seem immediately agree-
able, and have a merit distinct from their usefulness. Rarity,
likewise, which so much enhances the price of every thing,
must set an additional value on these noble talents of the
human mind.
Modesty may be understood in different senses, even
abstracted from chastity, which has been already treated of.
It sometimes means that tenderness and nicety of honour,
that apprehension of blame, that dread of intrusion or injury
towards others, that Pudoe, which is the. proper guardian of
every kind of virtue, and a sure preservative against vice
and corruption. But its most usual meaning is when it is
opposed to impudence and arrogance, and expresses a diffi-
dence of our own judgment, and a due attention and regard
for others. In young men chiefly, this quality is a sure sign
of good sense ; and is also the certain means of augmenting
that endowment, by preserving their ears open to instruction,
and making them still grasp after new attainments. But it
has a farther charm to every spectator ; by flattering every
man's vanity, and presenting the appearance of a docile
pupil, who receives, with proper attention and respect, every
word they utter.
Men have, in general, a much greater propensity to over-
value than under-value themselves ; notwithstanding the
opinion of Aristotle. 1 This makes us more jealous of the
excess on the former side, and causes us to regard, with a
peculiar indulgence, all tendency to modesty and self-diifi-
dence ; as esteeming the danger less of falling into any
vicious extreme of that nature. It is thus, in countries,
where men's bodies are apt to exceed in corpulency, personal
1 Ethic, ad Nicomachum, iv. S, 37.
VOL. IV. K
12 CONCERNING THE PRINCIPLES OF MORALS.
SECT, beauty is placed in a much greater degree of slenderness,
. . , ' than in countries, where that is the most usual defect.
Being so often struck with instances of one species of de-
formity, men think they can never keep at too great a dis-
tance from it, and wish always to have a leaning to the
opposite side. In like manner, were the door opened to
self-praise, and were Montaigne's maxim observed, that one
should say as frankly, I have sense, I have learning, I have
courage, beauty, or wit ; as it is sure we often think so ; were
this the case, I say, every one is sensible, that such a flood
of impertinence would break in upon us, as would render
society wholly intolerable. For this reason custom has
established it as a rule, in common societies, that men
should not indulge themselves in self-praise, or even speak
much of themselves ; and it is only among intimate friends
or people of very manly behaviour, that one is allowed to do
himself justice. No body finds fault with Maurice, Prince
of Orange, for his reply to one, who asked him, whom he
esteemed the first general of the age, The marquis of Spinola,
said he, is the second. Though it is observable, that the self-
praise implied is here better implied, than if it had been
directly expressed, without any cover or disguise.
He must be a very superficial thinker, who imagines, that
all instances of mutual deference are to be understood in
earnest, and that a man would be more esteemable for being
ignorant of his own merits and accomplishments. A small
bias towards modesty, even in the internal sentiment, is
favourably regarded, especially in young people ; and a strong
bias is required, in the outward behaviour : But this excludes
not a noble pride and spirit, which may openly display itself
in its full extent, when one lies under calumny or oppression
of any kind. The generous contumacy of Socrates, as
Cicero calls it, has been highly celebrated in all ages ; and
when joined to the usual modesty of his behaviour, forms a
shining character. Iphicrates, the Athenian, being accused
of betraying the interests of his country, asked his accuser,
Would you, says he, have, on a like occasion, been guilty of that
crime ? By no means, replied the other. And can you then
imagine, cried the hero, that Iphicrates would be guilty? 1
In short, a generous spirit and self-value, well founded,
decently disguised, and courageously supported under dis-
1 QuixcTit. lib. v. cap. 12.
OF QUALITIES IMMEDIATELY AGREEABLE TO OTHERS. 243
tress and calumny, is a great excellency, and seems to derive SECT,
its merit from the noble elevation of its sentiment, or its ._ [ .,
immediate agreeableness to its possessor. In ordinary cha-
racters, we approve of a bias towards modesty, which is a
quality immediately agreeable to others : The vicious excess
of the former virtue, namely, insolence or haughtiness, is
immediately disagreeable to others : The excess of the latter
is so to the possessor. Thus are the boundaries of these
duties adjusted.
A desire of fame, reputation, or a character with others,
is so far from being blameable, that it seems inseparable
from virtue, genius, capacity, and a generous or noble dis-
position. An attention even to trivial matters, in order to
please, is also expected and demanded by society ; and no one
is surprised, if he find a man in company, to observe a greater
elegance of dress and more pleasant flow of conversation,
than when he passes his time at home, and with his own
family. Wherein, then, consists VANITY, which is so justly
regarded as a fault or imperfection. It seems to consist
chiefly in such an intemperate display of our advantages,
honours, and accomplishments ; in such an importunate and
open demand of praise and admiration, as is offensive to
others, and encroaches too far on their secret vanity and am-
bition. It is besides a sure symptom of the want of true
dignity and elevation of mind, which is so great an ornament
in any character. Tor why that impatient desire of applause ;
as if you were not justly entitled to it, and might not reason-
ably expect, that it would for ever attend you? Why so
anxious to inform us of the great company which you have
kept ; the obliging things which were said to you ; the
honours, the distinctions which you met with ; as if these
were not things of course, and what we could readily, of our-
selves, have imagined, without being told of them ?
DECENCY, or a proper regard to age, sex, character, and
station in the world, may be ranked among the qualities,
which are immediately agreeable to others, and which, by
that means, acquire praise and approbation. An effeminate
behaviour in a man, a rough manner in a woman ; these are
ugly because unsuitable to each character, and different from
the qualities which we expect in the sexes. It is as if a
tragedy abounded in comic beauties, or a comedy in tragic.
The disproportions hurt the eye, and convey a disagreeable
B 2
44 CONCERNING THE PRINCIPLES OF MORALS.
SECT, sentiment to the spectators, the source of blame and disap-
VI11, . probation. This is that indecorum, which is explained so
much at large by Cicero in his Offices.
Among the other virtues, we may also give CLEANLI-
NESS a place; since it naturally renders us agreeable to
others, and is no inconsiderable source of love and affection.
No one will deny, that a negligence in this particular is a
fault ; and as faults are nothing but smaller vices, and this
fault can have no other origin than the uneasy sensation,
which it excites in others ; we may, in this instance, seem-
ingly so trivial, clearly discover the origin of moral distinc-
tions, about which the learned have involved themselves in
such mazes of perplexity and error.
But besides all the agreeable qualities, the origin of whose
beauty, we can, in some degree explain and account for,
there still remains something mysterious and inexplicable,
which conveys an immediate satisfaction to the spectator,
but how, or why, or for what reason, he cannot pretend to
determine. There is a MANNER, a grace, an ease, a
genteelness, an I-know-not-what, which some men possess
above others, which is very different from external beauty
and comeliness, and which, however, catches our affection
almost as suddenly and powerfully. And though this manner
be chiefly talked of in the passion between the sexes, where
the concealed magic is easily explained, yet surely much of
it prevails in all our estimation of characters, and forms no
inconsiderable part of personal merit. This class of accom-
plishments, therefore, must be trusted entirely to the blind,
but sure testimony of taste and sentiment ; and must be con-
sidered as a part of ethics, left by nature to baffle all the
pride of philosophy, and make her sensible of her narrow
boundaries and slender acquisitions.
We approve of another, because of his wit, politeness,
modesty, decency, or any agreeable quality which he pos-
sesses ; although he be not of our acquaintance, nor has
ever given us any entertainment, by means of these accom-
plishments. The idea, which we form of their effect on his
acquaintance, has an agreeable influence on our imagination,
and gives us the sentiment of approbation. This principle
enters into all the judgments, which we form concerning
manners and characters.
CONCLUSION. 245
Sect. IX. Conclusion.
PART i.
It may justly appear surprising, that any man, in so late an SECT,
age, should find it requisite to prove, by elaborate reasoning, . 1 ^-
Hhat PEKSONAL MEKIT consists altogether in the PabtL
possession of mental qualities, useful or agreeable to the
person himself or to others. It might be expected, that this
principle would have occurred even to the first rude, unprac-
tised enquirers concerning morals, and been received from
its own evidence, without any argument or disputation.
Whatever is valuable in any kind, so naturally classes itself /
under the division of useful or agreeable, the utile or the '
dulce, that it is not easy to imagine, why we should ever seek
farther, or consider the question as a matter of nice research
or enquiry. And as every thing useful or agreeable must
possess these qualities with regard either to the person him-
self or to others, the compleat delineation or description of
merit seems to be performed as naturally as a shadow is cast
by the sun, or an image is reflected upon water. If the
ground, on which the shadow is cast, be not broken and
uneven ; nor the surface, from which the image is reflected,
disturbed and confused ; a just figure is immediately pre-
sented, without any art or attention. And it seems a
reasonable presumption, that systems and hypotheses have
perverted our natural understanding; when a theory, so
simple and obvious, could so long have escaped the most
elaborate examination.
But however the case may have fared with philosophy ; in
common life, these principles are still implicitly maintained,
nor is any other topic of praise or blame ever recurred to,
when we employ any panegyric or satire, any applause or
censure of human action and behaviour. If we observe men,
in every intercourse of business or pleasure, in every dis-
course and conversation ; we shall find them no where,
except in the schools, at any loss upon this subject. What
so natural, for instance, as the following dialogue ? You are
very happy, we shall suppose one to say, addressing himself
to another, that you have given your daughter to Cleanthes.
1 [That Virtue or Personal Merit : Editions G to N.]
246 CONCERNING THE PRINCIPLES OF MORALS.
He is a man of honour and humanity. Every one, who has
any intercourse with him, is sure of fair and hind treatment. 1
I congratulate you too, says another on the promising ex-
pectations of this son-in-law ; whose assiduous application
to the study of the laws, whose quick penetration and early
knowledge both of men and business, prognosticate the
greatest honours and advancement. 2 You surprise me, re-
plies a third, when you talk of Cleanthes as a man of busi-
ness and application. I met him lately in a circle of the
gayest company, and he was the very life and soul of our
conversation : So much wit with good manners ; so much
gallantry without affectation ; so much ingenious knowledge
so genteelly delivered, I have never before observed in any
one. 3 You would admire him still more, says a fourth, if
jou knew him more familiarly. That chearfulness, which
you might remark in him, is not a sudden flash struck out
by company : It runs through the whole tenor of his life,
and preserves a perpetual serenity on his countenance, and
tranquillity in his soul. He has met with severe trials, mis-
fortunes as well as dangers ; and by his greatness of mind,
was still superior to all of them. 4 The image, gentlemen,
which you have here delineated of Cleanthes, cry'd I, is that
of accomplished merit. Each of you has given a stroke of the
pencil to his figure ; and you have unawares exceeded all the
pictures drawn by Gratian or Castiglione. A philosopher
might select this character as a model of perfect virtue.
And as every quality, which is useful or agreeable to our- *
selves or others, is, in common life, allowed to be a part o |
personal merit ; so no other will ever be received, where men
judge of things by their natural, unprejudiced reason, with-
out the delusive glosses of superstition and false religion.
Celibacy, fasting, penance, mortification, self-denial, humi-
lity, silence, solitude, and the whole train of monkish virtues ;
for what reason are they every where rejected by men of
sense, but because they serve to no manner of purpose;
neither advance a man's fortune in the world, nor render
him a more valuable member of society ; neither qualify him
for the entertainment of company, nor increase his power of
self-enjoyment? We observe, on the contrary, that they
1 Qualities useful to others. others. Section VIII.
* Qualities useful to the person him- 4 Qualities immediately agreeable to
eelf. Section VI. the person himself. Section VII.
* Qualities immediately agreeable to
CONCLUSION. 247
cross all these desirable ends ; stupify the understanding and SECT,
harden the heart, obscure the fancy and sour the temper. , _ , ,
We justly, therefore, transfer them to the opposite column, Pakt L
and place them in the catalogue of vices ; nor has any super-
stition force sufficient among men of the world, to pervert
entirely these natural sentiments. A gloomy, hair-brained
enthusiast, after his death, may have a place in the calendar ;
but will scarcely ever be admitted, when alive, into intimacy
and society, except by those who are as delirious and dismal
as himself.
It seems a happiness in the present theory, that it enters
not into that vulgar dispute concerning the degrees of bene-
volence or self-love, which prevail in human nature ; a dis-
pute which is never likely to have any issue, both because
men, who have taken part, are not easily convinced, and
because the phenomena, which can be produced on either
side, are so dispersed, so uncertain, and subject to so many
interpretations, that it is scarcely possible accurately to com-
pare them, or draw from them any determinate inference or
conclusion. It is sufficient for our present purpose, if it be
allowed, what surely, without the greatest absurdity, cannot
be disputed, that there is some benevolence, however small,
infused into our bosom ; some spark of friendship for human
kind; some particle of the dove, kneaded into our frame,
along with the elements of the wolf and serpent. Let these
generous sentiments be supposed ever so weak ; let them be
insufficient to move even a hand or finger of our body ; they
must still direct the determinations of our mind, and where
every thing else is equal, produce a cool preference of what
is useful and serviceable to mankind, above what is perni-
cious and dangerous. A moral distinction, therefore, imme-
diately arises ; a general sentiment of blame and approbation ;
a tendency, however faint, to the objects of the one, and a
proportionable aversion to those of the other. Nor will those
reasoners, who so earnestly maintain the predominant selfish-
ness of human kind, be any wise scandalized at hearing of
the weak sentiments of virtue, implanted in our nature. On
the contrary, they are found as ready to maintain the one
tenet as the other; and their spirit of satire (for such it
appears, rather than of corruption) naturally gives rise to
both opinions ; which have, indeed, a great and almost an
indissoluble connexion together.
248 CONCERNING THE PRINCIPLES OF MORALS.
SECT. Avarice, ambition, vanity, and all passions vulgarly, though
___^L_^ improperly, comprized under the denomination of self-love,
Paiit I. are here excluded from our theory concerning the origin of
morals, not because they are too weak, but because they
have not a proper direction, for that purpose. The notion
of morals, implies some sentiment common to all mankind,
which recommends the same object to general approbation,
and makes every man, or most men, agree in the same
opinion or decision concerning it. It also implies some
sentiment, so universal and comprehensive as to extend to
all mankind, and render the actions and conduct, even of the
persons the most remote, an object of applause or censure,
according as they agree or disagree with that rule of right
which is established. These two requisite circumstances
belong alone to the sentiment of humanity here insisted on.
The other passions produce, in every breast, many strong
sentiments of desire and aversion, affection and hatred ; but
these neither are felt so much in common, nor are so com-
prehensive, as to be the foundation of any general system
and established theory of blame or approbation.
When a man denominates another his enemy, his rival, his
antagonist, his adversary, he is understood to speak the
language of self-love, and to express sentiments, peculiar to
himself, and arising from his particular circumstances and
situation. But when he bestows on any man the epithets of
vicious or odious or depraved, he then speaks another language,
and expresses sentiments, in which, he expects, all his audi-
ence are to concur with him. He must here, therefore,
depart from his private and particular situation, and must
chuse a point of view, common to him with others : He must
move some universal principle of the human frame, and
touch a string, to which all mankind have an accord and
symphony. If he mean, therefore, to express, that this man
possesses qualities, whose tendency is pernicious to society,
he has chosen this common point of view, and has touched
the principle of humanity, in which every man, in some
degree, concurs. While the human heart is compounded of
the same elements as at present, it will never be wholly
indifferent to public good, nor entirely unaffected with the
tendency of characters and manners. And though this
affection of humanity may not generally be esteemed so
strong as vanity or ambition, yet, being common to all men,
CONCLUSION. 249
it can alone be the foundation of morals, or of any general SECT,
system of blame or praise. One man's ambition is not w , ' -
another's ambition ; nor will the same event or object satisfy Paht i -
both : But the humanity of one man is the humanity of
every one ; and the same object touches this passion in all
human creatures.
But the sentiments, which arise from humanity, are not /
only the same in all human creatures, and produce the same /
approbation or censure ; but they also comprehend all human
creatures ; nor is there any one whose conduct or character %
is not, by their means, an object, to every one, of censure or
approbation. On the contrary, those other passions, com-
monly denominated selfish, both produce different sentiments
in each individual, according to his particular situation ; and
also contemplate the greater part of mankind with the
utmost indifference and unconcern. Whoever has a high
regard and esteem for me flatters my vanity ; whoever ex-
presses contempt mortifies and displeases me : But as my
name is known but to a small part of mankind, there are
few, who come within the sphere of this passion, or excite,
on its account, either my affection or disgust. But if you
represent a tyrannical, insolent, or barbarous behaviour, in
any country or in any age of the world ; I soon carry my
eye to the pernicious tendency of such a conduct, and feel
the sentiment of repugnance and displeasure towards it. No
character can be so remote as to be, in this light, wholly
indifferent to me. What is beneficial to society or to the
person himself must still be preferred. And every quality
or action, of every human being, must, by this meaus, be
ranked under some class or denomination, expressive of
general censure or applause.
What more, therefore, can we ask to distinguish the senti-
ments, dependant on humanity, from those connected with
any other passion, or to satisfy us, why the former are the
origin of morals, not the latter? Whatever conduct gains
my approbation, by touching my humanity, procures also
the applause of all mankind, by affecting the same principle
in them : But what serves my avarice or ambition pleases
these passions in me alone, and affects not the avarice and
ambition of the rest of mankind. There is no circumstance
of conduct in any man, provided it have a beneficial tendency,
that is not agreeable to my humanity, however remote the
250 CONCERNING THE PRINCIPLES OF MORALS.
SECT, person : But every man, so far removed as neither to cross
\ ' -, nor serve my avarice and ambition, is regarded as wholly
Part I. indifferent by those passions. The distinction, therefore,
between these species of sentiment being so great and
evident, language must soon be moulded upon it, and must
invent a peculiar set of terms, in order to express those
universal sentiments of censure or approbation, which arise
from humanity, or from views of general usefulness and its
contrary. VIRTUE and VICE become then known : Morals
are recognized : Certain general ideas are framed of human
conduct and behaviour : Such measures are expected from
men, in such situations : This action is determined to be
conformable to our abstract rule ; that other, contrary. And
by such universal principles are the particular sentiments of
self-love frequently controuled and limited. 1
From instances of popular tumults, seditions, factions,
panics, and of all passions, which are shared with a multi-
tude ; we may learn the influence of society, in exciting and
supporting any emotion; while the most ungovernable
disorders are raised, we find, by that means, from the
slightest and most frivolous occasions. Solon was no very
cruel, though perhaps, an unjust legislator, who punished
neuters in civil wars ; and few, I believe, would, in such
cases, incur the penalty, were their affection and discourse
allowed sufficient to absolve them. No selfishness, and
scarce any philosophy, have their force sufficient to support
a total coolness and indifference ; and he must be more or
less than man, who kindles not in the common blaze. What
1 It seems certain, both from reason supported on such maxims : And by
and experience, that a rude, untaught these suppositions and views, we cor-
savage regulates chiefly his love and rect, in some measure, our ruder and
hatred by the ideas of private utility narrower passions. And though much
and injury, and has but faint concep- of our friendship and enmity be still
tions of a general rule or system of regulated by private considerations of
behaviour. The man who stands oppo- benefit and harm, we pay, at least, this
site to him in battle, he hates heartily, homage to general rules, which we are
not only for the present moment, which accustomed to respect, that we com-
is almost unavoidable, but for ever monly pervert our adversary's conduct,
after ; nor is he satisfied without the by imputing malice or injustice to him,
most extreme punishment and ven- in order to give vent to those passions,
geance. But we, accustomed to society, which arise from self-love and private
and to more enlarged reflections, con- interest. When the heart is full of
eider, that this man is serving his own rage, it never wants pretences of this
country and community ; that any man, nature ; though sometimes as frivolous,
in the same situation, would do the as those from which Horace, being al-
same ; that we ourselves, in like cir- most crushed by the fall of a tree,
cumstances, observe a like conduct ; affects to accuse of parricide the first
that, in general, human society is best planter of it.
CONCLUSION. 261
wonder, then, that moral sentiments are found of such influ- SECT,
ence in life ; though springing from principles, which may , IX -
appear, at first sight, somewhat small and delicate ? But Part L
these principles, we must remark, are social and universal :
They form, in a manner, the party of human-kind against
vice or disorder, its common enemy : And as the benevolent
concern for others is diffused, in a greater or less degree,
over all men, and is the same in all, it occurs more frequently
in discourse, is cherished by society and conversation, and
the blame and approbation, consequent on it, are thereby
rouzed from that lethargy, into which they are probably
lulled, in solitary and uncultivated nature. Other passions,
though perhaps originally stronger, yet being selfish and
private, are often overpowered by its force, and yield the
dominion of our breast to those social and public principles.
Another spring of our constitution, that brings a great
addition of force to moral sentiment, is, the love of fame ;
which rules, with such uncontrolled authority, in all generous
minds, and is often the grand object of all their designs
and undertakings. By our continual and earnest pursuit of
a character, a name, a reputation in the world, we bring
our own deportment and conduct frequently in review, and
consider how they appear in the eyes of those who approach
and regard us. This constant habit of surveying ourselves,
as it were, in reflection, keeps alive all the sentiments of
right and wrong, and begets, in noble natures, a certain
reverence for themselves as well as others; which is the
surest guardian of every virtue. The animal conveniencies
and pleasures sink gradually in their value ; while every in-
ward beauty and moral grace is studiously acquired, and the
mind is accomplished in every perfection, which can adorn
or embellish a rational creature.
Here is the most perfect morality with which we are ac-
quainted : Here is displayed the force of many sympathies.
Our moral sentiment is itself a feeling chiefly of that nature:
And our regard to a character with others seems to arise
only from a care of preserving a character with ourselves ;
and in order to attain this end, we find it necessary to prop
our tottering judgment on the correspondent approbation of
mankind.
But, that we may accommodate matters, and remove, if
possible, every difficulty, let us allow all these reasonings to
SS9 CONCERNING THE PRINCIPLES OF MORALS.
SECT, be false. Let us allow, that, when we resolve the pleasure,
IX- , which arises from views of utility, into the sentiments of
Paut I. humanity and sympathy, we have embraced a wrong hypo-
thesis. Let us confess it necessary to find some other
explication of that applause, which is paid to objects,
whether inanimate, animate, or rational, if they have a
tendency to promote the welfare and advantage of mankind.
However difficult it be to conceive, that an object is approved
of on account of its tendency to a certain end, while the end
itself is totally indifferent; let us swallow this absurdity,
and consider what are the consequences. The preceding
delineation or definition J of PERSONAL MERIT must still
retain its evidence and authority : It must still be allowed,
that every quality of the mind, which is useful or agreeable
to the person himself or to others, communicates a pleasure
to the spectator, engages his esteem, and is admitted under
the honourable denomination of virtue or merit. Are not
justice, fidelity, honour, veracity, allegiance, chastity, esteemed
solely on account of their tendency to promote the good of
society? Is not that tendency inseparable from humanity,
benevolence, lenity, generosity, gratitude, moderation, ten-
derness, friendship, and all the other social virtues ? Can
it possibly be doubted, that industry, discretion, frugality,
secrecy, order, perseverance, forethought, judgment, and
this whole class of virtues and accomplishments, of which
many pages would not contain the catalogue; can it be doubted,
I say, that the tendency of these qualities to promote the
interest and happiness of their possessor, is the sole founda-
tion of their merit ? Who can dispute that a mind, which
supports a perpetual serenity and chearfulness, a noble
dignity and undaunted spirit, a tender affection and good-
will to all around ; as it has more enjoyment within itself, is
also a more animating and rejoicing spectacle, than if dejected
with melancholy, tormented with anxiety, irritated with rage,
or sunk into the most abject baseness and degeneracy ? And
as to the qualities, immediately agreeable to others, they speak
sufficiently for themselves ; and he must be unhappy, indeed,
either in his own temper, or in his situation and company,
who has never perceived the charms of a facetious wit or
flowing affability, of a delicate modesty or decent genteelness
of address and manner.
1 [of Virtue : Editions G to N.]
CONCLUSION. 253
I am sensible, that nothing can be more unphilosophical sect.
than to be positive or dogmatical on any subject; and that, , Ix
even if excessive scepticism could be maintained, it would not Paw I
be more destructive to all just reasoning and enquiry. I am
convinced, that, where men are the most sure and arrogant,
they are commonly the most mistaken, and have there given
reins to passion, without that proper deliberation and sus-
pence, which can alone secure them from the grossest
absurdities. Yet, I must confess, that this enumeration puts
the matter in so strong a light, that I cannot, at present,
be more assured of any truth, which I learn from reasoning
and argument, than that personal merit consists entirely in
the usefulness or agreeableness of qualities to the person
himself possessed of them, or to others, who have any inter-
course with him. But when I reflect, that, though the
bulk and figure of the earth have been measured and de-
lineated, though the motions of the tides have been accounted
for, the order and ceconomy of the heavenly bodies subjected
to their proper laws, and INFINITE itself reduced to calcu -
lation ; yet men still dispute concerning the foundation of
their moral duties : When I reflect on this, I say, I fall back
into diffidence and scepticism, and suspect, that an hypothesis,
so obvious, had it been a true one, would, long ere now,
have been received by the unanimous suffrage and consent
of mankind.
PART II.
Having expressed the moral approbation attending merit
or virtue, 1 there remains nothing, but briefly to consider our
interested obligation to it, and to enquire, whether every man,
who has any regard to his own happiness and welfare, will
not best find his account in the practice of every moral duty.
If this can be clearly ascertained from the foregoing theory,
we shall have the satisfaction to reflect, that we have ad-
vanced principles, which not only, it is hoped, will stand the
test of reasoning and enquiry, but may contribute to the
amendment of men's lives, and their improvement in morality
and social virtue. And though the philosophical truth of
any proposition by no means depends on its tendency to
promote the interests of society ; yet a man has but a bad
grace, who delivers a theory, however true, which, he must
1 [Edition G omits the preceding clause.]
254 CONCERNING THE PRINCIPLES OF MORALS.
SECT, confess, leads to a practice dangerous and pernicious. Why
_ ~Z -- rake into those corners of nature, which spread a nuisance
Pabt ii. all around ? Why dig up the pestilence from the pit, in which
it is buried ? The ingenuity of your researches may be ad-
mired ; but your systems will be detested : And mankind will
agree, if they cannot refute them, to sink them, at least, in
eternal silence and oblivion. Truths, which are pernicious
to society, if any such there be, will yield to errors, which
are salutary and advantageous.
But what philosophical truths can be more advantageous
to society, than those here delivered, which represent virtue
in all her genuine and most engaging charms, and make us
approach her with ease, familiarity, and affection? The
dismal dress falls off, with which many divines, and some
philosophers have covered her; and nothing appears but
gentleness, humanity, beneficence, affability ; nay even, at
proper intervals, play, frolic, and gaiety. She talks not of
useless austerities and rigours, suffering and self-denial. She
declares, that her sole purpose is, to make her votaries and
all mankind, during every instant of their existence, if
possible, cheerful and happy; nor does she ever willingly
part with any pleasure but in hopes of ample compensation
in some other period of their lives. The sole trouble, which
she demands, is that of just calculation, and a steady prefer-
ence of the greater happiness. And if any austere pretenders
approach her, enemies to joy and pleasure, she either rejects
them as hypocrites and deceivers ; or if she admit them in
her train, they are ranked however, among the least favoured
of her votaries.
And, indeed, to drop all figurative expression, what hopes
can we ever have of engaging mankind to a practice, which
we confess full of austerity and rigour ? Or what theory of
morals can ever serve any useful purpose, unless it can show,
by a particular detail, that all the duties, which it recom-
mends, are also the true interest of each individual ? The
peculiar advantage of the foregoing system seems to be, that
it furnishes proper mediums for that purpose.
That the virtues which are immediately useful or agreeable
to the person possessed of them, are desirable in a view to
self-interest, it would surely be superfluous to prove.
Moralists, indeed, may spare themselves all the pains, which
they often take in recommending these duties. To what
pui-pose collect arguments to evince, that temperance is
CONCLUSION. 265
advantageous, and the excesses of pleasure hurtful ? When it SECT.
appears, that these excesses are only denominated such, _, -
because they are hurtful ; and that, if unlimited use of Paht tt
strong liquors, for instance, no more impaired health or the
faculties of mind and body than the use of air or water, it
would not be a whit more vicious or blameable.
It seems equally superfluous to prove, that the companion-
able virtues of good manners and wit, decency and genteel-
ness, are more desirable than the contrary qualities. Vanity
alone, without any other consideration, is a sufficient motive
to make us wish for the possession of these accomplishments.
No man was ever willingly deficient in this particular. All
our failures here proceed from bad education, want of capa-
city, or a perverse and unpliable disposition. Would you
have your company coveted, admired, followed ; rather than
hated, despised, avoided ? Can any one seriously deliberate
in the case ? As no enjoyment is sincere, without some re-
ference to company and society ; so no society can be agree-
able, or even tolerable, where a man feels his presence un-
welcome, and discovers all around him symptoms of disgust
and aversion.
But why, in the greater society or confederacy of mankind,
should not the case be the same as in particular clubs and
companies ? Why is it more doubtful, that the enlarged
virtues of humanity, generosity, beneficence, are desirable
with a view to happiness and self-interest, than the limited
endowments of ingenuity and politeness ? Are we apprehen-
sive, lest those social affections interfere, in a greater and
more immediate degree than any other pursuits, with private
utility, and cannot be gratified, without some important
sacrifice of honour and advantage ? If so, we are but ill in-
structed in the nature of the human passions, and are more
influenced by verbal distinctions than by real differences.
Whatever contradiction may vulgarly be supposed between
the selfish and social sentiments or dispositions, they are
really no more opposite than selfish and ambitious, selfish
and revengeful, selfish and vain. It is requisite, that there
be an original propensity of some kind, in order to be a basis
to self-love, by giving a relish to the objects of its pursuit ;
and none more fit for this purpose than benevolence or
humanity. The goods of fortune are spent in one gratifica-
tion or another: The miser, who accumulates his annual
income, and lends it out at interest, has really spent it in
250 CONCERNING THE PRINCIPLES OF MORALS.
SECT, the gratification of his avarice. And it would be difficult to
. _ '/ _,. show, why a man is more a loser by a generous action, than
Pakt II. by an y other method of expence ; since the utmost which
he can attain, by the most elaborate selfishness, is the in-
dulgence of some affection.
Now if life, without passion, must be altogether insipid
and tiresome ; let a man suppose that he has full power of
modelling his own disposition, and let him deliberate what
appetite or desire he would choose for the foundation of
his happiness aud enjoyment. Every affection, he would
observe, when gratified by success, gives a satisfaction pro-
portioned to its force and violence : but besides this advan-
tage, common to all, the immediate feeling of benevolence
and friendship, humanity and kindness, is sweet, smooth,
tender, and agreeable, independent of all fortune and acci-
dents. These virtues are besides attended with a pleasing
consciousness or remembrance, and keep us in humour with
ourselves as well as others ; while we retain the agreeable
reflection of having done our part towards mankind and
society. And though all men show a jealousy of our success
in the pursuits of avarice and ambition ; yet are we almost
sure of their good-will and good-wishes, so long as we
persevere in the paths of virtue, and employ ourselves in the
execution of generous plans and purposes. What other
passion is there where we shall find so many advantages
united ; an agreeable sentiment, a pleasing consciousness, a
good reputation ? But of these truths, we may observe, men
are, of themselves, pretty much convinced ; nor are they
deficient in their duty to society, because they would not
wish to be generous, friendly, and humane; but because they
do not feel themselves such.
Treating vice with the greatest candour, and making it
all possible concessions, we must acknowledge, that there is
not, in any instance, the smallest pretext for giving it the
preference above virtue, with a view to self-interest ; except,
perhaps, in the case of justice, where a man, taking things
in a certain light, may often seem to be a loser by his
integrity. And though it is allowed, that, without a regard
to property, no society could subsist ; yet, according to the
imperfect way in which human affairs are conducted, a
sensible knave, in particular incidents, may think, that an
act of iniquity or infidelity will make a considerable addition
to his fortune, without causing any considerable breach in
CONCLUSION. 257
the social union and confederacy. That honesty is the best SECT.
policy, may be a good general rule ; but is liable to many . , _
exceptions : And he, it may, perhaps, be thought, conducts Pakt u *
himself with most wisdom, who observes the general rule,
and takes advantage of all the exceptions.
I must confess, that, if a man think, that this reasoning
much requires an answer, it will be a little difficult to find
any, which will to him appear satisfactory and convincing.
If his heart rebel not against such pernicious maxims, if he
feel no reluctance to the thoughts of villany or baseness, he
has indeed lost a considerable motive to virtue ; and we may
expect, that his practice will be answerable to his specu-
lation. But in all ingenuous natures, the antipathy to
treachery and roguery is too strong to be counterbalanced
by any views of profit or pecuniary advantage. Inward
peace of mind, consciousness of integrity, a satisfactory re-
view of our own conduct ; these are circumstances very
requisite to happiness, and will be cherished and cultivated
by every honest man, who feels the importance of them.
Such a one has, besides, the frequent satisfaction of seeing
knaves, with all their pretended cunning and abilities, be-
trayed by their own maxims ; and while they purpose to
cheat with moderation and secrecy, a tempting incident oc-
curs, nature is frail, and they give into the snare ; whence
they can never extricate themselves, without a total loss of
reputation, and the forfeiture of all future trust and confi-
dence with mankind.
But were they ever so secret and successful, the honest
man, if he has any tincture of philosophy, or even common
observation and reflection, will discover that they themselves
are, in the end, the greatest dupes, and have sacrificed the
invaluable enjoyment of a character, with themselves at least,
for the acquisition of worthless toys and gewgaws. How
little is requisite to supply the necessities of nature ? And in
a view to pleasure, what comparison between the unbought
satisfaction of conversation, society, study, even health and
the common beauties of nature, but above all the peaceful
reflection on one's own conduct : What comparison, I say,
between these, and the feverish, empty amusements of luxury
and expence ? These natural pleasures, indeed, are really
without price ; both because they are below all price in their
attainment, and above it in their enjoyment.
vol. iv. s
258 CONCERNING THE PRINCIPLES OF MORALS.
Appendix I. Concerning Moral Sentiment.
APP. L If the foregoing hypothesis be received, it will now be easy
for us to determine the question first started, 1 concerning the
general' principles of morals; and though we postponed the
decision of that question, lest it should then involve us in
intricate speculations, which are unfit for moral discourses,
we may resume it at present, and examine how far either
reason or sentiment enters into all decisions of praise or
censure.
One principal foundation of moral praise being supposed
to lie in the usefulness of any quality or action ; it is evident,
that reason must enter for a considerable share in all deci-
sions of this kind ; since nothing but that faculty can in-
struct us in the tendency of qualities and actions, and point
out their beneficial consequences to society and to their pos-
sessor. In many cases, this is an affair liable to great con-
troversy: Doubts may arise; opposite interests may occur;
and a preference must be given to one side, from very nice
views, and a small overbalance of utility. This is particu-
larly remarkable in questions with regard to justice ; as is,
indeed, natural to suppose, from that species of utility, which
attends this virtue. 2 Were every single instance of justice,
like that of benevolence, useful to society ; this would be a
more simple state of the case, and seldom liable to great
controversy. But as single instances of justice are often
pernicious in their first and immediate tendency, and as the
advantage to society results only from the observance of the
general rule, and from the concurrence and combination of
several persons in the same equitable conduct ; the case here
becomes more intricate and involved. The various circum-
stances of society ; the various consequences of any practice ;
the various interests, which may be proposed: These, on
1 Sect I. Of the General Principles 2 See Appendix III. Some farther
of Morals. Considerations with regard to Justice.
CONCERNING MORAL SENTIMENT. 259
many occasions, are doubtful, and subject to great discussion APP. t.
and enquiry. The object of municipal laws is to fix all the
questions with regard to justice : The debates of civilians ;
the reflections of politicians ; the precedents of history and
public records, are all directed to the same purpose. And a
very accurate reason or judgment is often requisite, to give
the true determination, amidst such intricate doubts arising
from obscure or opposite utilities.
But though reason, when fully assisted and improved, be
sufficient to instruct us in the pernicious or useful tendency
of qualities and actions ; it is not alone sufficient to produce
any moral blame or approbation. Utility is only a tendency
to a certain end ; and were the end totally indifferent to us,
we should feel the same indifference towards the means. It
is requisite a sentiment should here display itself, in order to
give a preference to the useful above the pernicious tenden-
cies. This sentiment can be no other than a feeling for the
happiness of mankind, and a resentment of their misery ;
since these are the different ends which virtue and vice have
a tendency to promote. Here, therefore, reason instructs us
in the several tendencies of actions, and humanity makes a
distinction in favour of those which are useful and beneficial.
This partition between the faculties of understanding and
sentiment, in all moral decisions, seems clear from the pre-
ceding hypothesis. But I shall suppose that hypothesis
false : It will then be requisite to look out for some other
theory, that may be satisfactory; and I dare venture to
affirm, that none such will ever be found, so long as we sup-
pose reason to be the sole source of morals. To prove this,
it will be proper to weigh the five following considerations.
I. It is easy for a false hypothesis to maintain some ap-
pearance of truth, while it keeps wholly in generals, makes
use of undefined terms, and employs comparisons, instead of
instances. This is particularly remarkable in that philosophy,
which ascribes the discernment of all moral distinctions to
reason alone, without the concurrence of sentiment. It is
impossible that, in any particular instance, this hypothesis
can so much as be rendered intelligible ; whatever specious
figure it may make in general declamations and discourses.
Examine the crime of ingratitude, for instance ; which has
place, wherever we observe good-will, expressed and known,
together with good-offices performed, on the one side, and a
s 2
200 CONCERNING THE PRINCIPLES OF MORALS.
APP. I. return of ill-will or indifference, with ill-offices or neglect on
the other : Anatomize all these circumstances, and examine,
by your reason alone, in what consists the demerit or blame :
You never will come to any issue or conclusion.
Reason judges either of matter of fact or of relations.
Enquire then, first, where is that matter of fact, which we here
call crime ; point it out ; determine the time of its existence ;
describe its essence or nature ; explain the sense or faculty,
to which it discovers itself. It resides in the mind of the
person, who is ungrateful. He must, therefore, feel it, and
be conscious of it. But nothing is there, except the passion
of ill-will or absolute indifference. You cannot say, that
these, of themselves, always, and in all circumstances, are
crimes. No : They are only crimes, when directed towards
persons, who have before expressed and displayed good-will
towards us. Consequently, we may infer, that the crime of
ingratitude is not any particular individual fact ; but arises
from a complication of circumstances, which, being pre-
sented to the spectator, excites the sentiment of blame, by the
particular structure and fabric of his mind.
This representation, you say, is false. Crime, indeed, con-
sists not in a particular fact, of whose reality we are assured
by reason : But it consists in certain moral relations, discovered
by reason, in the same manner as we discover, by reason, the
truths of geometry or algebra. But what are the relations,
I ask, of which you here talk ? In the case stated above, I
see first good- will and good-offices in one person ; then ill-
will and ill-offices in the other. Between these, there is the
relation of contrariety. Does the crime consist in that rela-
tion ? But suppose a person bore me ill-will or did me ill-
offices ; and I, in return, were indifferent towards him, or
did him good-offices : Here is the same relation of contra-
riety ; and yet my conduct is often highly laudable. Twist
and turn this matter as much as you will, you can never rest
the morality on relation ; but must have recourse to the
decisions of sentiment.
When it is affirmed, that two and three are equal to the
half of ten ; this relation of equality, I understand perfectly.
I conceive, that if ten be divided into two parts, of which
one has as many units as the other ; and if any of these
parts be compared to two added to three, it will contain as
many units as that compound number. But when you draw
CONCERNING MORAL SENTIMENT. 2G1
thence a comparison to moral relations, I own that I am APP. L
altogether at a loss to understand you. A moral action, a
crime, such as ingratitude, is a complicated object. Does
morality consist in the relation of its parts to each other.
How ? After what manner ? Specify the relation : Be more
particular and explicit in your propositions ; and you will
easily see their falsehood.
No, say you, the morality consists in the relation of
actions to the rule of right ; and they are denominated good
or ill, according as they agree or disagree with it. What
then is this rule of right ? In what does it consist ? How
is it determined? By reason, you say, which examines the
moral relations of actions. So that moral relations are
determined by the comparison of actions to a rule. And
that rule is determined by considering the moral relations
of objects. Is not this fine reasoning?
All this is metaphysics, you cry : That is enough : There
needs nothing more to give a strong presumption of false-
hood. Yes, reply I : Here are metaphysics surely : But they
are all on your side, who advance an abstruse hypothesis,
which can never be made intelligible, nor quadrate with any
particular instance or illustration. The hypothesis which
we embrace is plain. It maintains, that morality is deter-
mined by sentiment. It defines virtue to be whatever mental
action or quality gives to a spectator the pleasing sentiment of
approbation; and vice the contrary. We then proceed to
examine a plain matter of fact, to wit, what actions have
this influence : We consider all the circumstances, in which
these actions agree : And thence endeavour to extract some
general observations with regard to these sentiments. If you
call this metaphysics, and find any thing abstruse here, you
need only conclude, that your turn of mind is not suited to
the moral sciences.
II. When a man, at any time, deliberates concerning his
own conduct (as, whether he had better, in a particular
emergence, assist a brother or a benefactor), he must con-
sider these separate relations, with all the circumstances
and situations of the persons, in order to determine the 1
superior duty and obligation: And in order to determine
the proportion of lines in any triangle, it is necessary to
examine the nature of that figure, and the relations which
its several parts bear to each other. But notwithstanding
89 CONCERNING TIIE PRINCIPLES OF MORALS.
APP. I.| this appearing similarity in the two cases, there is, at
bottom, an extreme difference between them. A speculative
reasoner concerning triangles or circles considers the several
known and given relations of the parts of these figures ; and
thence infers some unknown relation, which is dependent
on the former. But in moral deliberations, we must be
acquainted, before-hand, with all the objects, and all their
relations to each other ; and from a comparison of the whole,
fix our choice or approbation. No new fact to be ascertained :
No new relation to be discovered. All the circumstances of
the case are supposed to be laid before us, ere we can fix
any sentence of blame or approbation. If any material cir-
cumstance be yet unknown or doubtful, we must first employ
our enquiry or intellectual faculties to assure us of it; and
must suspend for a time all moral decision or sentiment.
"While we are ignorant, whether a man were aggressor or
not, how can we determine whether the person who killed
him, be criminal or innocent 9 But after every circumstance,
every relation is known, the understanding has no farther
room to operate, nor any object on which it could employ
itself. The approbation or blame, which then ensues, cannot
be the work of the judgment, but of the heart ; and is not a
speculative proposition or affirmation, but an active feeling
or sentiment. In the disquisitions of the understanding,
from known circumstances and relations, we infer some new
and unknown. In moral decisions, all the circumstances
and relations must be previously known; and the mind,
from the contemplation of the whole, feels some new im-
pression of affection or disgust, esteem or contempt, appro-
bation or blame.
Hence the great difference between a mistake of fact and
one of right; and hence the reason why the one is com-
monly criminal and not the other. When (Edipus killed
Laius, he was ignorant of the relation, and from circum-
stances, innocent and involuntary, formed erroneous opinions
concerning the action which he committed. But when Nero
killed Ageippina, all the relations between himself and the
person, and all the circumstances of the fact, were pre-
viously known to him : But the motive of revenge, or fear,
or interest, prevailed in his savage heart over the sentiments
of duty and humanity. And when we express that detesta-
tion against him, to which he, himself, in a little time,
CONCERNING MORAL SENTIMENT. 263
became insensible ; it is not, that we see any relations, of APR I.
which he was ignorant ; but that, from the rectitude of our
disposition, we feel sentiments, against which he was
hardened, from flattery and a long perseverance in the most
enormous crimes. In these sentiments, then, not in a
discovery of relations of any kind, do all moral determina-
tions consist. Before we can pretend to form any decision
of this kind, every thing must be known and ascertained on
the side of the object or action. Nothing remains but to
feel, on our part, some sentiment of blame or approbation ;
whence we pronounce the action criminal or virtuous.
III. This doctrine will become still more evident, if we
compare moral beauty with natural, to which, in many
particulars, it bears so near a resemblance. It is on the
proportion, relation, and position of parts, that all natural
beauty depends ; but it would be absurd thence to infer,
that the perception of beauty, like that of truth in geo-
metrical problems, consists wholly in the perception of
relations, and was performed entirely by the understanding
or intellectual faculties. In all the sciences, our mind, from t
the known relations, investigates the unknown : But in all
decisions of taste or external beauty, all the relations are
before-hand obvious to the eye ; and we thence proceed to
feel a sentiment of complacency or disgust, according to the
nature of the object, and disposition of our organs.
Euclid has fully explained all the qualities of the circle ;
but has not, in any proposition, said a word of its beauty.
The reason is evident. The beauty is not a quality of the
circle. It lies not in any part of the line, whose parts are
equally distant from a common center. It is only the effect,
which that figure produces upon the mind, whose peculiar
fabric or structure renders it susceptible of such sentiments.
In vain would you look for it in the circle, or seek it, either
by your senses or by mathematical reasonings, in all the
properties of that figure.
Attend to Palladio and Perrault, while they explain all
the parts and proportions of a pillar : They talk of the
cornice and frieze and base and entablature and shaft and
architrave ; and give the description and position of each of
these members. But should you ask the description and
position of its beauty, they would readily reply, that the
beauty is not in any of the parts or members of a pillar, but
264 CONCERNING THE PRINCIPLES OF MORALS.
app. I. results from the -whole, when that complicated figure is
presented to an intelligent mind, susceptible to those finer
sensations. 'Till such a spectator appear, there is nothing
but a figure of such particular dimensions and proportions :
From his sentiments alone arise its elegance and beauty.
Again ; attend to Cicero, while he paints the crimes of a
Vekbes or a Catiline; you must acknowledge that the
moral turpitude results, in the same manner, from the con-
templation of the whole, when presented to a being, whose
organs have such a particular structure and formation. The
orator may paint rage, insolence, barbarity on the one side :
Meekness, suffering, sorrow, innocence on the other : But if
you feel no indignation or compassion arise in you from this
complication of circumstances, you would in vain ask him,
in what consists the crime or villany, which he so vehe-
mently exclaims against : At what time, or on what subject
it first began to exist : And what has a few months after-
wards become of it, when every disposition and thought of
all the actors is totally altered, or annihilated. No satis-
factory answer can be given to any of these questions, upon
the abstract hypothesis of morals; and we must at last
acknowledge, that the crime or immorality is no particular
fact or relation, which can be the object of the understand-
ing : But arises entirely from the sentiment of disapproba-
tion, which, by the structure of human nature, we unavoid-
ably feel on the apprehension of barbarity or treachery.
IV. Inanimate objects may bear to each other all the same
relations, which we observe in moral agents ; though the
former can never be the object of love or hatred, nor are
consequently susceptible of merit or iniquity. A young tree,
which over-tops and destroys its parent, 1 stands in all the
same relations with Neko, when he murdered Agrippina;
and if morality consisted merely in relations, would, no
doubt, be equally criminal.
Y. It appears evident, that the ultimate ends of human
actions can never, in any case, be accounted for by reason,
but recommend themselves entirely to the sentiments and
affections of mankind, without any dependance on the in-
tellectual faculties. Ask a man, why he uses exercise ; he will
answer, because he desires to keep his health. If you then
enquire, why he desires health, he will readily reply, because
1 [From whaac seed it sprung: Editions G & K.1
CONCERNING MORAL SENTIMENT. 265
sickness is painful. If you push, your enquiries farther, and APR I.
desire a reason, why he hates pain, it is impossible he can
ever give any. This is an ultimate end, and is never referred
to any other object.
Perhaps, to your second question, why he desires health, he
may also reply, that it is necessary for the exercise of his call-
ing. If you ask, why he is anxious on that head, he will
answer, because he desires to get money. If you demand Why ?
It is the instrument of pleasure, says he. And beyond this it
is an absurdity to ask for a reason. It is impossible there
can be a progress in infinitum ; and that one thing can
always be a reason, why another is desired. Something
must be desirable on its own account, and because of its
immediate accord or agreement with human sentiment and
affection.
Now as virtue is an end, and is desirable on its own
account, without fee or reward, merely, for the immediate
satisfaction which it conveys ; it is requisite that there
should be some sentiment, which it touches ; some internal
taste or feeling, or whatever you please to call it, which dis-
tinguishes moral good and evil, and which embraces the one
and rejects the other.
Thus the distinct boundaries and offices of reason and of
taste are easily ascertained. The former conveys the know-
ledge of truth and falsehood : The latter gives the sentiment
of beauty and deformity, vice and virtue. The one discovers
objects, as they really stand in nature, without addition or
diminution : The other has a productive faculty, and gilding
or staining all natural objects with the colours, borrowed
from internal sentiment, raises, in a manner, a new creation.
Reason, being cool and disengaged, is no motive to action,
and directs only the impulse received from appetite or in-
clination, by showing us the means of attaining happiness
or avoiding misery : Taste, as it gives pleasure or pain, and
thereby constitutes happiness or misery, becomes a motive
to action, and is the first spring or impulse to desire and
volition. From circumstances and relations, known or sup-
posed, the former leads us to the discovery of the concealed
and unknown : After all circumstances and relations are laid
before us, the latter makes us feel from the whole a new
sentiment of blame or approbation. The standard of the
one, being founded on the nature of things, is eternal and
2G6 CONCERNING THE PRINCIPLES OF MORALS.
APR I. inflexible, even by the will of the Supreme Being : The
standard of the other, arising from the internal frame and
constitution of animals, is ultimately derived from that
Supreme Will, which bestowed on each being its peculiar
nature, and arranged the several classes and orders of
existence.
Aeeendix, II. 1 Of Self-love.
There is a principle, supposed to prevail among many,
which is utterly incompatible with all virtue or moral senti-
ment; and as it can proceed from nothing but the most
depraved disposition, so in its turn it tends still further to
encourage that depravity. This principle is, that all
benevolence is mere hypocrisy, friendship a cheat, public
spirit a farce, fidelity a snare to procure trust and con-
fidence ; and that, while all of us, at bottom, pursue only
our private interest, we wear these fair disguises, in order to
put others off their guard, and expose them the more to our
wiles and machinations. What heart one must be possessed
of who professes such principles, and who feels no internal
sentiment that belies so pernicious a theory, it is easy to
imagine : And also, what degree of affection and benevolence
he can bear to a species, whom he represents under such
odious colours, and supposes so little susceptible of gratitude
or any return of affection. Or if we should not ascribe these
principles wholly to a corrupted heart, we must, at least,
account for them from the most careless and precipitate
examination. Superficial reasoners, indeed, observing many
false pretences among mankind, and feeling, perhaps, no
very strong restraint in their own disposition, might draw a
general and a hasty conclusion, that all is equally corrupted,
and that men, different from all other animals, and indeed
from all other species of existences, admit of no degrees of
good or bad, but are, in every instance, the same creatures
under different disguises and appearances.
There is another principle, somewhat resembling the
former ; which has been much insisted on by philosophers,
and has been the foundation of many a system ; that, what-
ever affection one may feel, or imagine he feels for others,
no passion is, or can be disinterested ; that the most gene-
1 [In editions G to Q this appeared as Part I. of Section II., ' Of Benevolence.*]
OF SELF-LOVE. 207
rous friendship, however sincere, is a modification of self- APR II.
love ; and that, even unknown to ourselves, we seek only
our own gratification, while we appear the most deeply
engaged in schemes for the liberty and happiness of man-
kind. By a turn of imagination, by a refinement of reflec-
tion, by an enthusiasm of passion, we seem to take part in
the interests of others, and imagine ourselves divested of all
selfish considerations : But, at bottom, the most generous
patriot and most niggardly miser, the bravest hero and most
abject coward, have, in every action, an equal regard to their
own happiness and welfare.
Whoever concludes from the seeming tendency of this
opinion, that those, who make profession of it, cannot
possibly feel the true sentiments of benevolence, or have
any regard for genuine virtue, will often find himself, in
practice, very much mistaken. Probity and honour were no
strangers to Epicurus and his sect. Atticus and Horace
seem to have enjoyed from nature, and cultivated by reflec-
tion, as generous and friendly dispositions as any disciple of
the austerer schools. And among the modern, Hobbes and
Locke, who maintained the selfish system of morals, lived
irreproachable lives ; though the former lay not under any
restraint of religion, which might supply the defects of his
philosophy.
An Epicurean or a Hobbist readily allows, that there is
such a thing as friendship in the world, without hypocrisy
or disguise; though he may attempt, by a philosophical
chymistry, to resolve the elements of this passion, if I may
so speak, into those of another, and explain every affection
to be self-love, twisted and moulded, by a particular turn of
imagination, into a variety of appearances. But as the same
turn of imagination prevails not in every man, nor gives the
same direction to the original passion; this is sufficient,
even according to the selfish system, to make the widest
difference in human characters, and denominate one man
virtuous and humane, another vicious and meanly interested.
I esteem the man, whose self-love, by whatever means, is so
directed as to give him a concern for others, and render him
serviceable to society : As I hate or despise him, who has no
regard to any thing beyond his own gratifications and enjoy-
ments. In vain would you suggest, that these characters,
though seemingly opposite, are, at bottom, the same, and
2G8 CONCERNING THE PRINCIPLES OF MORALS.
Ap P- u \ that a very inconsiderable turn of thought forms the whole
difference between them. Each character, notwithstanding
these inconsiderable differences, appears to me, in practice,
pretty durable and untransmutable. And I find not in this
more than in other subjects, that the natural sentiments,
arising from the general appearances of things, are easily
destroyed by subtile reflections concerning the minute origin
of these appearances. Does not the lively, chearful colour
of a countenance inspire me with complacency and pleasure ;
even though I learn from philosophy, that all difference of
complexion arises from the most minute differences of thick-
ness, in the most minute parts of the skin ; by means of
which a superficies is qualified to reflect one of the original
colours of light, and absorb the others ?
But though the question, concerning the universal or
partial selfishness of man be not so material, as is usually
imagined, to morality and practice, it is certainly of con-
sequence in the speculative science of human nature, and
is a proper object of curiosity and enquiry. It may not,
therefore, be unsuitable, in this place, to bestow a few
reflections upon it. 1
The most obvious objection to the selfish hypothesis, is,
that, as it is contrary to common feeling and our most
unprejudiced notions, there is required the highest stretch
of philosophy to establish so extraordinary a paradox. To
the most careless observer, there appear to be such dis-
positions as benevolence and generosity ; such affections as
love, friendship, compassion, gratitude. These sentiments
have their causes, effects, objects, and operations, marked
by common language and observation, and plainly dis-
tinguished from those of the selfish passions. And as this is
the obvious appearance of things, it must be admitted ; till
some hypothesis be discovered, which, by penetrating deeper
into human nature, may prove the former affections to be
1 Benevolence naturally divides into sentiments must be allowed real in
two kinds, the general and the particu- human nature; but whether they will
lar. The first is, where we have no resolve into some nice considerations of
friendship or connexion or esteem for self-love, is a question more curious
the person, but feel only a general than important. The former sentiment,
sympathy with him or a compassion for to wit, that of general benevolence, or
his pains, and a congratulation with humanity, or sympathy, we shall have
his pleasures. The other species of occasion frequently to treat of in the
benevolence is founded on an opinion course of this enquiry ; and I assume it
of virtue, on services done us, or on as real, from general experience, with-
Bome particular connexions. Both these out any other proof.
OF SELF-LOVE. 269
nothing but modifications of the latter. All attempts of A PP. IL
this kind have hitherto proved fruitless, and seem to have
proceeded entirely, from that love of simplicity, which has
been the source of much false reasoning in philosophy. I
shall not here enter into any detail on the present subject.
Many able philosophers have shown the insufficiency of
these systems. And I shall take for granted what, I believe,
the smallest reflection will make evident to every impartial
enquirer.
But the nature of the subject furnishes the strongest pre-
sumption, that no better system will ever, for the future, be
invented, in order to account for the origin of the benevolent
from the selfish affections, and reduce all the various
emotions of the human mind to a perfect simplicity. The
case is not the same in this species of philosophy as in
physics. Many an hypothesis in nature, contrary to first
appearances, has been found, on more accurate scrutiny,
solid and satisfactory. Instances of this kind are so fre-
quent, that a judicious, as well as witty philosopher, 1 has
ventured to affirm, if there be more than one way, in which
any phenomenon may be produced, that there is a general
presumption for its arising from the causes, which are the
least obvious and familiar. But the presumption always
lies on the other side, in all enquiries concerning the origin
of our passions, and of the internal operations of the human
mind. The simplest and most obvious cause, which can
there be assigned for any phenomenon, is probably the true
one. When a philosopher, in the explication of his system,
is obliged to have recourse to some very intricate and refined
reflections, and to suppose them essential to the production
of any passion or emotion, we have reason to be extremely
on our guard against so fallacious an hypothesis. The
affections are not susceptible of any impression from the
refinements of reason or imagination ; and it is always found,
that a vigorous exertion of the latter faculties, necessarily,
from the narrow capacity of the human mind, destroys all
activity in the former. Our predominant motive or inten-
tion is, indeed, frequently concealed from ourselves, when it
is mingled and confounded with other motives, which the
mind, from vanity or self-conceit, is desirous of supposing
more prevalent: But there is no instance, that a conceal-
1 MonS. FoNTENEXI.E.
270 CONCERNING THE PRINCIPLES OF MORALS.
AF P. II. ment of this nature has ever arisen from the abstruseness
and intricacy of the- motive. A man, that has lost a friend
and patron, may flatter himself, that all his grief arises from
generous sentiments, without any mixture of narrow or
interested considerations: But a man, that grieves for a
valuable friend, who needed his patronage and protection ;
bow can we suppose, that his passionate tenderness arises
from some metaphysical regards to a self-interest, which has
no foundation or reality ? We may as well imagine, that
minute wheels and springs, like those of a watch, give
motion to a loaded waggon, as account for the origin of
passion from such abstruse reflections.
Animals are found susceptible of kindness, both to their
own species and to ours ; nor is there, in this case, the least
suspicion of disguise or artifice. Shall we account for all
their sentiments too, from refined deductions of self-interest ?
Or if we admit a disinterested benevolence in the inferior
species, by what rule of analogy can we refuse it in the
superior ?
Love between the sexes begets a complacency and good-
will, very distinct from the gratification of an appetite.
Tenderness to their offspring, in all sensible beings, is com-
monly able alone to counter-balance the strongest motives of
self-love, and has no manner of depend ance on that affec-
tion. What interest can a fond mother have in view, who
loses her health by assiduous attendance on her sick child,
and afterwards languishes and dies of grief, when freed, by
its death, from the slavery of that attendance ?
Is gratitude no affection of the human breast, or is that a
word merely, without any meaning or reality ? Have we no
satisfaction in one man's company above another's, and no
desire of the welfare of our friend, even though absence or
death should prevent us from all participation in it? Or
what is it commonly, that gives us any participation in . it,
even while alive and present, but our affection and regard to
him?
These and a thousand other instances are marks of a
general benevolence in human nature, where no real interest
binds us to the object. And how an imaginary interest,
known and avowed for such, can be the origin of any pas-
sion or emotion, seems difficult to explain. No satisfactory
hypothesis of this kind has yet been discovered ; nor is there
OF SELF-LOVE. 271
the smallest probability, that the future industry of men will APR II.
ever be attended with more favourable success.
But farther, if we consider rightly of the matter, we shall
find, that the hypothesis, which allows of a disinterested
benevolence, distinct from self-love, has really more sim-
plicity in it, and is more conformable to the analogy of
nature, than that which pretends to resolve all friendship
and humanity into this latter principle. There are bodily
wants or appetites, acknowledged by every one, which neces-
sarily precede all sensual enjoyment, and carry us directly
to seek possession of the object. Thus, hunger and thirst
have eating and drinking for their end ; and from the grati-
fication of these primary appetites arises a pleasure, which
may become the object of another species of desire or incli-
nation, that is secondary and interested. In the same manner,
there are mental passions, by which we are impelled imme-
diately to seek particular objects, such as fame, or power, or
vengeance, without any regard to interest ; and when these
objects are attained, a pleasing enjoyment ensues, as the
consequence of our indulged affections. Nature must, by
the internal frame and constitution of the mind, give an
original propensity to fame, ere we can reap any pleasure
from that acquisition, or pursue it from motives of self-love,
and a desire of happiness. If I have no vanity, I take no
delight in praise : If I be void of ambition, power gives me
no enjoyment: If I be not angry, the punishment of an
adversary is totally indifferent to me. In all these cases,
there is a passion, which points immediately to the object,
and constitutes it our good or happiness ; as there are Other
secondary passions, which afterwards arise, and pursue it as
a part of our happiness, when once it is constituted such by
our original affections. Were there no appetite of any kind
antecedent to self-love, that propensity could scarcely ever
exert itself; because we should, in that case, have felt few
and slender pains or pleasures, and have little misery or
happiness to avoid or to pursue.
Now where is the difficulty in conceiving, that this may
likewise be the case with benevolence and friendship,
and that, from the original frame of our temper, we may
feel a desire of another's happiness or good, which, by means
of that affection, becomes our own good, and is afterwards
pursued, from the combined motives of benevolence and self-
272 CONCERNING THE PRINCIPLES OF MORALS.
APP. II. enjoyment ? Who sees not that vengeance, from the force
alone of passion, may be so eagerly pursued, as to make us
knowingly neglect every consideration of ease, interest, or
safety; and, like some vindictive animals, infuse our very
souls into the wounds we give an enemy l ? And what a
malignant philosophy must it be, that will not allow, to
humanity and friendship, the same privileges, which are
undisputably granted to the darker passions of enmity and
resentment ? Such a philosophy is more like a satyr than
a true delineation or description of human nature ; and may
be a good foundation for paradoxical wit and raillery, but is
a very bad one for any serious argument or reasoning.
Appendix III. 2 Some farther Considerations with regard to
Justice.
The intention of this Appendix is to give some more par-
ticular explication of the origin and nature of Justice, and to
mark some differences between it and the other virtues.
The social virtues of humanity and benevolence exert their
influence immediately, by a direct tendency or instinct,
which chiefly keeps in view the simple object, moving the
affections, and comprehends not any scheme or system, nor
the consequences resulting from the concurrence, imitation,
or example of others. A parent flies to the relief of his
child ; transported by that natural sympathy, which actuates
him, and which affords no leisure to reflect on the senti-
ments or conduct of the rest of mankind in like circum-
stances. A generous man chearfully embraces an oppor-
tunity of serving his friend ; because he then feels himself
under the dominion of the beneficent affections, nor is he
concerned whether any other person in the universe were
ever before actuated by such noble motives, or will ever
afterwards prove their influence. In all these cases, the
social passions have in view a single individual object, and
pursue the safety or happiness alone of the person loved
and esteemed. With this they are satisfied : In this, they
acquiesce. And as the good, resulting from their benign
influence, is in itself compleat and entire, it also excites the
moral sentiment of approbation, without any reflection on
1 Animasque in vulnere ponunt. Viro. Ira, 1. i, 1.
Geor. 4, 238. Dum alteri noceat, sui 2 [Appendix ii. in Editions G to Q.]
negligens, says Seneca of Anger. De
FARTHER CONSIDERATIONS WITH REGARD TO JUSTICE. 273
farther consequences, and without any more enlarged views APP. HI
of the concurrence or imitation of the other members of
society. On the contrary, were the generous friend or dis-
interested patriot to stand alone in the practice of benefi-
cence ; this would rather enhance his value in our eyes, and
join the praise of rarity and novelty to his other more exalted
merits.
The case is not the same with the social virtues of justice
and fidelity. They are highly useful, or indeed absolutely
necessary to the well-being of mankind : But the benefit,
resulting from them, is not the consequence of every indi-
vidual single act; but arises from the whole scheme or
system, concurred in by the whole, or the greater part ot
the society. General peace and order are the attendants of
justice or a general abstinence from the possessions of others :
But a particular regard to the particular right of one indi-
vidual citizen may frequently, considered in itself, be pro-
ductive of pernicious consequences. The result of the
individual acts is here, in many instances, directly opposite
to that of the whole system of actions; and the former may
be extremely hurtful, while the latter is, to the highest
degree, advantageous. Eiches, inherited from a parent, are,
in a bad man's hand, the instrument Of mischief. The right
of succession may, in one instance, be hurtful. Its benefit
arises only from the observance of the general rule ; and it
is sufficient, if compensation be thereby made for all the ills
and inconveniencies, which flow from particular characters
and situations.
Cyeus, young and unexperienced, considered only the in-
dividual case before him, and reflected on a limited fitness
and convenience, when he assigned the long coat to the tall
boy, and the short coat to the other of smaller size. His
governor instructed him better ; while he pointed out more
enlarged views and consequences, and informed his pupil ot
the general, inflexible rules, necessary to support general
peace and order in society.
The happiness and prosperity of mankind, arising from
the social virtue of benevolence and its subdivisions, may be
compared to a wall, built by many hands ; which still rises
by each stone, that is heaped upon it, and receives increase
proportional to the diligence and care of each workman.
The same happiness, raised by the social virtue of justice and
VOL. IV. t
274 CONCERNING THE PRINCIPLES OF MORALS.
aPP. III. its subdivisions, may be compared to the building of a vault,
' ' where each individual stone would, of itself, fall to the
ground ; nor is the whole fabric supported but by the mutual
assistance and combination of its corresponding parts.
All the laws of nature, which regulate property, as well as
all civil laws, are general, and regard alone some essential
circumstances of the case, without taking into consideration
the characters, situations, and connexions of the person
concerned, or any particular consequences which may result
from the determination of these laws, in any particular case
which offers. They deprive, without scruple, a beneficent
man of all his possessions, if acquired by mistake, without a
good title ; in order to bestow them on a selfish miser, who
has already heaped up immense stores of superfluous riches.
Public utility requires, that property should be regulated by
general inflexible rules ; and though such rules are adopted
as best serve the same end of public utility, it is impossible
for them to prevent all particular hardships, or make bene-
ficial consequences result from every individual case. It is
sufficient, if the whole plan or scheme be necessary to the
support of civil society, and if the balance of good, in the
main, do thereby preponderate much above that of evil.
Even the general laws of the universe, though planned by
infinite wisdom, cannot exclude all evil or inconvenience, in
every particular operation.
It has been asserted by some, that justice arises from
HUMAN CONVENTIONS, and proceeds from the voluntary
choice, consent, or combination of mankind. If bye onvention
be here meant a, promise (which is the most usual sense of the
word) nothing can be more absurd than this position. The
observance of promises is itself one of the most considerable
parts of justice ; and we are not surely bound to keep our
word, because we have given our word to keep it. But if by
convention be meant a sense of common interest; which sense
each man feels in his own breast, which he remarks in his
fellows, and which carries him, in concurrence with others,
into a general plan or system of actions, which tends to pub-
lic utility ; it must be owned, that, in this sense, justice arises
from human conventions. For if it be allowed (what is,
indeed, evident) that the particular consequences of a particu-
lar act of justice may be hurtful to the public as well as to
individuals; it follows, that every man, in embracing that
FARTHER CONSIDERATIONS WITH REGARD TO JUSTICE. 276
virtue, must have an eye to the whole plan or system, and APP. III.
must expect the concurrence of his fellows in the same con-
duct and behaviour. Did all his views terminate in the
consequences of each act of his own, his benevolence and
humanity, as well as his self-love, might often prescribe to
him measures of conduct very different from those, which
are agreeable to the strict rules of right and justice.
Thus two men pull the oars of a boat by common conven-
tion, for common interest, without any promise or contract :
Thus gold and silver are made the measures of exchange ;
thus speech and words and language are fixed by human
convention and agreement. Whatever is advantageous to
two or more persons, if all perform their part ; but what loses
all advantage, if only one perform, can arise from no other
principle. There would otherwise be no motive for any one
of them to enter into that scheme of conduct. 1
The word, natural, is commonly taken in so many senses,
and is of so loose a signification, that it seems vain to dis-
pute, whether justice be natural or not. If self-love, if bene-
volence be natural to man ; if reason and forethought be
also natural ; then may the same epithet be applied to justice,
order, fidelity, property, society. Men's inclination, their
necessities lead them to combine ; their understanding and
experience tell them, that this combination is impossible,
where each governs himself by no rule, and pays no regard
to the possessions of others : And from these passions and
reflections conjoined, as soon as we observe like passions and
reflections in others, the sentiment of justice, throughout all
ages, has infallibly and certainly had place, to some degree
or other, in every individual of the human species. In so
sagacious an animal, what necessarily arises from the exer-
1 This theory concerning the origin ferrentur, primum obstitit locorum, in
of property, and consequently of jus- quae homines discesserunt, distantia,
tice, is, in the main, the same with that deinde justitiae & amoris defectus, per
hinted at and adopted by Grottos. quem flebat, ut nee in labore, nee in
1 Hinc discimus, quae fuerit causa, ob consumtione fructuum, quae debebat,
quam a primaeva communione rerum aequalitas servaretur. Simul discimus,
primo mobilium, deinde & immobilium quomodo res in proprietatem iverint ;
discessum est : nimirum quod cum non non animi actu solo, neque enim scire
contsnti homines vesci sponte natis, alii poterant, quid alii suum esse veil en t.
antra habitare, corpore aut nudo agere, ut eo abstinerent, & idem velle pluree
aut corticibus arborum ferarumve pel- poterant ; sed pacto quodam aut ex-
libus vestito, vitae genus exquisitus de- presso, ut per divisionem, aut tacito, ut
legissent, industria opus fuit, quam per occupationem.' De Jure Belli &
singuli rebus singulis adhiberent : Quo Pacis. Lib. ii. cap. 2. 2, art. 4 & .5.
minus autem fructus in commune con-
T 2
276 CONCERNING THE PRINCIPLES OF MORALS.
APP. III. tion of his intellectual faculties, may justly be esteemed
natural. 1
Among all civilized nations, it has been the constant en-
deavour to remove every thing arbitrary and partial from the
decision of property, and to fix the sentence of judges by
such general views and considerations, as may be equal to
every member of the society. For besides, that nothing could
be more dangerous than to accustom the bench, even in the
smallest instance, to regard private friendship or enmity ; it
is certain, that men, where they imagine, that there was no
other reason for the preference of their adversary but personal
favour, are apt to entertain the strongest ill-will against the
magistrates and judges. When natural reason, therefore,
points out no fixed view of public utility, by which a contro-
versy of property can be decided, positive laws are often
framed to supply its place, and direct the procedure of all
courts of judicature. Where these too fail, as often happens,
precedents are called for; and a former decision, though
given itself without any sufficient reason, justly becomes a
sufficient reason for a new decision. If direct laws and pre-
cedents be wanting, imperfect and indirect ones are brought
in aid ; and the controverted case is ranged under them, by
analogical reasonings and comparisons, and similitudes, and
correspondencies, which are often more fanciful than real.
In general, it may safely be affirmed, that jurisprudence is,
in this respect, different from all the sciences ; and that in
many of its nicer questions, there cannot properly be said to
be truth or falsehood on either side. If one pleader bring
the case under any former law or precedent, by a refined
analogy or comparison ; the opposite pleader is not at a loss
to find an opposite analogy or comparison : And the prefer-
ence given by the judge is often founded more on taste and
imagination than on any solid argument. Public utility is
the general object of all courts of judicature ; and this utility
too requires a stable rule in all controversies. But where
1 Natural may be opposed, either to without society, property had never
what is unusual, miraculous, or arti- been known, and neither justice nor
ficial. In the two former senses, justice injustice had ever existed. But society
and property are undoubtedly natural. among human creatures, had been im-
But as they suppose reason, forethought, possible, without reason.and forethought,
design, and a social union and con- Inferior animals, that unite, are guided
federacy among men, perhaps, that epi- by instinct, -which supplies the place of
thet cannot strictly, in the last sense, reason. But all these disputes are
be applied to them. Had men lived merely verbal.
FARTHER CONSIDERATIONS WITH REGARD TO JUSTICE. 277
several rules, nearly equal and indifferent, present themselves, APP. HL
it is a very slight turn of thought, which fixes the decision
in favour of either party. 1
1 That there be a separation or dis-
tinction of possessions, and that this
separation be steady and constant ; this
is absolutely required by the interests
of society, and hence the origin of jus-
tice and property. What possessions
are assigned to particular persons ; this
is, generally speaking, pretty indiffer-
ent; and is often determined by very
frivolous viewB and considerations. We
shall mention a few particulars.
Were a society formed among several
independent members, the most obvious
rule, which could be agreed on, would
be to annex property to present posses-
sion, and leave every one a right to
what he at present enjoys. The relation
of possession, which takes place between
the person and the object^ naturally
draws on the relation of property.
For a like reason, occupation or first
possession becomes the foundation of
property.
Where a man bestows labour and
industry upon any object, which before
belonged to no body ; as in cutting down
and shaping a tree, in cultivating a
field, &c, the alteration which he pro-
duces, causes a relation between him
and the object, and naturally engages
us to annex it to him by the new rela-
tion of property. This cause here con-
curs with the public utility, which con
sists in the encouragement given to
industry and labour.
Perhaps too, private humanity to-
wards the possessor, concurs, in this
instance, with the other motives, and
engages us to leave with him what he
has acquired by his sweat and labour ;
and what he has flattered himself in
the constant enjoyment of. For though
private humanity can. by no means, be
the origin of justiee ; since the latter vir-
tue so often contradicts the former ; yet
when the rule of separate and constant
possession is once formed by the indis-
pensible necessities of society, private
humanity, and an aversion to the doing
a hardship to another may, in a par-
ticular instance, give rise to a particular
rule of property.
I am much inclined to think, that the
right of succession or inheritance much
depends on those connexions of the
imagination, and that the relation to a
former proprietor begetting a relation
to the object, is the cause why the pro-
perty is transferred to a man after the
death of his kinsman. It is true ; in-
dustry is more encouraged by the trans-
ference of possession to children or
near relations: But this consideration
will only have place in a cultivated
society ; whereas the right of succession
is regarded even among the greatest
Barbarians.
Acquisition of property by accession
can be explained no way but by having
recourse to the relations and connexions
of the imagination.
The property of rivers, by the laws
of most nations, and by the natural
turn of our thought, is attributed to the
proprietors of their banks, excepting
such vast rivers as the Rhine or the
Danube, which seem too large to fol-
low as an accession to the property of
the neighbouring fields. Yet even these
rivers are considered as the property of
that nation, through whose dominions
they run ; the idea of a nation being of
a suitable bulk to correspond with them,
and bear them such a relation in the
fancy.
The accessions, which are made to
land, bordering upon rivers, follow the
land, say the civilians, provided it be
made by what they call alluvion, that is,
insensibly and imperceptibly; which
are circumstances, that assist the imagi-
nation in the conjunction.
Where there is any considerable por-
tion torn at once from one bank and
added to another, it becomes not Ms
property, whose land it falls on, till it
unite with the land, and till the trees
and plants have spread their roots into
both. Before that, the thought does
not sufficiently join them.
In short, we must ever distinguish
between the necessity of a separation
and constancy in men's possession, and
the rules, which assign particular ob-
jects to particular persons. The first
necessity is obvious, strong, and invin-
cible : The latter may depend on a
public utility more light and frivolous,
on the sentiment of private humanity
and aversion to private hardship, on
positive laws, on precedents, analogies,
and very fine connexions and turns of
the imagination. [This note was added
in Edition K]
278 CONCERNING THE PRINCIPLES OF MORALS.
APP. III . 'We may just observe, before we conclude this subject,
that, after the laws of justice are fixed by views of general
utility, the injury, the hardship, the harm, which result to
any individual from a violation of them, enter very much
into consideration, and are a great source of that universal
blame, which attends every wrong or iniquity. By the laws
of society this coat, this horse, is mine, and ought to remain
perpetually in my possession : I reckon on the secure enjoy-
ment of it : By depriving me of it, you disappoinc my expec-
tations, and doubly displease me, and offend every bystander.
It is a public wrong, so far as the rules of equity are vio-
lated : It is a private harm, so far as an individual is injured.
And though the second consideration could have no place,
were not the former previously established: For otherwise
the distinction of mine and thine would be unknown in
society : Yet there is no question, but the regard to general
good is much enforced by the respect to particular. What
injures the community, without hurting any individual, is
often more lightly thought of. But where the greatest
public wrong is also conjoined with a considerable pri-
vate one, no wonder the highest disapprobation attends so
iniquitous a behaviour.
Appendix IV. 2 Of some Verbal Disputes.
Nothing is more usual than for philosophers to encroach upon
the province of grammarians ; and to engage in disputes of
words, while they imagine, that they are handling contro-
versies of the deepest importance and concern. 3 It was in
order to avoid altercations so frivolous and endless, that I
endeavoured to state with the utmost caution the object of
1 [ Some copies of Edition G do not avoid, therefore, all frivolous subtilties
contain this paragraph. In others, the and altercations, as much as possible,
page having been torn out, a new page we shall content ourselves with observ-
was inserted, containing the paragraph.] ing, first, that, in common life, the
2 [This appears as Part i. of Section sentiments, of censure or approbation,
vi., Of Qualities useful to Ourselves, in produc'd by mental qualities of every
Editions G to N.] kind, are very similar ; and secondly,
3 [Editions G to M omit from this that all antient Moralists (the best
point to It seems indeed certain, &c.' models), in treating of them, make
p. 281, and substitute as follows : little or no difference amongst them.
Thus, were we here to assert or to Edition N omits as far as ' Were we to
deny, that all laudable qualities of the say, &c.' p. 280, and substitutes as fol-
mitid were to be considered as virtues lows : Thus were we to seek an exact
or moral attributes, many would definition or description of those mental
imagine that we had enter'd upon one qualities, which are denominated virtues;
of the profoundest speculations of we might be somewhat at a loss, and
Ethics ; tho' 'tis probable, all the while, might find ourselves at first involved in
that the greatest part of the dispute inextricable difficulties.]
would be found entirely verbal. To
OF SOME VERBAL DISPUTES. 279
our present enquiry ; and proposed simply to collect on the APR IV.
one hand, a list of those mental qualities which are the
object of love or esteem, and form a part of personal merit, and
on the other hand, a catalogue of those qualities, which are
the object of censure or reproach, and which detract from the
character of the person, possessed of them ; subjoining some
reflections concerning the origin of these sentiments of praise
or blame. On all occasions, where there might arise the
least hesitation, I avoided the terms virtue and vice ; because
some of those qualities, which I classed among the objects of
praise, receive, in the English language, the appellation
of talents, rather than of virtues ; as some of the blameable
or censurable qualities are often called defects, rather than
vices. It may now, perhaps, be expected, that, before we
conclude this moral enquiry, we should exactly separate the
one from the other ; should mark the precise boundaries of
virtues and talents, vices and defects ; and should explain
the reason and origin of that distinction. But in order to
excuse myself from this undertaking, which would, at last,
prove only a grammatical enquiry, I shall subjoin the four
following reflections, which shall contain all that I intend to
say on the present subject.
First, I do not find, that in the English, or any other
modern tongue, the boundaries are exactly fixed between
virtues and talents, vices and defects, or that a precise defi-
nition can be given of the one as contradistinguished from
the other. Were we to say, for instance, that the esteem-
able qualities alone, which are voluntary, are entitled to the
appellation of virtues ; we should soon recollect the qualities
of courage, equanimity, patience, self-command ; with many
others, which almost every language classes under this appel-
lation, though they depend little or not at all on our choice.
Should we affirm, that the qualities alone, which prompt us
to act our part in society, are entitled to that honourable
distinction ; it must immediately occur, that these are indeed
the most valuable qualities, and are commonly denominated
the social virtues ; but that this very epithet supposes, that
there are also virtues of another species. 1 Should we lay
hold of the distinction between intellectual and moral endow-
1 [Edition N appends the following is said to be virtuotu or is denominated
note . a man of virtue, we chiefly regard his
It seems to me, that in our language social qualities, which are indeed the
there are always said to be virtues of most valuable. They are called the
many different kinds ; but when a man virtues by way of excellence.]
280 CONCERNING THE PRINCIPLES OF MORALS
APR IV. merits, and affirm the last alone to be the real and genuine
virtues, because they alone lead to action ; we should find,
that many of those qualities, usually called intellectual
virtues, such as prudence, penetration, discernment, discre-
tion, had also a considerable influence on conduct. The dis-
tinction between the heart and the head may also be adopted:
The qualities of the first may be defined such as in their
immediate exertion are accompanied with a feeling or senti-
ment ; and these alone may be called the genuine virtues.
But industry, frugality, temperance, secrecy, perseverance,
and many other laudable powers or habits, generally stiled
virtues, are exerted without any immediate sentiment in the
person possessed of them ; and are only known to him by
their effects. It is fortunate, amidst all this seeming per-
plexity, that the question, being merely verbal, cannot pos-
sibly be of any importance. A moral, philosophical discourse
needs not enter into all these caprices of language, which are
so variable in different dialects, and in different ages of the
same dialect. 1 But on the whole, it seems to me, that,
though it is always allowed, that there are virtues of many
different kinds, yet, when a man is called virtuous, or is
denominated a man of virtue, we chiefly regard his social
qualities, which are, indeed, the most valuable. It is, at the
same time, certain, that any remarkable defect in courage,
temperance, ceconomy, industry, understanding, dignity of
mind, would bereave even a very good-natured, honest man
of this honourable appellation. Who did ever say, except
by way of irony, that such a one was a man of great virtue,
but an egregious blockhead ?
But, secondly, it is no wonder, that languages should not
be very precise in marking the boundaries between virtues
and talents, vices and defects ; since there is so little dis-
tinction made in our internal estimation of them. It seems
indeed certain, that the sentiment of conscious worth, the
self-satisfaction proceeding from a review of a man's own
1 [For the next four sentences Edi- And the more fully to justify our prac-
tion N substitutes as follows : tice in this particular, we shall endea-
It may happen f that, in treating of vour to make it appear, first, that in
ethics, we may sometimes mention common life, the sentiments of censure
laudable qualities, whioh the English or approbation, produced by mental
tongue does not always rank under the qualities of every kind, are nearly
appellation of virtue ; but we do it only similar ; and secondly, that all antient
because we are at a loss how to draw moralists, (the best models) in treating
the exact line between the one and the of them, make little or no difference
other ; or at least because we consider among them.]
the question as merely grammatical.
OF SOME VERBAL DISPUTES. 281
conduct and character; it seems certain, I say, that this APR IV .
sentiment, which, though the most common of all others,
has no proper name in our language, 1 arises from the en-
dowments of courage and capacity, industry and ingenuity,
as well as from any other mental excellencies. Who, on the
other hand, is not deeply mortified with reflecting on his
own folly and dissoluteness, and feels not a secret sting or
compunction, whenever his memory presents any past occur-
rence, where he behaved with stupidity or ill-manners ? No
time can efface the cruel ideas of a man's own foolish con-
duct, or of affronts, which cowardice or imprudence has
brought upon him. They still haunt his solitary hours,
damp his most aspiring thoughts, and show him, even to
himself, in the most contemptible and most odious colours
imaginable.
What is there too we are more anxious to conceal from
others than such blunders, infirmities, and meannesses, or
more dread to have exposed by raillery and satire ? And is
not the chief object of vanity, our bravery or learning, our
wit or breeding, our eloquence or address, our taste or abili-
ties ? These we display with care, if not with ostentation ;
and we commonly show more ambition of excelling in them,
than even in the social virtues themselves, which are, in
reality, of such superior excellence. Good- nature and
honesty, especially the latter, are so indispensably required,
that, though the greatest censure attends any violation of
these duties, no eminent praise follows such common instances
of them, as seem essential to the support of human society.
And hence the reason, in my opinion, why, though men often
extol so liberally the qualities of their heart, they are shy in
commending the endowments of their head : Because the
latter virtues, being supposed more rare and extraordinary,
are observed to be the more usual objects of pride and self-
conceit ; and when boasted of, beget a strong suspicion of
these sentiments.
It is hard to tell, whether you hurt a man's character most
by calling him a knave or a coward, and whether a beastly
1 The term, pride, is commonly taken French express this sentiment by the
in a bad sense ; but this sentiment term, amour propre, but as they also
seems indifferent, and may be either express self-love as well as vanity, by
good or bad, according as it is well or the same term, there arises thence a
ill founded, and according to the other great confusion in Rochkfoucault, and
circumstances which accompany it. The many of thoir moral writers.
282 CONCERNING THE PRINCIPLES OF MORALS.
APP. IV. glutton or drunkard be not as odious and contemptible, as a
selfish, ungenerous miser. Give me my choice, and I would
rather, for my own happiness and self-enjoyment, have a
friendly, humane heart, than possess all the other virtues of
Demosthenes and Philip united : But I would rather pass
with the world for one endowed with extensive genius and
intrepid courage, and should thence expect stronger instances
of general applause and admiration. The figure which a
man makes in life, the reception which he meets with in
company, the esteem paid him by his acquaintance ; all these
advantages depend as much upon his good sense and judg-
ment, as upon any other part of his character. Had a man
the best intentions in the world, and were the farthest re-
moved from all injustice and violence, he would never be
able to make himself be much regarded, without a moderate
share, at least, of parts and understanding.
What is it then we can here dispute about ? If sense and
courage, temperance and industry, wisdom and knowledge
confessedly form a considerable part of personal merit : if a
man, possessed of these qualities, is both better satisfied
with himself, and better entitled to the goodwill, esteem, and
services of others, than one entirely destitute of them ; if,
in short, the sentiments are similar, which arise from these
endowments and from the social virtues ; is there any reason
for being so extremely scrupulous about a word, or disputing
whether they be entitled to the denomination of virtues ? 1 It
may, indeed, be pretended, that the sentiment of approbation,
which those accomplishments produce, besides its being
inferior, is also somewhat different from that, which attends
the virtues of justice and humanity. But this seems not a
sufiicient reason for ranking them entirely under different
classes and appellations. The character of CLesar and that
of Cato, as drawn b}- Sallust, are both of them virtuous, in
the strictest and most limited sense of the word ; but in a
1 [Editions G to M add in a note : which are so variable in different dia-
It seems to me, that in our language, lects, and in different ages of the same
courage, temperance, industry, frugality, dialect. The sentiments of men, being
&c, according to popular stile, are more uniform, as well as more impor-
called virtues ; but when a man is said tant, are a fitter subject of speculation :
to be virtuous, or is denominated a Tho' at the same time, we may just
man of virtue, we chiefly regard his observe, that wherever tho social virtues
social qualities. 'Tis needless for a are talked of, 'tis plainly imply'd, by
moral, philosophical discourse to enter this distinction, that there are also
into all these caprices of language. other virtues of a different nature.]
OF SOME VERBAL DISPUTES. 283
different way : Nor are the sentiments entirely the same, APR IV.
which arise from them. The one produces love ; the other,
esteem : The one is amiable ; the other awful : We should
wish to meet the one character in a friend ; the other we
should be ambitious of in ourselves. In like manner the
approbation, which attends temperance or industry or fru-
gality, may be somewhat different from that which is paid to
the social virtues, without making them entirely of a different
species. And, indeed, we may observe, that these endow-
ments, more than the other virtues, produce not, all of them,
the same kind of approbation. Good sense and genius
beget esteem and regard : Wit and humour excite love and
affection. 1
Most people, I believe, will naturally, without premedita-
tion, assent to the definition of the elegant and judicious
poet.
Virtue (for mere good-nature is a fool)
Is sense and spirit with humanity. 2
What pretensions has a man to our generous assistance
or good offices, who has dissipated his wealth in profuse
expences, idle vanities, chimerical projects, dissolute pleasures,
or extravagant gaming ? These vices (for we scruple not to
call them such) bring misery unpitied, and contempt on
every one addicted to them.
Ach^eus, a wise and prudent prince, fell into a fatal snare,
which cost him his crown and life, after having used every
reasonable precaution to guard himself against it. On that
1 Love and esteem are nearly the form a very curious subject of specula-
same passion, and arise from similar tion, but are wide of our present pur-
causes. The qualities, which produce pose. Throughout this enquiry, we
both, are such as communicate pleasure. always consider in general, what quali-
But where this pleasure is severe and ties are a subject of praise or of censure,
serious ; or where its object is great without entering into all the minute
and makes a strong impression, or differences of sentiment, which they
where it produces any degree of humi- excite. It is evident, that whatever is
lity and awe : In all these cases, the contemned, is also disliked, as well as
passion, which arises from the pleasure, what is hated ; and here we endeavour
is more properly denominated esteem to take objects, according to their most
than love. Benevolence attends both : simple views and appearances. These
But is connected with love in a more sciences are but too apt to appear ab-
eminent degree. There seems to be stract to common readers, even with all
still a stronger mixture of pride in con- the precautions which we can take to
tempt than of humility in esteem; and clear them from superfluous specula-
te reason would not be difficult to one, tions, and bring them down to every
who studied accurately the passions. capacity.
All these various mixtures and com- * Armstrong : The Art of preserving
positions and appearances of sentiment Health. Book 4.
284 CONCERNING THE PRINCIPLES OF MORALS.
APR IV. account, says the historian, he is a just object of regard and
compassion : His betrayers alone of hatred and contempt. 1
The precipitate flight and improvident negligence of
Pompet, at the beginning of the civil wars, appeared such
notorious blunders to Cicero, as quite palled his friendship
towards that great man. In the same manner, says he, as
want of cleanliness, decency, or discretion in a mistress are
found to alienate our affections. For so he expresses himself,
where he talks, not in the character of a philosopher, but in
that of a statesman and man of the world, to his friend
A.TTICUS. 2
But the same Ciceeo, in imitation of all the ancient
moralists, when he reasons as a philosopher, enlarges very
much his ideas of virtue, and comprehends every laudable
quality or endowment of the mind, under that honourable
appellation. 3 This leads to the third reflection, which we
proposed to make, to wit, that the ancient moralists, the best
models, made no material distinction among the different
species of mental endowments and defects, but treated all
alike under the appellation of virtues and vices, and made
them indiscriminately the object of their moral reasonings.
The prudence explained in Cicero's Offices,* is that sagacity,
which leads to the discovery of truth, and preserves us from
error and mistake. Magnanimity, temperance, decency, are
there also at large discoursed of. And as that eloquent
moralist followed the common received division of the four
cardinal virtues, our social duties form but one head, in the
general distribution of his subject. 5
1 Polybius, lib. viii. cap. 2, 8 & 9. quae in ingenii aliqua facultate, aut
* Lib. ix. epist. 10, 2. animi magnitudine ac robore. Nam
* [This sentence was added in Edi- dementia, justitia, benignitas, fides,
tion 0.] fortitudo in periculis communibus, ju-
* Lib. i. cap. 6. cunda est auditu in laudationibus.
* The following passage of Cicero is Omnes enim hae virtutes non tam ipsis,
worth quoting, as being the most clear qui eas in se habent, quam generi homi-
and express to our purpose, that any- num fructuosae putantur. Sapientia
thing can be imagined, and, in a dis- et magnitudo animi, qua omnes res
pute, which is chiefly verbal, must, on humanae tenues et pro nihilo putantur;
account of the author, carry an autho- et in cogitando vis quaedam ingenii et
rity, from which there can be no ap- ipsa eloquentia admirationis habet non
peal. minus, jucunditatis minus. Ipsos enim
'Virtus autem, quae est per se ipsa magisvidetur,quoslaudamus,quamillos,
laudabilis, et sine qua nihil laudari po- apud quos laudamus, ornare ac tueri: sed
test, tamen habet plures partes, quarum tamen in laudando jungenda sunt etiam
alia est alia ad laudationem aptior. haec genera virtutum. Ferunt enim aures
Sunt enim aliae virtutes, quae videntur hominum, cum ilia quae jucundaetgrata,
in moribus hominum et quadam co- turn etiam ilia, quae mirabilia sunt in
mitate ac beneficentia posit* : aliae, virtute, laudari.' Be Orat. lib. 2. cap. 84.
OF SOME VERBAL DISPUTES. 966
We need only peruse the titles of chapters in Aristotle's app. IV.
Ethics to be convinced, that he ranks courage, temperance,
magnificence, magnanimity, modesty, prudence, and a manly
openness, among the virtues, as well as justice and friendship.
To sustain and to abstain, that is, to be patient and con-
tinent, appeared to some of the ancients a summary com-
prehension of all morals.
Epictetus has scarcely ever mentioned the sentiment of
humanity and compassion, but in order to put his disciples
on their guard against it. The virtue of the Stoics seems to
consist chiefly in a firm temper, and a sound understanding.
With them, as with Solomon and the eastern moralists, folly
and wisdom are equivalent to vice and virtue.
Men will praise thee, says David, 1 when thou dost well
unto thyself. I hate a wise man, says the Greek poet, who
is not wise to himself. 2
Plutarch is no more cramped by systems in his phi-
losophy than in his history. Where he compares the great
men of Greece and Eome, he fairly sets in opposition all
their blemishes and accomplishments of whatever kind, and
omits nothing considerable, which can either depress or
exalt their characters. His moral discourses contain the same
free and natural censure of men and manners.
The character of Hannibal, as drawn by Livt, 8 is
esteemed partial, but allows him many eminent virtues.
Never was there a genius, says the historian, more equally
fitted for those opposite offices of commanding and obeying ;
and it were, therefore, difficult to determine whether he ren-
dered himself dearer to the general or to the army. To none
would Hasdrubal entrust more willingly the conduct of any
dangerous enterprize ; under none, did the soldiers discover
more courage and confidence. Great boldness in facing
danger ; great prudence in the midst of it. No labour could
fatigue his body or subdue his mind. Cold and heat were
indifferent to him : Meat and drink he sought as supplies to
I suppose, if Cicero were now alive, ' Psalm 49th.
it would be found difficult to fetter * Vltffw 5* afir
his moral sentiments by narrow sys-
to the Athenians, is, that a frolic of yours during the
Satdenalia', when the slaves are served by their masters,
is seriously continued by them throughout the whole year,
and throughout the whole course of their lives ; accompanied
too with some circumstances, which still farther augment
the absurdity and ridicule. Your sport only elevates for a
few days those whom fortune has thrown down, and whom
she too, in sport, may really elevate for ever above you : But
this nation gravely exalts those, whom nature has subjected
to them, and whose inferiority and infirmities are absolutely
incurable. The women, though without virtue, are theii
masters and sovereigns : These they reverence, praise, and
magnify : To these, they pay the highest deference and re-
spect : And in all places and all times, the superiority of
the females is readily acknowledged and submitted to by
every one, who has the least pretensions to education and
politeness. Scarce any crime would be so universally de-
tested as an infraction of this rule.
You need go no further, replied Palamedes ; I can easily
conjecture the people whom you aim at. The strokes, with
which you have painted them, are pretty just ; and yet you
must acknowledge, that scarce any people are to be found,
either in ancient or modern times, whose national character
is, upon the whole, less liable to exception. But I give you
thanks for helping me out with my argument. I had no
intention of exalting the moderns at the expence of the
ancients. I only meant to represent the uncertainty of all
these judgments concerning characters; and to convince
you, that fashion, vogue, custom, and law, were the chief
foundation of all moral determinations. The Athenians
surely, were a civilized, intelligent people, if ever there were
one ; and yet their man of merit might, in this age, be held
in horror and execration. The French are also, without
doubt, a very civilized, intelligent people ; and yet their man
of merit might, with the Athenians, be an object of the
highest contempt and ridicule, and even hatred. And what
renders the matter more extraordinary : These two people
are supposed to be the most similar in their national cha-
racter of any in ancient and modern times ; and while the
1 The GRERKskcptthofeaBtof Saturn or Ciironus, as well as the Romans. See
Lucian. Epist. Saturn.
A DIALOGUE. 297
English flatter themselves that they resemoie the Romans,
their neighbours on the continent draw the parallel between
themselves and those polite Greeks. What wide difference,
therefore, in the sentiments of morals, must be found be-
tween civilized nations and Barbarians, or between nations
whose characters have little in common? How shall we
pretend to fix a standard for judgments of this nature ?
By tracing matters, replied I, a little higher, and exami-
ning the first principles, which each nation establishes, of
blame or censure. The Rhine flows north, the Rhone
south; yet both spring from the same mountain, and are
also actuated, in their opposite directions, by the same
principle of gravity. The different inclinations of the
ground, on which they run, cause all the difference of their
courses.
In how many circumstances would an Athenian and a
French man of merit certainly resemble each other ? Good
sense, knowledge, wit, eloquence, humanity, fidelity, truth,
justice, courage, temperance, constancy, dignity of mind :
These you have all omitted ; in order to insist only on the
points, in which they may, by accident, differ. Very well :
I am willing to comply with you ; and shall endeavour to
account for these differences from the most universal, estab-
lished principles of morals.
The Greek loves, I care not to examine more particu-
larly. I shall only observe, that, however blameable, they
arose from a very innocent cause, the frequency of the
gymnastic exercises among that people; and were recom-
mended, though absurdly, as the source of friendship, sym-
pathy, mutual attachment, and fidelity ; l qualities esteemed
in all nations and all ages.
The marriage of half-brothers and sisters seems no great
difficulty. Love between the nearer relations is contrary to
reason and public utility ; but the precise point, where we
are to stop, can scarcely be determined by natural reason ;
and is therefore a very proper subject for municipal law or
custom. If the Athenians went a little too far on the one
side, the canon law has surely pushed matters a great way
into the other extreme. 2
Had you asked a parent at Athens, why he bereaved
Plat. symp. p. 182. Ex.cdit. Ser. * See Enquiry, Sect. IV Of Political Society.
298 A DIALOGUE.
his child of that life, which he had so lately given it. It
is because I love it, he would reply ; and regard the poverty
which it must inherit from me, as a greater evil than death,
which it is not capable of dreading, feeling, or resenting. 1
How is public liberty, the most valuable of all blessings,
to be recovered from the hands of an usurper or tyrant, if
his power shields him from public rebellion, and our scruples
from private vengeance ? That his crime is capital by law,
you acknowledge : And must the highest aggravation of his
crime, the putting of himself above law, form his full se-
curity? You can reply nothing, but by showing the great
inconveniencies of assassination ; which could any one have
proved clearly to the ancients, he had reformed their senti-
ments in this particular.
Again, to cast your eye on the picture which I have drawn
of modern manners ; there is almost as great difficulty, I
acknowledge, to justify French as Greek gallantry ; except
only, that the former is much more natural and agreeable
than the latter. But our neighbours, it seems, have resolved
to sacrifice some of the domestic to the sociable pleasures ;
and to prefer ease, freedom, and an open commerce, to a
strict fidelity and constancy. These ends are both good, and
are somewhat difficult to reconcile ; nor need we be surprised,
if the customs of nations incline too much, sometimes to the
one side, sometimes to the other.
The most inviolable attachment to the laws of our country
is every where acknowledged a capital virtue; and where
the people are not so happy, as to have any legislature but
a single person, the strictest loyalty is, in that case, the
truest patriotism.
Nothing surely can be more absurd and barbarous than
the practice of duelling ; but those, who justify it, say, that
it begets civility and good-manners. And a duellist, you
may observe, always values himself upon his courage, his
sense of honour, his fidelity and friendship ; qualities, which
are here indeed very oddly directed, but which have been
esteemed universally, since the foundation of the world.
Have the gods forbid self-murder ? An Athenian allows,
that it ought to be forborn. Has the Deity permitted it ?
1 Plut. de amore prolis, sub fine.
A DIALOGUE. 299
A Frenchman allows, that death is preferable to pain and
infamy.
You see then, continued I, that the principles upon which
men reason in morals are always the same ; though the con-
clusions which they draw are often very different. That
they all reason aright with regard to this subject, more than
with regard to any other, it is not incumbent on any moralist
to show. It is sufficient, that the original principles of
censure or blame are uniform, and that erroneous conclusions
can be corrected by sounder reasoning and larger experience.
Though many ages have elapsed since the fall of Gbeece
and Rome ; though many changes have arrived in religion,
language, laws, and customs ; none of these revolutions has
ever produced any considerable innovation in the primary
sentiments of morals, more than in those of external beauty.
Some minute differences, perhaps, may be observed in both.
Horace celebrates a low forehead, and Anacreon joined
eye-brows : 2 But the Apollo and the Venus of antiquity
are still our models for male and female beauty ; in like
manner as the character of Scipio continues our standard for
the glory of heroes, and that of Cornelia for the honour of
matrons.
It appears, that there never was any quality recommended
by any one, as a virtue or moral excellence, but on account
of its being useful, or agreeable to a man himself, or to others.
For what other reason can ever be assigned for praise or
approbation ? Or where would be the sense of extolling a
good character or action, which, at the same time, is allowed
to be good for nothing ? All the differences, therefore, in
morals, may be reduced to this one general foundation, and
may be accounted for by the different views, which people
take of these circumstances.
Sometimes men differ in their judgment about the useful-
ness of any habit or action : Sometimes also the peculiar
circumstances of things render one moral quality more useful
than others, and give it a peculiar preference.
It is not surprising, that, during a period of war and dis-
order, the military virtues should be more celebrated than
the pacific, and attract more the admiration and attention
1 Epist. lib. i. epist. 7, 26. Also lib. i. * Ode 28. Pktbonmi-s (cap. 126) joins
ode 33, 5. both those circumstances ;is l>t\iuties.
300 A DIALOGUE.
of mankind. ' Hqw usual is it,' says Tully,' 'to find Cum-
brians, Celtiberians, and other Barbarians, who bear, with
inflexible constancy, all the fatigues and dangers of the field ;
but are immediately dispirited under the pain and hazard of
a languishing distemper : While, on the other hand, the
Geeeks patiently endure the slow approaches of death, when
armed with sickness and disease ; but timorously fly his
presence, when he attacks them violently with swords and
falchions ! ' So different is even the same virtue of courage
among warlike or peaceful nations ! And indeed, we may
observe, that, as the difference between war and peace is the
greatest that arises among nations and public societies, it
produces also the greatest variations in moral sentiment, and
diversifies the most our ideas of virtue and personal merit.
Sometimes too, magnanimity, greatness of mind, disdain
of slavery, inflexible rigour and integrity, may better suit
the circumstances of one age than those of another, and
have a more kindly influence, both on public affairs, and on a
man's own safety and advancement. Our idea of merit,
therefore, will also vary a little with these variations ; and
Labeo, perhaps, be censured for the same qualities, which
procured Cato the highest approbation.
A degree of luxury may be ruinous and pernicious in a
native of Switzerland, which only fosters the arts, and
encourages industry in a Frenchman or Englishman. We
are not, therefore, to expect, either the same sentiments,
or the same laws in Berne, which prevail in London or
Paris.
Different customs have also some influence as well as
different utilities ; and by giving an early biass to the mind,
may produce a superior propensity, either to the useful or
the agreeable qualities ; to those which regard self, or those
which extend to society. These four sources of moral sentiment
still subsist; but particular accidents may, at one time,
make any one of them flow with greater abundance than at
another.
The customs of some nations shut up the women from
all social commerce : Those of others make them so essential
a part of society and conversation, that, except where business
is transacted, the male-sex alone are supposed almost wholly
1 Tusc. Qusest. lib. ii. 27.
A DIALOGUE. 301
incapable of mutual discourse and entertainment. As this
difference is the most material that can happen in private
life, it must also produce the greatest variation in our moral
sentiments.
Of all nations in the world, where polygamy was not
allowed, the Greeks seem to have been the most reserved
in their commerce with the fair sex, and to have imposed on
them the strictest laws of modesty and decency. We have a
strong instance of this in an oration of Lysias. 1 A widow
injured, ruined, undone, calls a meeting of a few of her
nearest friends and relations ; and though never before
accustomed, says the orator, to speak in the presence of men,
the distress of her circumstances constrained her to lay the
case before them. The very opening of her mouth in such
company required, it seems, an apology.
When Demosthenes prosecuted his tutors, to make them
refund his patrimony, it became necessary for him, in the
course of the law-suit, to prove that the marriage of Aphobus's
sister with Oneter was entirely fraudulent, and that, notwith-
standing her sham marriage, she had lived with her brother
at Athens for two years past, ever since her divorce from her
former husband. And it is remarkable, that though these
were people of the first fortune and distinction in the city,
the orator could prove this fact no way, but by calling for her
female slaves to be put to the question, and by the evidence
of one physician, who had seen her in her brother's house
during her illness. 2 So reserved were Greek manners.
We may be assured, that an extreme purity of manners
was the consequence of this reserve. Accordingly we find,
that, except the fabulous stories of an Helen and a Cly-
temnestra, there scarcely is an instance of any event in
the Greek history, which proceeded from the intrigues of
women. On the other hand, in modern times, particularly
in a neighbouring nation, the females enter into all transac-
tions and all management of church and state : And no man
can expect success, who takes not care to obtain their good
graces. Harry the third, by incurring the displeasure of the
fair, endangered his crown, and lost his life, as much as by
his indulgence to heresy.
It is needless to dissemble : The consequence of a very
free commerce between the sexes, and of their living much
' Orat. 32, 898. * In Onetcrem. 873-4.
802 A DIALOGUE.
together, will often terminate in intrigues and gallantry.
We must sacrifice somewhat of the useful, if we be very
anxious to obtain all the agreeable qualities ; and cannot
pretend to reach alike every kind of advantage. Instances
of licence, daily multiplying, will weaken the scandal with
the one sex, and teach the other, by degrees, to adopt the
famous maxim of La Fontaine, with regard to female infi-
delity, that if one knows it, it is but a small matter ; if one
knows it not, it is nothing. 1
Some people are inclined to think, that the best way of
adjusting all differences, and of keeping the proper medium
between the agreeable and the useful qualities of the sex, is to
live with them after the manner of the Romans and the Eng-
lish (for the customs of these two nations seem similar in this
respect 2 ) ; that is, without gallantry, 3 and without jealousy.
By a parity of reason, the customs of the Spaniaeds and of
the Italians of an age ago (for the present are very different)
must be the worst of any ; because they favour both gallantry
and jealousy.
Nor will these different customs of nations affect the one
sex only : Their idea of personal merit in the males must also
be somewhat different with regard, at least, to conversation,
address, and humour. The one nation, where the men live
much apart, will naturally more approve of prudence ; the
other of gaiety. With the one simplicity of manners will be
in the highest esteem ; with the other, politeness. The one
Avill distinguish themselves by good-sense and judgment;
the other, by taste and delicacy. The eloquence of the
former will shine most in the senate ; that of the other, on
the theatre.
These, I say, are the natural effects of such customs. Tor
it must be confessed, that chance has a great influence on
national manners ; and many events happen in society, which
are not to be accounted for by general rules. Who could
imagine, for instance, that the Romans, who lived freely
1 Quand on le scait, c'est peu de chose ; to wenching and low amours. They
Quand on l'ignore, ce n'est rien. were called Ancillahioli. See Sknei a
2 During the time of the emperors, de beneficiis. Lib. 1. cap, 9. See also
the Romans seem to have been more Martial, lib. 12. epig. 58.
given to intrigues and gallantry than 3 The gallantry here meant is that
the English are at present : And the of amours and attachments, not that
women of condition, in order to retain of complaisance, which is as much paid
their lovers, endeavoured to fix a name to the fair-sex in England as in any
of reproach on thoso who were addicted other country.
A DIALOGUE. 808
with their women, should be very indifferent about music,
and esteem dancing infamous : While the Greeks, who never
almost saw a woman but in their own houses, were continually
piping, singing, and dancing?
The differences of moral sentiment, which naturally arise
from a republican or monarchical government, are also very
obvious ; as well as those which proceed from general riches
or poverty, union or faction, ignorance or learning. I shall
conclude this long discourse with observing, that different
customs and situations vary not the original ideas of merit
(however they may, some consequences) in any very essential
point, and prevail chiefly with regard to young men, who
can aspire to the agreeable qualities, and may attempt to
please. The MANNEE, the OENAMENTS, the GEACES,
which succeed in this shape, are more arbitrary and casual :
But the merit of riper years is almost every where the same ;
and consists chiefly in integrity, humanity, ability, know-
ledge, and the other more solid and useful qualities of the
human mind.
What you insist on, replied Palamedes, may have some
foundation, when you adhere to the maxims of common life
and ordinary conduct. Experience and the practice of the
world readily correct any great extravagance on either side.
But what say you to artificial lives and manners ? How do
vou reconcile the maxims, on which, in different ages and
nations, these are founded ?
What do you understand by artificial lives and manners ?
Baid I. I explain myself, replied he. You know, that religion
had, in ancient times, very little influence on common life,
and that, after men had performed their duty in sacrifices
and prayers at the temple, they thought, that the gods left
the rest of their conduct to themselves, and were little pleased
or offended with those virtues or vices, which only affected the
peace and happiness of human society. In those ages, it
was the business of philosophy alone to regulate men's ordi-
nary behaviour and deportment ; and accordingly, we may
observe, that this being the sole principle, by which a man
could elevate himself above his fellows, it acquired a mighty
ascendant over many, and produced great singularities of
maxims and of conduct. At present, when philosophy has
lost the allurement of novelty, it has no such extensive influ-
ence ; but seems to confine itself mostly to speculations in
v
304 A DIALOGUE.
the closet ; in the same manner, as the ancient religion was
limited to sacrifices in the temple. Its place is now supplied
by the modern religion, which inspects our whole conduct,
and prescribes an universal rule to our actions, to our words,
to our very thoughts and inclinations ; a rule so much the
more austere, as it is guarded by infinite, though distant,
rewards and punishments ; and no infraction of it can ever
be concealed or disguised.
Diogenes is the most celebrated model of extravagant
philosophy. Let us seek a parallel to him in modern times.
We shall not disgrace any philosophic name by a comparison
with the Dominics or Loyolas, or any canonized monk or
friar. Let us compare him to Pascal, a man of parts and
genius as well as Diogenes himself; and perhaps too, a man
of virtue, had he allowed his virtuous inclinations to have
exerted and displayed themselves.
The foundation of Diogenes's conduct was an endeavour
to render himself an independent being as much as possible,
and to confine all his wants and desires and pleasures within
himself and his own mind : The aim of Pascal was to keep
a perpetual sense of his dependence before his eyes, and
never to forget his numberless wants and infirmities. The
ancient supported himself by magnanimity, ostentation,
pride, and the idea of his own superiority above his fellow-
creatures. The modern made constant profession of humility
and abasement, of the contempt and hatred of himself; and
endeavoured to attain these supposed virtues, as far as they
are attainable. The austerities of the Greek were in order
to inure himself to hardships, and prevent his ever suffering :
Those of the Frenchman were embraced merely for their
own sake, and in order to suffer as much as possible. The
philosopher indulged himself in the most beastly pleasures,
even in public : The saint refused himself the most innocent,
even in private. The former thought it his duty to love his
friends, and to rail at them, and reprove them, and scold
them : The latter endeavoured to be absolutely indifferent
towards his nearest relations, and to love and speak well of
his enemies. The great object of Diogenes's wit was every
kind of superstition, that is every kind of religion known in
his time. The mortality of the soul was his standard prin-
ciple ; and even his sentiments of a divine providence seem
to have been licentious. The most ridiculous superstitions
A DIALOGUE. 305
directed Pascal's faith and practice ; and an extreme con-
tempt oi this life, in comparison of the future, was the chief
foundation of his conduct.
In such a remarkable contrast do these two men stand :
Yet both of them have met with general admiration in their
different ages, and have been proposed as models of imitation.
Where then is the universal standard of morals, which you
talk of? And what rule shall we establish for the many dif-
ferent, nay contrary sentiments of mankind ?
An experiment, said I, which succeeds in the air, will not
always succeed in a vacuum. When men depart from the
maxims of common reason, and affect these artificial lives,
as you call them, no one can answer for what will please or
displease them. They are in a different element from the
rest of mankind ; and the natural principles of their mind
play not with the same regularity, as if left to themselves,
free from the illusions of religious superstition or philo-
sophical enthusiasm.
VOL. IV.
THE
NATUKAL HISTOEY
OF
KELIUION.
THE
NATURAL HISTORY OF RELIGION. 1
INTRODUCTION.
As every enquiry, which regards religion, is of the utmost
importance, there are two questions in particular, which
challenge our attention, to wit, that concerning its founda- j
tion in reason, and that concerning its origin in human
nature. Happily, the first question, which is the most im-
portant, admits of the most obvious, at least, the clearest
solution. The whole frame of nature bespeaks an intelligent
author ; and no rational enquirer can, after serious reflection,
suspend his belief a moment with regard to the primary
principles of genuine Theism and Eeligion. But the other
question, concerning the origin of religion in human nature,
is exposed to some more difficulty. The belief of invisible,
intelligent power has been very generally diffused over the
human race, in all places and in all ages ; but it has neither
perhaps been so universal as to admit of no exception, nor
has it been, in any degree, uniform in the ideas, which it has
suggested. Some nations have been discovered, who enter-
tained no sentiments of Eeligion, if travellers and historians
may be credited ; and no two nations, and scarce any two
men, have ever agreed precisely in the same sentiments. It
would appear, therefore, that this preconception springs not
from an original instinct or primary impression of nature,
such as gives rise to self-love, affection between the sexes,
love of progeny, gratitude, resentment ; since every instinct
of this kind has been found absolutely universal in all nations
and ages, and has always a precise determinate object, which
it inflexibly pursues. The first religious principles must be
1 [For the circumstances attending the publication of this Treatise, see ' History
of f.be Editions,' Vol. hi. p. 60 et aeq. Ed.]
810 THE NATURAL HISTORY OF RELIGION.
T xtion secon ^ ar y > sucn as Miay easily be perverted by various acci-
< * dents and causes, and whose operation too, in some cases,
may, by an extraordinary concurrence of circumstances, be
altogether prevented. What those principles are, which
give rise to the original belief, and what those accidents and
^ causes are, which direct its operation, is the subject of our
present enquiry.
SECT. Sect. I. That Polytheism was the primary Religion of Men.
I.
" ' ' It appears to me, that, if we consider the improvement of
human society, from rude beginnings to a state of greater
perfection, polytheism or idolatry was, and necessarily must
have been, the first and most ancient religion of mankind.
This opinion I shall endeavour to confirm by the following
arguments.
It is a matter of fact incontestable, that about 1,700 years
ago all mankind were l polytheists. The doubtful and
sceptical principles of a few philosophers, or the theism, and
that too not entirely pure, of one or two nations, form no
objection worth regarding. Behold then the clear testimony
of history. The farther we mount up into antiquity, the
4 more do we find mankind plunged into 2 polytheism. No
marks, no symptoms of any more perfect religion. The
most ancient records of human race still present us with
that system as the popular and established creed. The
north, the south, the east, the west, give their unanimous
testimony to the same fact. What can be opposed to so full
an evidence ?
As far as writing or history reaches, mankind, in ancient
times, appear universally to have been polytheists. Shall we
assert, that, in more ancient times, before the knowledge of
letters, or the discovery of any art or science, men enter-
tained the principles of pure theism ? That is, while they
were ignorant and barbarous, they discovered truth : But fell
into error, as soon as they acquired learning and politeness.
But in this assertion you not only contradict all appearance
of probability, but also our present experience concerning
the principles and opinions of barbarous nations. The
savage tribes of America, Africa, and Asia are all idolaters.
1 [Idolaters : Editions L to Q.] [Idolatry : Editions L to Q.J
POLYTHEISM THE PRIMARY RELIGION OF MEN. 311
.Not a single exception to this rule. Insomuch, that, were SECT
a traveller to transport himself into any unknown region ; if , *
he found inhabitants cultivated with arts and science, though
even upon that supposition there are odds against their being
theists, yet could he not safely, till farther inquiry, pronounce
any thing on that head : But if he found them ignorant and
barbarous, he might beforehand declare them idolaters ; and
there scarcely is a possibility of his being mistaken.
It seems certain, that, according to the natural progress
of human thought, the ignorant multitude must first enter-
tain some groveling and familiar notion of superior powers,
before they stretch their conception to that perfect Being,
who bestowed order on the whole frame of nature. We may
as reasonably imagine, that men inhabited palaces before
huts and cottages, or studied geometry before agriculture ;
as assert that the Deity appeared to them a pure spirit, .
omniscient, omnipotent, and omnipresent, before he was
apprehended to be a powerful, though limited being, with
human passions and appetites, limbs and organs. The mind
rises gradually, from inferior to superior: By abstracting
from what is imperfect, it forms an idea of perfection : And
slowly distinguishing the nobler parts of its own frame from
the grosser, it learns to transfer only the former, much
elevated and refined, to its divinity. Nothing could disturb
this natural progress of thought, but some obvious and
invincible argument, which might immediately lead the
mind into the pure principles of theism, and make it over- '
leap, at one bound, the vast interval which is interposed
between the human and the divine nature. But though I
allow, that the order and frame of the universe, when accu-
rately examined, affords such an argument ; yet I can never
think, that this consideration could have an influence on
mankind, when they formed their first rude notions of
religion.
The causes of such objects, as are quite familiar to us,
never strike our attention or curiosity ; and however extra-
ordinary or surprising these objects in themselves, they are
passed over, by the raw and ignorant multitude, without
much examination or enquiry. Adam, rising at once, in
paradise, and in the full perfection of his faculties, would
naturally, as represented by Milton, be astonished at the
glorious appearances of nature, the heavens, the air, the
3J2 THE NATURAL HISTORY OF RELIGION.
T. earth, his own organs and members ; and would be led to asir,
- whence this wonderful scene arose. But a barbarous, neces-
sitous animal (such as a man is on the first origin of society),
pressed by such numerous wants and passions, has no leisure
to admire the regular face of nature, or make enquiries con-
cerning the cause of those objects, to which from his infancy
lie has been gradually accustomed. On the contrary, the
more regular and uniform, that is, the more perfect nature
appears, the more is he familiarized to it, and the less
inclined to scrutinize and examine it. A monstrous birth,
excites his curiosity, and is deemed a prodigy. It alarms
him from its novelty ; and immediately sets bim a trembling,
and sacrificing, and praying. But an animal, compleat in
all its limbs and organs, is to liira an ordinary spectacle, and
produces no religious opinion or affection. Ask him, whence
that animal arose ; he will tell you, from the copulation of
its parents. And these, whence ? From the copulation of
theirs. A few removes satisfy his curiosity, and set the
objects at such a distance, that he entirely loses sight of
them. Imagine not, that he will so much as start the ques-
tion, whence the first animal ; much less, whence the whole
system or united fabric of the universe arose. Or, if you
start such a question to him, expect not, that he will employ
his mind with any anxiety about a subject, so remote, so un-
interesting, and which so much exceeds the bounds of his
capacity.
But farther, if men were at first led into the belief of one
Supreme Being, by reasoning from the frame of nature, they
could never possibly leave that belief, in order to embrace
1 polytheism ; but the same principles of reason, which at
first produced and diffused over mankind, so magnificent an
opinion, must be able, with greater facility, to preserve it.
The first invention and proof of any doctrine is much more
difficult than the supporting and retaining of it.
There is a great difference between historical facts and
speculative opinions ; nor is the knowledge of the one pro-
pagated in the same manner with that of the other. An
historical fact, while it passes by oral tradition from eye-
witnesses and contemporaries, is disguised in every successive
narration, and may at last retain but very small, if any, re-
1 [Idolatry : Editions L to Q.]
POLYTHEISM THE PRIMARY RELIGION OF MEN. 313
semblance of the original truth, on which it was founded. SECT.
The frail memories of men, their love of exaggeration, their ., _ w ' _
supine carelessness ; these principles, if not corrected by-
books and writing, soon pervert the account of historical
events ; where argument or reasoning has little or no place,
nor can ever recal the truth, which has once escaped those
narrations. It is thus the fables of Hekcules, Theseus,
Bacchus are supposed to have been originally founded in
true history, corrupted by tradition. But with regard to
speculative opinions, the case is far otherwise. If these
opinions be founded on arguments so clear and obvious as
to carry conviction with the generality of mankind, the same
arguments, which at first diffused the opinions, will still pre-
serve them in their original purity. If the arguments be
more abstruse, and more remote from vulgar apprehension,
the opinions will always be confined to a few persons ; and as
soon as men leave the contemplation of the arguments, the
opinions will immediately be lost and be buried in oblivion.
Whichever side of this dilemma we take, it must appear im-
possible, that theism could, from reasoning, have been the
primary religion of human race, and have afterwards, by its
corruption, given birth to polytheism and to all the various
superstitions of the heathen world. Reason, when obvious,
prevents these corruptions : When abstruse, it keeps the
principles entirely from the knowledge of the vulgar, who
are alone liable to corrupt any principle or opinion.
Sect. II. Origin of Polytheism.
If we would, therefore, indulge our curiosity, in enquiring
concerning the origin of religion, we must turn our thoughts
towards polytheism, the primitive religion of uninstructed
mankind.
Were men led into the apprehension of invisible, intelli-
gent power by a contemplation of the works of nature, they
could never possibly entertain any conception but of one
single being, who bestowed existence and order on this vast
machine, and adjusted all its parts, according to one regular
plan or connected system. For though, to persons of a
certain turn of mind, it may not appear altogether absurd,
that several independent beings, endowed with superior wis-
1 [Idolatry or polytheism : Editions L to Q.]
314 THE NATURAL HISTORY OF RELIGION.
SECT, dom, might conspire in the contrivance and execution of one
_ J i 1, _,. regular plan ; yet is this a merely arbitrary supposition,
which, even if allowed possible, mu3t be confessed neither to
be supported by probability nor necessity. All things in the
universe are evidently of a piece. Every thing is adjusted
to every thing. One design prevails throughout the whole.
And this uniformity leads the mind to acknowledge one
author ; because the conception of different authors, without
any distinction of attributes or operations, serves only to give
perplexity to the imagination, without bestowing any satis-
faction on the understanding. * The statue of Laocoon, as
we learn from Pliny, was the work of three artists : But it
is certain, that, were we not told so, we should never have
imagined, that a groupe of figures, cut from one stone, and
united in one plan, was not the work and contrivance of one
statuary. To ascribe any single effect to the combination
of several causes, is not surely a natural and obvious suppo-
sition.
On the other hand, if, leaving the works of nature, we
trace the footsteps of invisible power in the various and con-
trary events of human life, we are necessarily led into poly-
theism and to the acknowledgment of several limited and
imperfect deities. Storms and tempests ruin what is nourished
by the sun. The sun destroys what is fostered by the mois-
bure of dews and rains. War may be favourable to a nation,
whom the inclemency of the seasons afflicts with famine.
Sickness and pestilence may depopulate a kingdom, amidst
the most profuse plenty. The same nation is not, at the
same time, equally successful by sea and by land. And a
nation, which now triumphs over its enemies, may anon
submit to their more prosperous arms. In short, the conduct
of events, or what we call the plan of a particular providence,
is so full of variety and uncertainty, that, if we suppose it
immediately ordered by any intelligent beings, we must
acknowledge a contrariety in their designs and intentions,
a constant combat of opposite powers, and a repentance or
change of intention in the same power, from impotence or
levity. Each nation has its tutelar deity. Each element
is subjected to its invisible power or agent. The province of
each god is separate from that of another. Nor are the
1 [The remainder of the paragraph was given as a note in Editions L to P.]
ORIGTN OF POLYTHEISM. 315
operations of the same god always certain and invariable, sect.
To-day he protects : To-morrow he abandons ns. Prayers **.
and sacrifices, rites and ceremonies, well or ill performed, are
the sources of his favour or enmity, and produce all the good
or ill fortune, which are to be found amongst mankind.
We may conclude, therefore, that, in all nations, which
have embraced polytheism)the first ideas of religion arose
not from a contemplation of the works of nature, but from a 4'
concern with regard to the events of life, and from the v
incessant hopes and fears, which actuate the human mind.
Accordingly, we find, that all idolaters, having separated
the provinces of their deities, have recourse to that invisible
agent, to whose authority they are immediately subjected,
and whose province it is to superintend that course of
actions, in which they are, at any time, engaged. Juno
is invoked at marriages ; Lucina at births. Neptune re-
ceives the prayers of seamen ; and Maes of warriors. The
husbandman cultivates his field under the protection of
Ceees ; and the merchant acknowledges the authority of
Meecuet. Each natural event is supposed to be governed
by some intelligent agent; and nothing prosperous or adverse
can happen in life, which may not be the subject of peculiar
prayers or thanksgivings. 2
It must necessarily, indeed, be allowed, that, in order to
carry men's intention beyond the present course of things, or
lead them into any inference concerning invisible intelligent
power, they must be actuated by some passion, which prompts
their thought and reflection ; some motive, which urges
their first enquiry. But what passion shall we here have
recourse to, for explaining an effect of such mighty conse-
quence ? Not speculative curiosity surely, or the pure love
of truth. That motive is too refined for such gross appre-
hensions ; and would lead men into enquiries concerning
the frame of nature, a subject too large and comprehensive
for their narrow capacities. No passions, therefore, can be
1 [Polytheism or idolatry : Editions thrse seems still too great for their num- ^
L to Q.] ber. The provinces of the deities were so
2 'Fragilis & laboriosa mortalitas in subdivided, that there was even a God
partes ista digessit, infirmitatis suae of Sneezing. See Arist. Probl. sect,
memor, ut portionibus coleret quisque, 33. cap. 7- The province of copula-
quo maxime indigeret.' Pus. lib. ii. tion, suitably to the importance and
cap. 5. So early as Hesiod's time there dignity of it, was divided among several
were 30,000 deities. Oper. $ Bier, lib.i. deities.
ver. 250. But the task to be performed by
31G TIIE NATURAL HISTORY OF RELIGION.
SECT, supposed to work upon such barbarians, but the ordinary
_ J ; -, affections of human life ; the anxious concern for happiness,
+ ' the dread of future misery, the terror of death, the thirst of
revenge, the appetite for food and other necessaries. Agi-
tated by hopes and fears of this nature, especially the latter,
men scrutinize, with a trembling curiosity, the course of
future causes, and examine the various and contrary events
of human life. And in this disordered scene, with eyes still
more disordered and astonished, they see the first obscure
traces of divinity.
Sect. III. The same subject continued.
We are placed in this world, as in a great theatre, where
the true springs and causes of every event are entirely con-
cealed from us; nor have we either sufficient wisdom to
foresee, or power to prevent those ills, with which we are
continually threatened. We hang in perpetual suspence
between life and death, health and sickness, plenty and
want; which are distributed amongst the human species
by secret and unknown causes, whose operation is oft unex-
pected, and always unaccountable. These unknown causes,
then, become the constant object of our hope and fear ; and
while the passions are kept in perpetual alarm by an anxious
expectation of the events, the imagination is equally em-
ployed in forming ideas of those powers, on which we have
so entire a dependance. Could men anatomize nature,
according to the most probable, at least the most intelligible
philosophy, they would find, that these causes are nothing
but the particular fabric and structure of the minute parts
of their own bodies and of external objects ; and that, by a
regular and constant machinery, all the events are pro-
duced, about which they are so much concerned. But this
philosophy exceeds the comprehension of the ignorant mul-
titude, who can only conceive the unknown causes in a general
and confused manner; though their imagination, perpetually
employed on the same subject, must labour to form some
particular and distinct idea of them. The more they con-
sider these causes themselves, and the uncertainty of their
operation, the less satisfaction do they meet with in their
researches ; and, however unwilling, they must at last have
abandoned so arduous an attempt, were it not for a propen-
/
TI1E SAME SUBJECT CONTINUED. 317
sity in human nature, which leads into a system, that gives SECT.
them some satisfaction. _ x *'
There is an universal tendency among mankind to con-
ceive all beings like themselves, and to transfer to every ^
object, those qualities, with which they are familiarly ac-
quainted, and of which they are intimately conscious. We
find human faces in the moon, armies in the clouds; and by
a natural propensity, if not corrected by experience and
reflection, ascribe malice or good- will to every thing, that
hurts or pleases us. Hence the frequency and beauty of the
prosopopoeia in poetry ; where trees, mountains and streams
are personified, and the inanimate parts of nature acquire
sentiment and passion. And though these poetical figures
and expressions gain not on the belief, they may serve, at
least, to prove a certain tendency in the imagination, with-
out which they could neither be beautiful nor natural. Nor
is a river-god or hamadryad always taken for a mere poetical
or imaginary personage ; but may sometimes enter into the
real creed of the ignorant vulgar ; while each grove or field
is represented as possessed of a particular (genius) or invisible
power, which inhabits and protects it. Nay, philosophers
cannot entirely exempt themselves from this natural frailty ;
but have oft ascribed to inanimate matter the horror of a
vacuum, sympathies, antipathies, and other affections of
human nature. The absurdity is not less, while we cast our
eyes upwards; and transferring, as is too usual, human
passions and infirmities to the deity, represent him as jealous
and revengeful, capricious and partial, and, in short, a wicked
and foolish man, in every respect but his superior power and
authority. No wonder, then, that mankind, being placed in
such an absolute ignorance of causes, and being at the same
time so anxious concerning their future fortune, should
immediately acknowledge a dependence on invisible powers,
possessed of sentiment and intelligence. The unknown causes,
which continually employ their thought, appearing always
in the same aspect, are all apprehended to be of the same
kind or species. Nor is it long before we ascribe to them
thought and reason and passion, and sometimes even the
limbs and figures of men, in order to bring them nearer to a
resemblance with ourselves.
In proportion as any man's course of life is governed by
accident, we always find, that he encreases in superstition ;
318 THE NATURAL HISTORY OF RELIGION.
as may particularly be observed of gamesters and sailors,
who, though, of all mankind, the least capable of serious
reflection, abound most in frivolous and superstitious appre-
hensions. The gods, says Coeiolanus in Dionysius, 1 have
an influence in every affair ; but above all, in war ; where
the event is so uncertain. All human life, especially before
the institution of order and good government, being subject
to fortuitous accidents ; it is natural, that superstition should
prevail every where in barbarous ages, and put men on the
most earnest enquiry concerning those invisible powers, who
dispose of their happiness or misery. Ignorant of astronomy
and the anatomy of plants and animals, and too little curious
to observe the admirable adjustment of final causes ; they
remain still unacquainted with a first and supreme creator,
and with that infinitely perfect spirit, who alone, by his
almighty will, bestowed order on the whole frame of nature.
Such a magnificent idea is too big for their narrow con-
ceptions, which can neither observe the beauty of the work,
nor comprehend the grandeur of its author. They suppose
their deities, however potent and invisible, to be nothing but
a species of human creatures, perhaps raised from among
mankind, and retaining all human passions and appetites,
together with corporeal limbs and organs. Such limited
beings, though masters of human fate, being, each of them,
incapable of extending his influence every where, must be
vastly multiplied, in order to answer that variety of events,
which happen over the whole face of nature. Thus every
place is stored with a crowd of local deities; and thus
polytheism has prevailed, and still prevails, among the
greatest part of uninstructed mankind. 3
Any of the human affections may lead us into the notion
of invisible, intelligent power ; hope as well as fear, gratitude
as well as affliction : But if we examine our own hearts, or
observe what passes around us, we shall find, that men are
' Lib. viii. 33. Tapayfibv ivTi8tvTfs, iis ayvaxrlq
The following lines of Eukipides Se'jSoijuej' airovs. Hecuba, 956.
Ore so much to the present purpose,
that I cannot forbear quoting them : ' There is nothing secure in the world ;
no glory, no prosperity. The gods toss
Ouk fffTivoiitiev iruTrbv, o#t' u8o|ia, all life into confusion ; mix everything
Otf-r' o3 koA&s irpdavovTa /i)j irpd^eiv with its reverse ; that all of us, from
kolkws. our ignorance and uncertainty, may pay
. Qvpovat 5' oW ol 6eo\ iraXiv re ical them the more worship and reverence.'
Trp6ffa>,
THE SAME SUBJECT CONTINUED. 319
much oftener thrown on their knees by the melancholy than SECT,
by the agreeable passions. Prosperity is easily received as ._ I1Ij
our due, and few questions are asked concerning its cause or
author. It begets cheerfulness and activity and alacrity and
a lively enjoyment of every social and sensual pleasure : And
during this state of mind, men have little leisure or inclina-
tion to think of the unknown invisible regions. On the
other hand, every disastrous accident alarms us, and sets us
on enquiries concerning the principles whence it arose :
Apprehensions spring up with regard to futurity : And
the mind, sunk into diffidence, terror, and melancholy, has
recourse to every method of appeasing those secret intel-
ligent powers, on whom our fortune is supposed entirely to
depend.
No topic is more usual with all popular divines than to
display the advantages of affliction, in bringing men to a
due sense of religion; by subduing their confidence and
sensuality, which, in times of prosperity, make them forget-
ful of a divine providence. Nor is this topic confined merely
to modern religions. The ancients have also employed it.
Fortune has never liberally, without envy, says a Gbeek his-
torian, 1 bestowed an unmixed happiness on mankind ; but with
all her gifts has ever conjoined some disastrous circumstance,
in order to chastize men into a reverence for the gods, whom,
in a continued course of prosperity, they are apt to neglect and
forget.
What age or period of life is the most addicted to super-
stition? The weakest and most timid. What sex? The
same answer must be given. The leaders and examples of
every Jcind of superstition, says Steabo, 9 are the women. These
excite the men to devotion and supplications, and the observance
of religious days. It is rare to meet with one that lives apart
from the females, and yet is addicted to such practices. And
nothing can, for this reason, be more improbable, than the
account given of an order of men among the Getes, who prac-
tised celibacy, and were notwithstanding the most religious
fanatics. A method of reasoning, which would lead us to
entertain a bad idea of the devotion of monks ; did we not
know by an experience, not so common, perhaps, in Steabo's
days, that one may practise celibacy, and profess chastity ;
and yet maintain the closest connexions and most entire
sympathy with that timorous and pious sex.
1 Diod. Sic. lib. iii. 47. * Lib. vi. 297.
SECT.
IV.
320 THE NATURAL HISTORY OF RELIGION.
Sect. IV. Deities not considered as creators or formers of the
world.
The only point of theology, in which we shall find a con-
sent of mankind almost universal, is, that there is invisible,
intelligent power in the world : But whether this power be
supreme or subordinate, whether confined to one being, or
distributed among several, what attributes, qualities, con-
nexions, or principles of action ought to be ascribed to those
beings; concerning all these points, there is the widest
difference in the popular systems of theology. Our ancestors
in Eueope, before the revival of letters, believed, as we do
at present, that there was one supreme God, the author of
nature, whose power, though in itself uncontroulable, was
yet often exerted by the interposition of his angels and sub-
ordinate ministers, who executed his sacred purposes. But
they also believed, that all nature was full of other invisible
powers ; fairies, goblins, elves, sprights ; beings, stronger
and mightier than men, but much inferior to the celestial
natures, who surround the throne of God. Now, suppose,
that any one, in those ages, had denied the existence of God
and of his angels; would not his impiety justly have de-
served the appellation of atheism, even though he had still
allowed, by some odd capricious reasoning, that the popular
stories of elves and fairies were just and well-grounded?
The difference, on the one hand, between such a person and
a genuine theist is infinitely greater than that, on the other,
between him and one that absolutely excludes all invisible
intelligent power. And it is a fallacy, merely from the
casual resemblance of names, without any conformity of
meaning, to rank such opposite opinions under the same
denomination.
To any one, who considers justly of the matter, it will
appear, that the gods of all polytheists are no better than
the elves or fairies of our ancestors, and merit as little any
pious worship or veneration. These pretended religionists
are really a kind of superstitious atheists, and acknowledge
no being, that corresponds to our idea of a deity. No first
principle of mind or thought : No supreme government and
administration: No divine contrivance or intention in the
fabric of the world.
DEITIES NOT CONSIDERED CREATORS OF THE WORLD. 321
The Chinese, when l their prayers are not answered, beat SECT,
their idols. The deities of the Laplanders are any large ._, / ,
stone which they meet with of an extraordinary shape. 2 The
Egyptian mythologists, in order to account for animal wor-
ship, said, that the gods, pursued by the violence of earth-
born men, who were their enemies, had formerly been obliged
to disguise themselves under the semblance of beasts. 3 The
Caunii, a nation in the Lesser Asia, resolving to admit no
strange gods among them, regularly, at certain seasons,
assembled themselves compleatly armed, beat the air with
their lances, and proceeded in that manner to their frontiers ;
in order, as they said, to expel the foreign deities. 4 Not even
the immortal gods, said some Geeman nations to C^esae, are
a match for the Suevi. 8
Many ills, says Dione in Homee to Venus wounded by
Diomede, many ills, my daughter, have the gods inflicted on
men : And many ills, in return, have men inflicted on the
gods. 6 We need but open any classic author to meet with
these gross representations of the deities; and Longinus 7
with reason observes, that such ideas of the divine nature, if
literally taken, contain a true atheism.
Some writers 8 have been surprized, that the impieties of
Aeistophanes should have been tolerated, nay publicly acted
and applauded by the Athenians; a people so superstitious
and so jealous of the public religion, that, at that very time,
they put Soceates to death for his imagined incredulity.
But these writers do not consider, that the ludicrous, familiar
images, under which the gods are represented by that comic
poet, instead of appearing impious, were the genuine lights
in which the ancients conceived their divinities. What con-
duct can be more criminal or mean, than that of Jupiter
in the Amphiteion ? Yet that play, which represented his
gallante exploits, was supposed so agreeable to him, that it
was always acted in Rome by public authority, when the
state was threatened with pestilence, famine, or any general
calamity. 9 The Romans supposed, that, like all old letchers,
1 Pere le Compte. Cses. Comment, de bello Gallico,
* Kegnard, Voi'age de Laponie. lib. iv. 7.
Died. Sic. lib. i. 86. Lucian. de Sa- Lib. v. 382.
crificiis. 14. Ovid alludes to the same 7 Cap. ix.
tradition, Metam. lib. v. 1. 321. So also Pere Brumoy, Theatre dee Grees
Maniutjs, lib. iv. 800. & Fontenelle, Histoire des Oracles.
4 Herodot. lib i. 172. Arnob. lib. vii. 607 H.
VOL. IV. Y
322 THE NATURAL HISTORY OF RELIGION.
sect, he would be highly pleased with the recital of his former
, _ ,' ^ feats of prowess and vigour, and that no topic was so proper,
upon which to flatter his vanity.
The Lacedemonians, says Xenophon, 1 always, during
war, put up their petitions very early in the morning, in
order to be beforehand with their enemies, and, by being
the first solicitors, pre-engage the gods in their favour. We
may gather from Seneca, 2 that it was usual, for the votaries
in the temples, to make interest with the beadle or sexton,
that they might have a seat near the image of the deity, in
order to be the best heard in their prayers and applications
to him. The Tykians, when besieged by Alexander, threw
chains on the statue of Hercules, to prevent that deity
from deserting to the enemy. 3 Augustus, having twice lost
his fleet by storms, forbad Neptune to be carried in pro-
cession along with the other gods ; and fancied, that he had
sufficiently revenged himself by that expedient. 4 After Ger-
manicus's death, the people were so enraged at their gods,
that they stoned them in their temples ; and openly re-
nounced all allegiance to them. 6
To ascribe the origin and fabric of the universe to these
imperfect beings never enters into the imagination of any
polytheist or idolater. Hesiod, whose writings, with those
of Homer, contained the canonical system of the heavens ; 6
Hesiod, I say, supposes gods and men to have sprung equally
from the unknown powers of nature. 7 And throughout the
whole theogony of that author, Pandora is the only instance
of creation or a voluntary production; and she too was
formed by the gods merely from despight to Prometheus,
who had furnished men with stolen fire from the celestial
regions. 8 The ancient mythologists, indeed, seem through-
out to have rather embraced the idea of generation than
that of creation or formation ; and to have thence accounted
for the origin of this universe.
Ovid, who lived in a learned age, and had been instructed
by philosophers in the principles of a divine creation or for-
mation of the world ; finding, that such an idea would not
' De Laced. Rep. 13. " Herodot. lib. ii. 53. Lucian, Jupiter
2 Epist. xli. confutaius, de luetu, Saturn, &c.
* Quint. Curtius, lib. iv. cap. 3. Diod. ' 'fls 6/x6eev yeyiaffi Otol 0vrrro\ r'
Sic. lib. xvii. 41. &v6pamoi. Hes. Opera & Dies. 1. 108.
* Suet, in vita Aug. cap. 16. Theog. 1. 670.
* Id. in vita Cal. cap. 5.
DEITIES NOT CONSIDERED CREATORS OF THE WORLD. 323
agree with the popular mythology, which he delivers, leaves SECT,
it, in a manner, loose and detached from his system. Quisquis .
fuit ills Deorum ? l Whichever of the gods it was, says he,
that dissipated the chaos, and introduced order into the
universe. It could neither be Saturn, he knew, nor Jupiter,
nor Neptune, nor any of the received deities of paganism.
His theological system had taught him nothing upon that
head ; and he leaves the matter equally undetermined.
Diodorus Siculus, 2 beginning his work with an enume-
ration of the most reasonable opinions concerning the origin
of the world, makes no mention of a deity or intelligent
mind ; though it is evident from his history, that he was
much more prone to superstition than to irreligion. And in
another passage, 3 talking of the Ichthtophagi, a nation in
India, he says, that, there being so great difficulty in
accounting for their descent, we must conclude them to be
aborigines, without any beginning of their generation, propa-
gating their race from all eternity ; as some of the physio-
logers, in treating of the origin of nature, have justly observed.
* But in such subjects as these,' adds the historian, ' which
exceed all human capacity, it may well happen, that those,
who discourse the most, know the least ; reaching a specious
appearance of truth in their reasonings, while extremely wide
of the real truth and matter of fact.'
A strange sentiment in our eyes, to be embraced by a
professed and zealous religionist ! 4 But it was merely by
accident, that the question concerning the origin of the
world did ever in ancient times enter into religious systems,
or was treated of by theologers. The philosophers alone
made profession of delivering systems of this kind ; and it
was pretty late too before these bethought themselves of
having recourse to a mind or supreme intelligence, as the
first cause of all. So far was it from being esteemed profane
in those days to account for the origin of things without a
deity, that Thales, Anaximenes, Heraclitus, and others,
who embraced that system of cosmogony, past unquestioned ;
1 Metamorph. lib. i. 1. 32. accidents of life, earthquakes, inunda-
1 Lib. i. 6 et seq. tions, and tempests ; and devoutly
* Lib. iii. 20. ascribes these to the anger of Jupitkb
4 The same author, who can thus ac- or Neptune. A plain proof, whence he
count for the origin of the world with- derived his ideas of religion. See lib.
out a Deity, esteems it impious to ex- xv. c. 48. p. 364. Ex edit. Rhodomannl
plain from physical causes, the common
T 2
324 THE NATURAL HISTORY OF RELIGION.
PBOT. while Anaxagoras, the first undoubted theist among the
_ T _, philosophers, was perhaps the first that ever was accused of
atheism. 1
We are told by Sextus Empiricus, 2 that Epicurus, when
a boy, reading with his preceptor these verses of Hesiod,
Eldest of beings, chaos first arose ;
Next earth, wide-stretch'd, the seat of all :
the young scholar first betrayed his inquisitive genius, by
asking, And chaos whence ? But was told by his preceptor,
that he must have recourse to the philosophers for a solution
of such questions. And from this hint Epicurus left philo-
logy and all other studies, in order to betake himself to that
science, whence alone he expected satisfaction with regard
to these sublime subjects.
The common people were never likely to push their re-
searches so far, or derive from reasoning their systems of
religion; when philologers and mythologists, we see, scarcely
ever discovered so much penetration. And even the philoso-
phers, who discoursed of such topics, readily assented to the
grossest theory, and admitted the joint origin of gods and
men from night and chaos ; from fire, water, air, or whatever
they established to be the ruling element.
Nor was it only on their first origin, that the gods were
supposed dependent on the powers of nature. Throughout
the whole period of their existence they were subjected to the
dominion of fate or destiny. Think of the force of necessity,
says Agrippa to the Roman people, that force, to which even
the gods must submit. 9 And the Younger Puny 4 , agreeably
to this way of thinking, tells us, that amidst the darkness,
horror, and confusion, which ensued upon the first eruption
of Vesuvius, several concluded, that all nature was going to
1 It. will be easy to give a reason, worship. But where a siipreme intel-
why Thales, Anaximander, and those ligonee, the first cause of all. is admitted,
early philosophers, who really were these capricious beings, if they exist at
atheists, might be very orthodox in the all. must appear very subordinate and
pagan creed; and why Anaxagoras dopendent, and consequently be excluded
and Socrates, though real theists. must from the rank of deities. Plato (de leg.
naturally, in ancient times, be esteemed lib. x. 886 D.) assigns this reason for
impious. The blind, unguided powers the imputation thrown on Anaxagoras,
of nature, if they could produce men, namely, his denying the divinity of the
might also produce such beings as stars, planets, and other created objects.
Jupiter and Neptune, who being the ' 2 Adversus Matiiem, lib. 480.
most powerful, intelligent existences in , Dionts. Halic. lib. vi. 54.
tile world, would be proper objects of * Kpist. lib. vi.
DEITIES NOT CONSIDERED CREATORS OF THE WORLD. 325
wrack, and that gods and men were perishing in one common SECT.
ruin. ^
It is great complaisance, indeed, if we dignify with the name
of religion such an imperfect system of theology, and put it
on a level with later systems, which are founded on principles
more just and more sublime. For my part, I can scarcely
allow the principles even of Marcus Aurelius, Plutarch,
and some other Stoics and Academics, though much more re-
fined than the pagan superstition, to be worthy of the honour-
able appellation of theism. For if the mythology of the
heathens resemble the ancient European system of spiritual
beings, excluding God and angels, and leaving only fairies
and sprights ; the creed of these philosophers may justly be ,
said to exclude a deity, and to leave only angels and fairies.
Sect. V. Various Forms of Polytheism : Allegory, Hero-
Worship.
But it is chiefly our present business to consider the gross
polytheism l of the vulgar, and to trace all its various appear-
ances, in the principles of human nature, whence they are
derived.
Whoever learns by argument, the existence of invisible
intelligent power, must reason from the admirable contrivance *.
of natural objects, and must suppose the world to be the
workmanship of that divine being, the original cause of all
things. But the vulgar poly theist, so far from admitting that
idea, deifies every part of the universe, and conceives all the
conspicuous productions of nature, to be themselves so many
real divinities. The sun, moon, and stars, are all gods accord-
ing to his system : Fountains are inhabited by nymphs, and
trees by hamadryads : Even monkies, dogs, cats, and other
animals often become sacred in his eyes, and strike him with
a religious veneration. And thus, however strong men's pro-
pensity to believe invisible, intelligent power in nature, their
propensity is equally strong to rest their attention on sensible,
visible objects ; and in order to reconcile these opposite incli-
nations, they are led to unite the invisible power with some
visible object.
The distribution also of distinct provinces to the several
deities is apt to cause some allegory, both physical and moral,
1 [Polytheism and idolatry : Editions L to Q.]
326 THE NATURAL HISTORY OF RELIGION.
SECT, to enter into the vulgar systems of polytheism. The god of
/ _. war will naturally be represented as furious, cruel, and im-
petuous : The god of poetry as elegant, polite, and amiable :
The god of merchandise, especially in early times, as thievish
and deceitful. The allegories, supposed in Homer and other
mythologists, I allow, have often been so strained, that men
of sense are apt entirely to reject them, and to consider them
as the production merely of the fancy and conceit of critics
and commentators. But that allegory really has place in the
heathen mythology is undeniable even on the least reflection.
Cupid the son of Venus; the Muses the daughters of Memory ;
Prometheus, the wise brother, and Epimetheus the foolish ;
Hygieia or the goddess of health descended from iEscuLAPius
or the god of Physic : Who sees not, in these, and in many
other instances, the plain traces of allegory ? When a god
is supposed to preside over any passion, event, or system of
actions, it is almost unavoidable to give him a genealogy,
attributes, and adventures, suitable to his supposed powers
and influence ; and to carry on that similitude and comparison,
which is naturally so agreeable to the mind of man.
Allegories, indeed, entirely perfect, we ought not to expect
as the productions of ignorance and superstition ; there being
no work of genius that requires a nicer hand, or has been more
rarely executed with success. That Fear and Terror are the
sons of Mars is just ; but why by Venus ? l That Harmony
is the daughter of Venus is regular; but why by Mars? 2
That Sleep is the brother of Death is suitable ; but why describe
him as enamoured of one of the Graces? 3 And since the
ancient mythologists fall into mistakes so gross and palpable,
we have no reason surely to expect such refined and long-spun
allegories, as some have endeavoured to deduce from their
fictions.
4 Lucretius was plainly seduced by the strong appearance
of allegory, which is observable in the pagan fictions. He
first addresses himself to Venus as to that generating power,
which animates, renews, and beautifies the universe : But is
soon betrayed by the mythology into incoherencies, while he
prays to that allegorical personage to appease the furies of
her lover Mars : An idea not drawn from allegory, but from
1 Hesiod. Theog 1. 935. 4 [This paragraph is given as a note
* Id. ibid. & Putt, in vita Pelop. 19. in Editions L t P
Iliad, xiv. 267.
VARIOUS FORMS OF POLYTHEISM: ALLEGORY, ETC. 327
the popular religion, and which Luceetius, as an Epicurean, sect.
could not consistently admit of. y
The deities of the vulgar are so little superior to human
creatures, that, where men are affected with strong sentiments
of veneration or gratitude for any hero or public benefactor,
nothing can be more natural than to convert him into a god,
and fill the heavens, after this manner, with continual recruits
from among mankind. Most of the divinities of the ancient
world are supposed to have once been men, and to have been
beholden for their apotheosis to the admiration and affection
of the people. The real history of their adventures, corrupted
by tradition, and elevated by the marvellous, became a plenti-
ful source of fable ; especially in passing through the hands
of poets, allegorists, and priests, who successively improved
upon the wonder and astonishment of the ignorant multitude.
Painters too and sculptors came in for their share of profit
in the sacred mysteries ; and furnishing men with sensible
representations of their divinities, whom they cloathed in
human figures, gave great encrease to the public devotion,
and determined its object. It was probably for want of these
arts in rude and barbarous ages, that men deified plants, ani-
mals, and even brute, unorganized matter ; and rather than
be without a sensible object of worship, affixed divinity to such
ungainly forms. Could any statuary of Syria, in early times,
have formed a just figure of Apollo, the conic stone, Helio-
gabalus, had never become the object of such profound adora-
tion, and been received as a representation of the solar deity. 1
Stilpo was banished by the council of Areopagus, for
affirming that the Minerva in the citadel was no divinity ;
but the workmanship of Phidias, the sculptor. 2 What degree
of reason must we expect in the religious belief of the vulgar
in other nations ; when Athenians and Areopagites could
entertain such gross conceptions ?
These then are the general principles of polytheism, founded
in human nature, and little or nothing dependent on caprice
and accident. As the causes, which bestow happiness or
misery, are, in general, very little known and very uncertain,
our anxious concern endeavours to attain a determinate idea
1 Herodian. lib. v. 3, 10. Jupiter as their deity. Arnob. lib. vi. 496 A. So
Ahmon is represented by Curtius as a much did their folly exceed that of the
deity of the same kind, lib. iv. cap. Egyptians.
7. The Arabians and Pkssinitntians s Diod. Laert. lib. ii. 116.
adored also shapeless unformed stones
828 THE NATURAL HISTORY OF RELIGION.
SECT, of them ; and finds no better expedient than to represent them
m ' __. as intelligent voluntary agents, like ourselves ; only somewhat
superior in power and wisdom. The limited influence of these
agents, and their great proximity to human weakness, intro-
duce the various distribution and division of their authority ;
and thereby give rise to allegory. The same principles naturally
deify mortals, superior in power, courage, or understanding,
and produce hero-worship ; together with fabulous history and
mythological tradition, in all its wild and unaccountable forms.
And as an invisible spiritual intelligence is an object too
refined for vulgar apprehension, men naturally affix it to some
* sensible representation ; such as either the more conspicuous
parts of nature, or the statues, images, and pictures, which a
more refined age forms of its divinities.
Almost all idolaters, of whatever age or country, concur in
these general principles and conceptions ; and even the par-
ticular characters and provinces, which they assign to their
deities, are not extremely different. 1 The Greek and Roman
travellers and conquerors, without much difficulty, found their
own deities every where ; and said, This is Mercury, that
Venus ; this Mars, that Neptune ; by whatever title the
strange gods might be denominated. The goddess Hertha
of our Saxon ancestors seems to be no other, according to
Tacitus, 8 than the Mater Tellus of the Romans ; and his con-
jecture was evidently just.
Sect. VI. Origin of Theism from Polytheism.
The doctrine of one supreme deity, the author of nature, is
very ancient, has spread itself over great and populous nations,
and among them has been embraced by all ranks and condi-
tions of men : But whoever thinks that it has owed its success
to the prevalent force of those invincible reasons, on which it
is undoubtedly founded, would show himself little acquainted
with the ignorance and stupidity of the people, and their
incurable prejudices in favour of their particular superstitions.
Even at this day, and in Europe, ask any of the vulgar, why
he believes in an omnipotent creator of the world ; he will
never mention the beauty of final causes, of which he is wholly
ignorant : He will not hold out his hand, and bid you contem-
1 See Cbsar of the religion of the Gauls, De bello Gallico, lib. vi. 17.
2 De moribufi Germ. 40.
ORIGIN OF THEISM FROM POLYTHEISM. 329
plate the suppleness and variety of joints in his fingers, their SECT,
bending all one way, the counterpoise which they receive from .
the thumb, the softness and fleshy parts of the inside of his
hand, with all the other circumstances, which render that
member fit for the use, to which it was destined. To these
he has been long accustomed ; and he beholds them with
listlessness and unconcern. He will tell you of the sudden
and unexpected death of such a one : The fall and bruise of
such another : The excessive drought of this season : The cold
and rains of another. These he ascribes to the immediate ^
operation of providence: And such events, as, with good
reasoners, are the chief difficulties in admitting a supreme
intelligence, are with him the sole arguments for it.
Many theists, even the most zealous and refined, have
denied a particular providence, and have asserted, that the
Sovereign mind or first principle of all things, having fixed
general laws, by which nature is governed, gives free and
uninterrupted course to these laws, and disturbs not, at every
turn, the settled order of events by particular volitions.
Erom the beautiful connexion, say they, and rigid observance
of established rules, we draw the chief argument for theism ;
and from the same principles are enabled to answer the prin-
cipal objections against it. But so little is this understood
by the generality of mankind, that, wherever they observe
any one to ascribe all events to natural causes, and to remove
the particular interposition of a deity, they are apt to suspect
him of the grossest infidelity. A little philosophy, says lord
Bacon, makes men atheists : A great deal reconciles them, to
religion. For men, being taught, by superstitious prejudices,
to lay the stress on a wrong place ; when that fails them, and
they discover, by a little reflection, that the course of nature
is regular and uniform, their whole faith totters, and falls to
ruin. But being taught, by more reflection, that this very
regularity and uniformity is the strongest proof of design
and of a supreme intelligence, they return to that belief,
which they had deserted ; and they are now able to establish
it on a firmer and more durable foundation.
Convulsions in nature, disorders, prodigies, miracles,
though the most opposite to the plan of a wise superinten-
dent, impress mankind with the strongest sentiments of
religion ; the causes of events seeming then the most ' un-
known and unaccountable. Madness, fury, rage, and an
330 THE NATURAL HISTORY OF RELIGION.
SECT, inflamed imagination, though they sink men nearest to the
VL _, level of beasts, are, jbr a like reason, often supposed to be
the only dispositions, in which we can have any immediate
communication with the Deity.
We may conclude, therefore, upon the whole, that, since
the vulgar, in nations, which have embraced the doctrine of
i- k theism, still build it upon irrational and superstitious prin-
ciples, they are never led into that opinion by any process of
argument, but by a certain train of thinking, more suitable
to their genius and capacity.
It may readily happen, in an idolatrous nation, that
though men admit the existence of several limited deities,
yet is there some one God, whom, in a particular manner,
they make the object of their worship and adoration. They
may either suppose, that, in the distribution of power and
territory among the gods, their nation was subjected to the
jurisdiction of that particular deity ; or reducing heavenly
objects to the model of things below, they may represent one
god as the prince or supreme magistrate of the rest, who,
though of the same nature, rules them with an authority,
like that which an earthly sovereign exercises over his sub-
jects and vassals. Whether this god, therefore, be con-
sidered as their peculiar patron, or as the general sovereign
of heaven, his votaries will endeavour, by every art, to in-
sinuate themselves into his favour ; and supposing him to be
pleased, like themselves, with praise and flattery, there is
no eulogy or exaggeration, which will be spared in their
addresses to him. In proportion as men's fears or distresses
become more urgent, they still invent new strains of adula-
tion ; and even he who outdoes his predecessor in swelling
up the titles of his divinity, is sure to be outdone by his
successor in newer and more pompous epithets of praise.
Thus they proceed ; till at last they arrive at infinity itself,
beyond which there is no farther progress : And it is well,
if, in striving to get farther, and to represent a magnificent
simplicity, they run not into inexplicable mystery, and
destroy the intelligent nature of their deity, on which alone
any rational worship or adoration can be founded. While
they confine themselves to the notion of a perfect being, the
creator of the world, they coincide, by chance, with the
principles of reason and true philosophy ; though they are
guided to that notion, not by reason, of which they are in a
ORIGIN OF THEISM FROM POLYTHEISM 331
great measure incapable, but by the adulation and fears of SECT.
the most vulgar superstition. ._ /.
We often find, amongst barbarous nations, and even some-
times amongst civilized, that, when every strain of flattery
has been exhausted toAvards arbitrary princes, when every
human quality has been applauded to the utmost ; their
servile courtiers represent them, at last, as real divinities,
and point them out to the people as objects of adoration.
How much more natural, therefore, is it, that a limited deity,
who at first is supposed only the immediate author of the
particular goods and ills in life, should in the end be repre-
sented as sovereign maker and modifier of the universe ?
Even where this notion of a supreme deity is already
established ; though it ought naturally to lessen every other
worship, and abase every object of reverence, yet if a nation
has entertained the opinion of a subordinate tutelar divinity,
saint, or angel ; their addresses to that being gradually rise
upon them, and encroach on the adoration due to their
supreme deity. The Virgin Mary, ere checked by the
reformation, had proceeded, from being merely a good
woman, to usurp many attributes of the Almighty : God
and St. Nicholas go hand in hand, in all the prayers and
petitions of the Muscovites.
Thus the deity, who, from love, converted himself into a
bull, in order to carry off Europa ; and who, from ambition,
dethroned his father, Saturn, became the Optimus Maximus
of the heathens. l Thus, the God of Abraham, Isaac, and
Jacob, became the supreme deity or Jehovah of the Jews.
2 The Jacobins, who denied the immaculate conception,
have ever been very unhappy in their doctrine, even though
political reasons have kept the Romish church from con-
demning it. The Cordeliers have run away with all the
popularity. But in the fifteenth century, as we learn from
Boulainvilliers, 3 an Italian Cordelier maintained, that,
during the three days, when Christ was interred, the hypo-
static union was dissolved, and that his human nature was
1 [For this sentence the Proof reads : many vulgar Jews seem still to have
Thus the deity, whom the vulgar Jews conceived the supreme Being as a mere
conceived only as the God of Afoaham, topical deity or national protector.]
Isaac, and Jacob, became their Jehovah * [This paragraph is given as a note
and Creator of the world. to the word ' Almighty ' in the last para-
Editions L to N read : Thus, not- graph but one, in Editions L to P.J
withstanding the sublime ideasuggested * Histoire abrrgee, p. 499.
by Moses and the inspired writers,
332 THE NATURAL HISTORY OF RELIGION.
SECT, not a proper object of adoration, during that period. With-
; out the art of divination, one might foretel, that so gross and
impious a blasphemy would not fail to be anathematized by
the people. It was the occasion of great insults on the part
of the Jacobins ; who now got some recompense for their
misfortunes in the war about the immaculate conception.
Rather than relinquish this propensity to adulation, reli-
gionists, in all ages, have involved themselves in the greatest
absurdities and contradictions.
Homer, in one passage, calls Oceanus and Tethys the
original parents of all things, conformably to the established
mythology and tradition of the Greeks : Yet, in other pas-
sages, he could not forbear complimenting Jupiter, the
reigning deity, with that magnificent appellation; and
accordingly denominates him the father of gods and men.
He forgets, that every temple, every street was full of the
ancestors, uncles, brothers, and sisters of this Jupiter ; who
was in reality nothing but an upstart parricide and usurper.
A like contradiction is observable in Hesiod ; and is so much
the less excusable, as his professed intention was to deliver
a true genealogy of the gods.
Were there a religion (and we may suspect Mahometanism
of this inconsistence) which sometimes painted the Deity in
the most sublime colours, as the creator of heaven and earth ;
sometimes l degraded him nearly to a level with human crea-
tures in his powers and faculties ; while at the same time it
ascribed to him suitable infirmities, passions, and partialities,
of the moral kind : That religion, after it was extinct, would
also be cited as an instance of those contradictions, which
arise from the gross, vulgar, natural conceptions of mankind,
opposed to their continual propensity towards flattery and
exaggeration. Nothing indeed would prove more strongly
J the divine origin of any religion, than to find (and happily
this is the case with Christianity) that it is free from a con-
tradiction, so incident to human nature.
1 [The Proof reads : ' Sometimes de- descending from heaven to inform hlin-
graded him so far to a level with human self of what passes on earth : while,
creatures as to represent him wrestling &c.' The pen is drawn through all
with a man, walking in the cool of the from ' as ' to ' earth : ' and for ' so far '
evening, showing his back parts, and the margin gives ' nearly.']
CONFIEMATION OF TILES DOCTRINE. 333
Sect. VII. Confirmation of this Doctrine.
It appears certain, that, though the original notions of S J'
the vulgar represent the Divinity as a limited being, and % ^-~
consider him only as the particular cause of health or sick-
ness ; plenty or want ; prosperity or adversity ; yet when
more magnificent ideas are urged upon them, they esteem it
dangerous to refuse their assent. Will you say, that your
deity is finite and bounded in his perfections ; may be over-
come by a greater force ; is subject to human passions, pains,
and infirmities ; has a beginning, and may have an end ?
This they dare not affirm ; but thinking it safest to comply
with the higher encomiums, they endeavour, by an affected
ravishment and devotion, to ingratiate themselves with him.
As a confirmation of this, we may observe, that the assent of
the vulgar is, in this case, merely verbal, and that they are
incapable of conceiving those sublime qualities, which they
seemingly attribute to the Deity. Their real idea of him,
notwithstanding their pompous language, is still as poor and
frivolous as ever.
That original intelligence, say the Magians, who is the
first principle of all things, discovers himself immediately to
the mind and understanding alone ; but has placed the sun
as his image in the visible universe ; and when that bright
luminary diffuses its beams over the earth and the firmament,
it is a faint copy of the glory, which resides in the higher
heavens. If you would escape the displeasure of this divine
being, you must be careful never to set your bare foot upon
the ground, nor spit into a fire, nor throw any water upon it,
even though it were consuming a whole city. 1 Who can
express the perfections of the Almighty ? say the Mahometans.
Even the noblest of his works, if compared to him, are but
dust and rubbish. How much more must human conception
fall short of his infinite perfections ? His smile and favour
renders men for ever happy ; and to obtain it for your chil-
dren, the best method is to cut off from them, while infants,
a little bit of skin, about half the breadth of a farthing. Take
two bits of cloth, 8 say the Roman catholics, about an inch or
1 Htdm de Relig. veterum Pkrsarttm. s Called the Scapulaire.
334 THE NATURAL HISTORY OF RELIGION.
SECT, an inch and a half square, join them by the corners with
' J__ two strings or pieces of tape about sixteen inches long, throw
this over your head, and make one of the bits of cloth lie
upon your breast, and the other upon your back, keeping
them next your skin : There is not a better secret for recom-
mending yourself to that infinite Being, who exists from
eternity to eternity.
The Getes, commonly called immortal, from their steady
belief of the soul's immortality, were genuine theists and
unitarians. They affirmed Zamolxis, their deity, to be the
only true god ; and asserted the worship of all other nations
to be addressed to mere fictions and chimeras. But were
their religious principles any more refined, on account of
these magnificent pretensions ? Every fifth year they sacrificed
a human victim, whom they sent as a messenger to their
deity, in order to inform him of their wants and necessities.
And when it thundered, they were so provoked, that, in
order to return the defiance, they let fly arrows at him, and
declined not the combat as unequal. Such at least is the
account, which Herodotus srives of the theism of the immortal
Getes. 1
Sect. VIII. Flux and reflux of Polytheism and Theism.
It is remarkable, that the principles of religion have a kind
of flux and reflux in the human mind, and that men have a
natural tendency to rise from idolatry to theism, and to sink
again from theism into idolatry. The vulgar, that is, indeed,
all mankind, a few excepted, being ignorant and uninstructed,
never elevate their contemplation to the heavens, or pene-
trate by their disquisitions into the secret structure of
vegetable or animal bodies ; so far as to discover a supreme
mind or original providence, which bestowed order on every
part of nature. They consider these admirable works in a
more confined and selfish view ; and finding their own
happiness and misery to depend on the secret influence and
unforeseen concurrence of external objects, they regard,
with perpetual attention, the unknown causes, which govern
all these natural events, and distribute pleasure and pain,
good and ill, by their powerful, but silent, operation. The
1 Lib. ir. 94.
FLUX AND REFLUX OF POLYTHEISM AND THEISM. 836
unknown causes are still appealed to on every emergence ; SECT.
and in this general appearance or confused image, are the , _
perpetual objects of human hopes and fears, wishes and appre-
hensions. By degrees, the active imagination of men, uneasy
in this abstract conception of objects, about which it is inces-
santly employed, begins to render them more particular, and
to clothe them in shapes more suitable to its natural compre-
hension. It represents them to be sensible, intelligent u
beings, like mankind; actuated by love and hatred, and
flexible by gifts and entreaties, by prayers and sacrifices.
Hence the origin of religion : And hence the origin of idolatry
or polytheism.
But the same anxious concern for happiness, which begets
the idea of these invisible, intelligent powers, allows not
mankind to remain long in the first simple conception of
them ; as powerful, but limited beings ; masters of human
fate, but slaves to destiny and the course of nature. Men's
exaggerated praises and compliments still swell their idea
upon them ; and elevating their deities to the utmost bounds
of perfection, at last beget the attributes of unity and infinity,
simplicity and spirituality. Such refined ideas, being some-
what disproportioned to vulgar comprehension, remain not
long in their original purity ; but require to be supported by
the notion of inferior mediators or subordinate agents, which
interpose between mankind and their supreme deity. These
demi-gods or middle beings, partaking more of human nature,
and being more familiar to us, become the chief objects of
devotion, and gradually recal that idolatry, which had been
formerly banished by the ardent prayers and panegyrics of
timorous and indigent mortals. But as these idolatrous
religions fall every day into grosser and more vulgar concep-
tions, they at last destroy themselves, and by the vile
representations, which they form of their deities, make the
tide turn again towards theism. But so great is the pro-
pensity, in this alternate revolution of human sentiments, to
return back to idolatry, that the utmost precaution is not
able effectually to prevent it. And of this, some theists,
particularly the Jews and Mahometans, have been sensible ;
as appears by their banishing all the arts of statuary and
painting, and not allowing the representations, even of human
figures, to be taken by marble or colours ; lest the common
infirmity of mankind should thence produce idolatry. The
338 TIIE NATURAL IliSTORY OF RELIGION.
SECT, feeble apprehensions of men cannot be satisfied with con-
. ceiving their deity as a pure spirit and perfect intelligence ;
and yet their natural terrors keep them from imputing to
him the least shadow of limitation and imperfection. They
fluctuate between these opposite sentiments. The same
infirmity still drags them downwards, from an omnipotent
and spiritual deity, to a limited and corporeal one, and from
a corporeal and limited deity to a statue or visible represen-
tation. The same endeavour at elevation still pushes them
upwards, from the statue or material image to the invisible
power ; and from the invisible power to an infinitely perfect
deity, the creator and sovereign of the universe.
Sect. IX. Comparison of these Religions, with regard to
Persecution, and Toleration.
Polytheism or idolatrous worship, being founded entirely
in vulgar traditions, is liable to this great inconvenience, that
any practice or opinion, however barbarous or corrupted, may
be authorized by it ; and full scope is given, for knavery to
impose on credulity, till morals and humanity be expelled
the religious systems of mankind. At the same time, idolatry
is attended with this evident advantage, that, by limiting the
powers and functions of its deities, it naturally admits the
gods of other sects and nations to a share of divinity, and
renders all the various deities, as well as rites, ceremonies,
or traditions, compatible with each other. 1 Theism is opposite
both in its advantages and disadvantages. As that system
supposes one sole deity, the perfection of reason and goodness,
it should, if justly prosecuted, banish every thing frivolous, un-
reasonable, or inhuman from religious worship, and set before
men the most illustrious example, as well as the most com-
manding motives, of justice and benevolence. These mighty
advantages are not indeed over-balanced (for that is not
1 Verritjs Flacccjs, cited by Pliny, tery ; lest the enemies of the republic
lib. xxviii. cap. 2. affirmed, that it was should be able, in the same manner, to
usual for the Romans before they laid draw him over to their service. For
siege to any town, to invocate the tute- without the name, they thought, nothing
lar deity of the place, and by promising of that kind could be practised. Pliny
him greater honours than those he at says, that the common form of invoca-
s present enjoyed, bribe him to betray his tion was preserved to his time in the
old friends and votaries. The name ritual of the pontiffs. And Macrobius
of the tutelar deity of Rome was for has transmitted a copy of it from the
this reason kept a most religious mys- secret things of Sammonictjs Serenus.
COMPARISON AS TO PERSECUTION AND TOLERATION. 337
possible), but somewhat diminished, by inconveniencies, SECT,
which arise from the vices and prejudices of mankind. While . _
one sole object of devotion is acknowledged, the worship of
other deities is regarded as absurd and impious. Nay, this
unity of object seems naturally to require the unity of faith
and ceremonies, and furnishes designing men with a pretence
for representing their adversaries as profane, and the objects
of divine as well as human vengeance. For as each sect is
positive that its own faith and worship are entirely acceptable
to the deity, and as no one can conceive, that the same being
should be pleased with different and opposite rites and prin-
ciples ; the several sects fall naturally into animosity, and
mutually discharge on each other that sacred zeal and rancour,
the most furious and implacable of all human passions.
The tolerating spirit of idolaters, both in ancient and
modern times, is very obvious to any one, who is the least
conversant in the writings of historians or travellers. When
the oracle of Delphi was asked, what rites or worship was
most acceptable to the gods ? Those which are legally es-
tablished in each city, replied the oracle. 1 Even priests, in
those ages, could, it seems, allow salvation to those of a dif-
ferent communion. The Romans commonly adopted the
gods of the conquered people ; and never disputed the at-
tributes of those local and national deities, in whose territories
they resided. The religious wars and persecutions of the
Egyptian idolaters are indeed an exception to this rule ; but
are accounted for by ancient authors from reasons singular
and remarkable. Different species of animals were the
deities of the different sects among the Egyptians ; and
the deities being in continual war, engaged their votaries in
the same contention. The worshippers of dogs could not long
remain in peace with the adorers of cats or wolves. 2 But
where that reason took not place, the Egyptian superstition
was not so incompatible as is commonly imagined ; since we
learn from Herodotus, 3 that very large contributions were
given by Amasis towards rebuilding the temple of Delphi.
The intolerance of almost all religions, which have main-
tained the unity of God, is as remarkable as the contrary
principle of polytheists. The implacable narrow spirit of
the Jews is well known. Mahometanism set out with still
1 Xenoph. Memor. lib. i. 3, 1 * Plutarch, de laid. & Ostiride. c. 72. ' Lib. ii. 180.
IV. Z
338 THE NATURAL HISTORY OF RELIGION.
8ECT. more bloody principles ; and even to this day, deals out dam-
*7' nation, though not fire and faggot, to all other sects. And
if, among Christians, the English and Dutch have em-
braced the principles of toleration, this singularity has pro-
ceeded from the steady resolution of the civil magistrate, in
opposition to the continued efforts of priests and bigots.
The disciples of Zoroaster shut the doors of heaven
against all but the Magians. 1 Nothing could more obstruct
the progress of the Persian conquests, than the furious zeal of
that nation against the temples and images of the Greeks.
And after the overthrow of that empire we find Alexander,
as a polytheist, immediately re-establishing the worship of
the Babylonians, which their former princes, as monotheists,
had carefully abolished. 2 Even the blind and devoted
attachment of that conqueror to the Greek superstition
hindered not but he himself sacrificed according to the
Babylonish rites and ceremonies. 3
So sociable is polytheism, that the utmost fierceness
and antipathy, which it meets with in an opposite religion, is
scarcely able to disgust it, and keep it at a distance. Au-
gustus praised extremely the reserve of his grandson, Caius
Caesar, when this latter prince, passing by Jerusalem,
deigned not to sacrifice according to the Jewish law. But
for what reason did Augustus so much approve of this
conduct? Only, because that leligion was by the Pagans
esteemed ignoble and barbarous. 4
I may venture to affirm, that few corruptions of idolatry
and polytheism are more pernicious to society than this
corruption of theism, 5 when carried to the utmost height.
The human sacrifices of the Carthaginians, Mexicans,
and many barbarous nations, 6 scarcely exceed the inqui-
sition and persecutions of Eome and Madrid. For be-
1 Hyde deKelig. vet Persarum. as a present; and any present is de-
* Arrian. de Exped, lib. iii. 16. Id. livered to their deity by destroying it
lib. vii. 17- f and rendering it useless to men ; by
* Id. ibid. burning what is solid, pouring out the
4 Sueton. in vita Aug. c 93. liquid, and killing the animate. For
5 Corruptio optimi pensima. want of a better way of doing him ser-
" Most nations have fallen into this vice, we do ourselves an injury; and
Pi'ilt of human sacrifices; though, per- fancy that we thereby express, at least,
haps, this impious superstition has the heartiness of our good-will and ad<>-
ncver prevailed very much in any ration. Thus our mercenary devotion
civilize? nation, unless we except the deceives ourselves, and imagines it de-
Carthaginians. For the Ttrians soon ceives the deity,
abolished it. A sacrifice is conceived
COMPARISON AS TO PERSECUTION AND TOLERATION. SftO
sides, that the effusion of blood may not be so great in the SECT,
former case as in the latter ; besides this, I say, the human ^_ _
victims, being chosen by lot, or by some exterior signs, affect
not, in so considerable a degree, the rest of the society. Where-
as virtue, knowledge, love of liberty, are the qualities, which
call down the fatal vengeance of inquisitors ; and when ex-
pelled, leave the society in the most shameful ignorance, cor-
ruption, and bondage. The illegal murder of one man by a
tyrant is more pernicious than the death of a thousand by
pestilence, famine, or any undistinguishing calamity.
In the temple of Diana at Aricia near Rome, whoever
murdered the present priest, was legally entitled to be in-
stalled his successor. 1 A very singular institution ! For,
however barbarous and bloody the common superstitions
often are to the laity, they usually turn to the advantage of
the holy order.
Sect. X. With regard to courage or abasement.
From the comparison of theism and idolatry, we may form
some other observations, which will also confirm the vulgar
observation, that the corruption of the best things gives rise
to the worst.
Where the deity is represented as infinitely superior to man-
kind, this belief, though altogether just, is apt, when joined
with superstitious terrors, to sink the human mind into the
lowest submission and abasement, and to represent the monkish
virtues of mortification, penance, humility, and passive suf-
fering, as the only qualities which are acceptable to him.
But where the gods are conceived to be only a little superior
to mankind, and to have been, many of them, advanced from
that inferior rank, we are more at our ease in our addresses to
them, and may even, without profaneness, aspire sometimes
to a rivalship and emulation of them. Hence activity, spirit,
courage, magnanimity, love of liberty, and all the virtues
which aggrandize a people.
The heroes in paganism correspond exactly to the saints in
popery and holy dervises in Mahometanism. The place of
Hercules, Theseus, Hector, Romulus, is now supplied by
Dominic, Francis, Anthony, and Benedict. Instead of
the destruction of monsters, the subduing of tyrants, the
defence of our native country ; whippings and fastings,
1 Strabo, lib. v. 239. Suot.on. in vita Cal. 35.
340 THE NATURAL HISTORY OF RELIGION.
SECT, cowardice and humility, abject submission and slavish obedi-
/ _ r ence, are become the means of obtaining celestial honours
among mankind.
One great incitement to the pious Alexander in his war-
like expeditions was his rivalship of Hercules and Bacchus,
whom he justly pretended to have excelled. 1 Brasidas, that
generous and noble Spartan, after falling in battle, had heroic
honours paid him by the inhabitants of Amphipolis, whose
defence he had embraced. 2 And in general, all founders of
states and colonies among the Greeks were raised to this
inferior rank of divinity, by those who reaped the benefit of
their labours.
This gave rise to the observation of Machiavel 3 , that the
doctrines of the Christian religion (meaning the catholic ;
for he knew no other) which recommend only passive courage
and suffering, had subdued the spirit of mankind, and had
fitted thein for slavery and subjection. An observation, which
would certainly be just, were there not many other circum-
stances in human society which controul the genius and
character of a religion.
Brasidas seized a mouse, and being bit by it, let it go.
There is nothing so contemptible, said he, but what may be safe,
if it has but courage to defend itself* Bellarmine patiently
and humbly allowed the fleas and other odious vermin to prey
upon him. We shall have heaven, said he, to reward us for our
sufferings : But these poor creatures have nothing but the enjoy-
ment of the present life. 5 Such difference is there between the
maxims of a Greek hero and a Catholic saint.
Sect. XI. With regard to reason or absurdity.
Here is another observation to the same purpose, and a new
proof that the corruption of the best things begets the worst.
If we examine, without prejudice, the ancient heathen mytho-
logy, as contained in the poets, we shall not discover in it
any such monstrous absurdity, as we may at first be apt to
apprehend. Where is the difficulty in conceiving, that the
same powers or principles, whatever they were, which formed
this visible world, men and animals, produced also a species
1 Arrian passim. 4 Plut. Apopth.
1 Thucyd. lib. v. 1 L * Bayle, Article Beiaarminh.
Discorsi. lib. vi.
COMPARISON AS TO REASON OR ABSURDITY. 341
of intelligent creatures, of more refined substance and greater SECT,
authority than the rest? That these creatures maybe capri- .
cious, revengeful, passionate, voluptuous, is easily conceived ;
nor is any circumstance more apt, among ourselves, to
engender such vices, than the licence of absolute authority.
And in short, the whole mythological system is so natural,
that, in the vast variety of planets and worlds, contained in
this universe, it seems more than probable, that, somewhere
or other, it is really carried into execution.
The chief objection to it with regard to this planet, is, that
it is not ascertained by any just reason or authority. The
ancient tradition, insisted on by heathen priests and theolo-
gers, is but a weak foundation ; and transmitted also such a
number of contradictory reports, supported, all of them, by
equal authority, that it became absolutely impossible to fix a
preference amongst them. A few volumes, therefore, mast
contain all the polemical writings of pagan priests : And their
whole theology must consist more of traditional stories and
superstitious practices than of philosophical argument and
controversy.
But where theism forms the fundamental principle of any
popular religion, that tenet is so conformable to sound reason, r
that philosophy is apt to incorporate itself with such a system
of theology. And if the other dogmas of that system be
contained in a sacred book, such as the Alcoran, or be deter-
mined by any visible authority, like that of the Roman pontiff,
speculative reasoners naturally carry on their assent, and
embrace a theory, which has been instilled into them by their
earliest education, and which also possesses some degree or
consistence and uniformity. But as these appearances are
sure, all of them, to prove deceitful, philosophy will soon find
herself very unequally yoked with her new associate ; and
instead of regulating each principle, as they advance together,
she is at every turn perverted to serve the purposes of super-
stition. For besides the unavoidable incoherences, which
must be reconciled and adjusted ; one may safelv affirm, that
all popular theology, especially the scholastic, has a kind of
appetite for absurdity and contradiction. If that theology
went not beyond reason and common sense, her doctrines
would appear too easy and familiar. Amazement must of
necessity be raised : Mystery affected : Darkness and obscurity
sought after : And a foundation of merit afforded to the devout
342 THE NATURAL HISTORY OF RELIGION.
SECT, votaries, who desire an opportunity of subduing their rebelliou s
^ reason, by the belief of the most unintelligible sophisms.
Ecclesiastical history sufficiently confirms these reflections.
When a controversy is started, some people always pretend
with certainty to foretell the issue. Whichever opinion, say
they, is most contrary to plain sense is sure to prevail ; even
where the general interest of the system requires not that
decision. Though the reproach of heresy may, for some time,
be bandied about among the disputants, it always rests at last
on the side of reason. Any one, it is pretended, that has but
learning enough of this kind to know the definition of Asian,
Pelagian, Eeastian, Socinian, Sabellian, Eutychian, Nes-
torian, Monothelite, &c. not to mention Pbotestant, whose
fate is yet uncertain, will be convinced of the truth of this
observation. It is thus a system becomes more absurd in the
end, merely from its being reasonable and philosophical in the
beginning.
To oppose the torrent of scholastic religion by such feeble
maxims as these, that it is impossible for the same thing to be
and not to be, that the whole is greater than a part, that two and
three make five ; is pretending to stop the ocean with a bull-
rush. Will you set up profane reason against sacred mystery ?
No punishment is great enough for your impiety. And the
same fires, which were kindled for heretics, will serve also for
the destruction of philosophers.
Sect. XII. With regard to Doubt or Conviction.
We meet every day with people so sceptical with regard to
history, that they assert it impossible for any nation ever to
believe such absurd principles as those of Greek and Egyp-
tian paganism; and at the same time so dogmatical with
regard to religion, that they think the same absurdities are to
be found in no other communion. Cambyses entertained like
prejudices ; and very impiously ridiculed, and even wounded,
Apis, the great god of the Egyptians, who appeared to his
profane senses nothing but a large spotted bull. But Hero-
dotus ' judiciously ascribes this sally of passion to a real mad-
ness or disorder of the brain : Otherwise, says the historian,
he never would have openly affronted any established worship.
For on that head, continues he, every nation are best satisfied
1 [Editions L to Q give the reference, lib. iii. c. 38.]
COMPARISON AS TO DOUBT OR CONVICTION. 343
with their own, and think they have the advantage over every S xij
other nation. ' < -
It must be allowed, that the Eoman Catholics are a very
learned sect ; and that no one communion, but that of the
church of England, can dispute their being the most learned
of all the Christian churches : Yet Averroes, the famous
Arabian, who, no doubt, had heard of the Egyptian super-
stitious, declares, that, of all religions, the most absurd and
nonsensical is that, whose votaries eat, after having created,
their deity.
I believe, indeed, that there is no tenet in all paganism,
which would give so fair a scope to ridicule as this of the real
presence : For it is so absurd, that it eludes the force of all
argument. There are even some pleasant stories of that kind,
which, though somewhat profane, are commonly told by the
Catholics themselves. One day, a priest, it is said, gave
inadvertently, instead of the sacrament, a counter, which had
by accident fallen among the holy wafers. The communicant
waited patiently for some time, expecting it would dissolve on
his tongue : But finding that it still remained entire, he took
it off. 1 wish, cried he to the priest, you have not committed
some mistake : I wish you have not given me God the Father : He
is so hard and tough there is no swallowing him.
A famous general, at that time in the Muscovite service,
having come to Paris for the recovery of his wounds, brought
along with him a young Turk, whom he had taken prisoner.
Some of the doctors of the Sorbonne (who are altogether as
positive as the dervises of Constantinople) thinking it a pity,
that the poor Turk should be damned for want of instruction,
solicited Mustapha very hard to turn Christian, and promised
him, for his encouragement, plenty of good wine in this world,
and paradise in the next. These allurements were too powerful
to be resisted ; and therefore, having been well instructed and
catechized, he at last agreed to receive the sacraments of
baptism and the Lord's supper. The priest, however, to make
every thing sure and solid, still continued his instructions
and began the next day with the usual question, How many
Gods are there ? None at all, replies Benedict ; for that was
his new name. . How! None at all! cries the priest. To be
sure, said the honest proselyte. You have told me all along
that there is but one God : And yesterday I eat him.
Such are the doctrines of our brethren the Catholics. But
344 THE NATURAL HISTORY OF RELIGION.
SECT, to these doctrines we are so accustomed, that we never wonder
VII i
, ' _ - at them : Though in a future age, it will probably become
difficult to persuade some nations, that any human, two-legged
creature could ever embrace such principles. And it is a
thousand to one, but these nations themselves shall have
something full as absurd in their own creed, to which they
will give a most implicit and most religious assent.
I lodged 1 once at Paris in the same hotel with an ambas-
sador from Tunis, who, having passed some years at London,
was returning home that way. One day I observed his
Moorish excellency diverting himself under the porch, with
surveying the splendid equipages that drove along; when
there chanced to pass that way some Capucin friars, who had
never seen a Turk ; as he, on his part, though accustomed to
the European dresses, had never seen the grotesque figure of
a Capucin : And there is no expressing the mutual admiration,
with which they inspired each other. Had the chaplain of
the embassy entered into a dispute with these Franciscans,
their reciprocal surprize had been of the same nature. Thus
all mankind stand staring at one another; and there is no
beating it into their heads, that the turban of the African is
not just as good or as bad a fashion as the cowl of the Euro-
pean. He is a very honest man, said the prince of Sallee,
speaking of de Rutter. It is a pity he were a Christian.
How can you worship leeks and onions ? we shall suppose
a Sorbonnist to say to a priest of Sais. If we worship
them, replies the latter ; at least, we do not, at the same
time, eat them. But what strange objects of adoration are
cats and monkies ? says the learned doctor. They are at
least as good as the relics or rotten bones of martyrs, answers
his no less learned antagonist. Are you not mad, insists the
Catholic, to cut one another's throat about the preference of
a cabbage or a cucumber? Yes, says the pagan ; I allow it,
if you will confess, that those are still madder, who fight
about the preference among volumes of sophistry, ten
thousand of which are not equal in value to one cabbage or
cucumber. 2
Every by-stander will easily judge (but unfortunately the
bystanders are few) that, if nothing were requisite to estab-
lish, any popular system, but exposing the absurdities of
1 [Probably in 1734. En.] religion, though so absurd, should yet
' It is strange that the Egyptian have borne so great a resemblance to
COMPARISON AS TO DOUBT OR CONVICTION. MS
other systems, every voter of every superstition could give a SECT,
sufficient reason for his blind and bigotted attachment to the ^_ r _
principles in which he has been educated. But without so
extensive a knowledge, on which to ground this assurance
(and perhaps, better without it), there is not wanting a suffi-
cient stock of religious zeal and faith among mankind.
Diodoeus Siculus 1 gives a remarkable instance to this
purpose, of which he was himself an eye-witness. While
Egypt lay under the greatest terror of the Roman name, a
legionary soldier having inadvertently been guilty of the
sacrilegious impiety of killing a cat, the whole people rose
upon him with the utmost fury ; and all the efforts of the
prince were not able to save him. The senate and people of
Rome, I am persuaded, would not, then, have been so delicate
with regard to their national deities. They very frankly, a
little after that time, voted Augustus a place in the celestial
mansions ; and would have dethroned every god in heaven,
for his sake, had he seemed to desire it. Presens divus
habebitur Augustus, says Hoeace. That is a very im-
portant point: And in other nations and other ages, the
same circumstance has not been deemed altogether indif-
ferent.'
Notwithstanding the sanctity of our holy religion, says
Tully, 3 no crime is more common with us than sacrilege :
But was it ever heard of, that an Egyptian violated the
temple of a cat, an ibis, or a crocodile ? There is no torture,
the Jewish, that ancient writers even of cosque ritus compescuit ; coactis qui
the greatest genius were not able to superstitione ea tenebantur, religiosas
observe any difference between them. vestes cum instruento o*uni comburere,
For it is very remarkable that both &c.' Subton. Tiber, c. 36. These
Tacitus and Suetonius, when they wise heathens, observing something in
mention that decree of the senate, under the general air, and genius, and spirit
Tiberius, by which the Egyptian and of the two religions to be the same, es-
Jewish proselytes were banished from teemed the differences of their dogmas
Rome, expressly treat these religions as too frivolous to deserve any attention,
ihe same ; and it appears, that even the ' Lib. i. 83.
decree itself was founded on that sup- * When Louis the XI Vth took on
position. ' Actum & de sacris JEarr- himself the protection of the Jesuit's
tiis Judaicisqub peilendis ; factumque College of Clermont, the society
patrum consultum, nt quatuor millia ordered the king's arms to be put
libertini generis z superstitione infecta, up over the gate, and took down the
quis idonea aetas, in insulam Sardinian! cross in order to make way for it :
veherentur, coercendis illic latrociniis; Which gave occasion to the following
& si ob gravitatem coeli interissent, vile epigram :
damnum: Ceteri cederent Italia, nisi Sustuht hincChristi, posuitque insignia
certam ante diem profanos ritus exuis- Regis :
sent.' Tacit, ann. lib. ii. c. 85. Ex- Impia gens, aliumnescit habere Deura.
ternas eaeremonias, iEoYPTios Judai- * Do mit. Deor. i. 29.
34(3 THE NATURAL HISTORY OF RELIGION.
RECT. an Egyptian would not undergo, says the same author in
< _, another place, 1 rather than injure an ibis, an aspic, a cat, a
dog, or a crocodile. Thus it is strictly true, what Dryden
observes,
1 Of whatsoe'er descent their godhead be,
' Stock, stone, or other homely pedigree,
In his defence his servants are as bold
' As if he had been born of beaten gold.'
Absalom and Achitophel.
Nay, the baser the materials are, of which the divinity is
composed, the greater devotion is he likely to excite in the
breasts of his deluded votaries. They exult in their shame,
and make a merit with their deity, in braving, for his sake,
all the ridicule and contumely of his enemies. Ten thou-
sand 2 Crusaders inlist themselves under the holy banners ;
and even openly triumph in those parts of their religion,
which their adversaries regard as the most reproachful.
There occurs, I own, a difficulty in the Egyptian system
of theology ; as indeed, few systems of that kind are entirely
free from difficulties. It is evident, from their method of
propagation, that a couple of cats, in fifty years, would stock
a whole kingdom ; and if that religious veneration were still
paid them, it would, in twenty more, not only be easier in
Egypt to find a god than a man, which Petronius says was
the case in some parts of Italy ; but the gods must at last
entirely starve the men, and leave themselves neither priests
nor votaries remaining. It is probable, therefore, that this
wise nation, the most celebrated in antiquity for prudence
and sound policy, foreseeing such dangerous consequences,
reserved all their worship for the full-grown divinities, and
used the freedom to drown the holy spawn or little sucking
gods, without any scruple or remorse. And thus the prac-
tice of warping the tenets of religion, in order to serve tem-
poral interests, is not, by any means, to be regarded as an
invention of these later ages.
The learned, philosophical Varro, discoursing of religion,
pretends not to deliver any thing beyond probabilities and
appearances : Such was his good sense and moderation ! But
the passionate, the zealous Augustin, insults the noble
Roman on his scepticism and reserve, and professes the most
thorough belief and assurance. 3 A heathen poet, however,
' Tusc Quaest. lib. v. 27. ' De civitate Dei, 1. iii. c. 17.
[Croises : Editions L to 0.]
COMPARISON AS TO DOUBT OR CONVICTION. 347
contemporary with the saint, absurdly esteems the religious SECT
system of the latter so false, that even the credulity of chil- . _ '
dren, he says, could not engage them to believe it. 1
Is it strange, when mistakes are so common, to find every
one positive and dogmatical ? And that the zeal often rises
in proportion to the error ? Moverunt, says Spartian, & ea
tempestate, Judcei helium quod vetabantur mutilare genitalia. 2
If ever there was a nation or a time, in which the public
religion lost all authority over mankind, we might expect,
that infidelity in Rome, during the Ciceronian age, would
openly have erected its throne, and that Cicero himself, in
every speech and action, would have been its most declared
abettor. But it appears, that, whatever sceptical liberties
that great man might take, in his writings or in philosophical
conversation ; he yet avoided, in the common conduct of life,
the imputation of deism and profaneness. Even in his own
family, and to his wife Terentia, whom he highly trusted,
he was willing to appear a devout religionist ; and there
remains a letter, addressed to her, in which he seriously
desires her to offer sacrifice to Apollo and .ZEsculapius, in
gratitude for the recovery of his health. 3
Pompet's devotion was much more sincere : In all his con-
duct, during the civil wars, he paid a great regard to auguries,
dreams, and prophesies. 4 Augustus was tainted with
superstition of every kind. As it is reported of Milton,
that his poetical genius never flowed with ease and abundance
in the spring ; so Augustus observed, that his own genius
for dreaming never was so perfect during that season, nor
was so much to be relied on, as during the rest of the year.
That great and able emperor was also extremely uneasy,
when he happened to change his shoes, and put the right
foot shoe on the left foot. 8 In short it cannot be doubted,
but the votaries of the established superstition of antiquity
were as numerous in every state, as those of the modern
religion are at present. Its influence was as universal ;
though it was not so great. As many people gave their
assent to it ; though that assent was not seemingly so strung,
precise, and affirmative.
We may observe, that, notwithstanding the dogmatical,
1 Claudii Rutilii Numitiani iter, 4 Cicero do Divin. lib. ii. c. 24.
lib. i. 1. 394. Sutston Aug. cap. 90, 91, 92. Plin.
* In vita Adriani. 14. lib. ii. cap. 5.
* Lib. xiv. epist. 7.
848 THE NATURAL HISTORY OF RELIGION.
SECT, imperious style of all superstition, the conviction of the
_ ' s religionists, in all ages, is more affected than real, and
scarcely ever approaches, in any degree, to that solid belief
and persuasion, which governs us in the common affairs of
life. Men dare not avow, even to their own hearts, the doubts
which they entertain on such subjects : They make a merit
of implicit faith ; and disguise to themselves their real in-
fidelity, by the strongest asseverations and most positive
bigotry. But nature is too hard for all their endeavours, and
suffers not the obscure, glimmering light, afforded in those
shadowy regions, to equal the strong impressions, made by
common sense and by experience. The usual course of men's
conduct belies their words, and shows, that their assent in
these matters is some unaccountable operation of the mind
between disbelief and conviction, but approaching much
nearer to the former than to the latter.
Since, therefore, the mind of man appears of so loose and
unsteady a texture, that, even at present, when so many
persons find an interest in continually employing on it the
chissel and the hammer, yet are they not able to engrave
theological tenets with any lasting impression ; how much
more must this have been the case in ancient times, when
the retainers to the holy function were so much fewer in
comparison ? No wonder, that the appearances were then
very inconsistent, and that men, on some occasions, might
seem determined infidels, and enemies to the established
religion, without being so in reality ; or at least, without
knowing their own minds in that particular.
Another cause, which rendered the ancient religions much
looser than the modern, is, that the former were traditional
v and the latter are scriptural ; and the tradition in the former
was complex, contradictory, and, on many occasions, doubtful ;
so that it could not possibly be reduced to any standard and
canon, or afford any determinate articles of faith. The
stories of the gods were numberless like the popish legends ;
and though every one, almost, believed a part of these stories,
yet no one could believe or know the whole : While, at the
same time, all must have acknowledged, that no one part
stood on a better foundation than the rest. The traditions
of different cities and nations were also, on many occasions,
directly opposite ; and no reason could be assigned for pre-
COMPARISON AS TO DOUBT OR CONVICTION. 349
ferrinff one to the other. And as there was an infinite SECT.
XII
number of stories, with regard to which tradition was nowise ._ t
positive ; the gradation was insensible, from the most funda-
mental articles of faith, to those loose and precarious fictions.
The pagan religion, therefore, seemed to vanish like a cloud,
whenever one approached to it, and examined it piecemeal.
It could never be ascertained by any fixed dogmas and prin-
ciples. And though this did not convert the generality
of mankind from so absurd a faith ; for when will the people
be reasonable ? yet it made them faulter and hesitate
more in maintaining their principles, and was even apt to
produce, in certain dispositions of mind, some practices and
opinions, which had the appearance of determined infi-
delity.
To which we may add, that the fables of the pagan re-
ligion were, of themselves, light, easy, and familiar; with-
out devils, or seas of brimstone, or any object that could '
much terrify the imagination. Who could forbear smiling,
when he thought of the loves of Maes and Venus, or the
amorous frolics of Jupiter and Pan 9 In this respect, it
was a true poetical religion ; if it had not rather too much
levity for the graver kinds of poetry. We find that it has
been adopted by modern bards ; nor have these talked with
greater freedom and irreverence of the gods, whom they re-
garded as fictions, than the ancients did of the real objects
of their devotion.
The inference is by no means just, that, because a sys-
tem of religion has made no deep impression on the minds
of a people, it must therefore have been positively rejected
by all men of common sense, and that opposite principles, in
spite of the prejudices of education, were generally estab-
lished by argument and reasoning. I know not, but a con-
trary inference may be more probable. The less importunate
and assuming any species of superstition appears, the less
will it provoke men's spleen and indignation, or engage them
into enquiries concerning its foundation and origin. This in
the mean time is obvious, that the empire of all religious
faith over the understanding is wavering and uncertain,
subject to every variety of humour, and dependent on the
present incidents, which strike the imagination. The dif-
ference is only in the degrees. An ancient will place a stroke
of impiety and one of superstition alternately, throughout a
350 THE NATURAL HISTORY OF RELIGIOIS.
BBCT. whole discourse : l A modern often thinks in the same way,
" _ "_. though he may be more guarded in his expression.
Lucian tells us expressly," that whoever believed not the
most ridiculous fables of paganism was deemed by the
people profane and impious. To what purpose, indeed,
would that agreeable author have employed the whole force
of his wit and satire against the national religion, had not
that religion been generally believed by his countrymen and
contemporaries ?
Livy 3 acknowledges as frankly, as any divine would at
present, the common incredulity of his age ; but then he
condemns it as severely. And who can imagine, that a
national superstition, which could delude so ingenious a man,
would not also impose on the generality of the people ?
The Stoics bestowed many magnificent and even impious
epithets on their sage ; that he alone was rich, free, a king,
v and equal to the immortal gods. They forgot to add, that
he was not inferior in prudence and understanding to an old
woman. For surely nothing can be more pitiful than the
sentiments, which that sect entertain with regard to reli-
gious matters ; while they seriously agree with the common
augurs, that, when a raven croaks from the left, it is a good
omen; but a bad one, when a rook makes a noise from
the same quarter. Pan^etius was the only Stoic, among the
Greeks, who so much as doubted with regard to auguries
and divination. 4 Marcus Antoninus 5 tells us, that he him-
self had received many admonitions from the gods in his
sleep. It is true, Epictetus 6 forbids us to regard the lan-
guage of rooks and ravens ; but it is not, that they do not
speak truth : It is only, because they can fortel nothing
but the breaking of our neck or the forfeiture of our estate ;
which are circumstances, says he, that nowise concern us.
1 "Witness this remarkable passage of dominion over the sea, where had been
Tacitus: 'Praeter multiplices rerum the foundation of his anger? And if lie
humanarum casus ccelo terraque pro- believed it, what madness to provoke
digia & fulminum monitus & futurorum still farther that deity? The same ob-
praesagia. laeta tristia, ambigua mani- serration may be made upon Qui.v-
festa. Nee enim unquam atrocioribus tilian'3 exclamation, on account of the
populi Romani cladibus, magisve justis death of his children, lib. vi. Praef.
in liciis approbatum est, non esse curae * Philopseudes. 3.
Diissecuritatemnostram.esseultionem.' 3 Lib. x. cap. 40.
Hist. lib. i. 3. Augustus's quarrel with 4 Cicero de Divin. lib. i. cap. 3 & 7.
Nkptunk is an instance of the same * Lib. i. 17.
kind. Had not the emperor believed Ench. 17.
fc;.PTUNB to be a real being, and to have
COMPARISON AS TO DOUBT OR CONVICTION. 361
Thus the Stoics join a philosophical enthusiasm to a reli-
gious superstition. The force of their mind, being all turned
to the side of morals, unbent itself in that of religion. 1
Plato ' introduces Sookates affirming, that the accusation
of impiety raised against him was owing entirely to his re-
jecting such fables, as those of Saturn's castrating his
father Uranus, and Jupiter's dethroning Saturn : Yet in
a subsequent dialogue, 3 Socrates confesses, that the doctrine
of the mortality of the soul was the received opinion of the
people. Is there here any contradiction ? Yes, surely : But the
contradiction is not in Plato ; it is in the people, whose re-
ligious principles in general are always composed of the most
discordant parts ; especially in an age, when superstition sate
so easy and light upon them. 4
The same Cicero, who affected, in his own family, to ap-
SEOT.
XII.
1 The Stoics, I own, were not quite
orthodox in the established religion ;
but one may see, from these instances,
that they went a great way : And the
people undoubtedly went every length.
2 Euthyphro. 6.
* Phaedo.
4 Xenophon' s conduct, as related by
himself, is, at once, an incontestable
proof of the general credulity of man-
kind in those ages, and the incoheren-
cies, in all ages, of men's opinions in
religious matters. That great captain
and philosopher, the disciple of Soc-
rates, and one who has delivered some
of the most refined sentiments with re-
gard to a deity, gave all the following
marks of vulgar, pagan superstition.
By Socrates's advice, he consulted the
oracle of Delphi, before he would en-
gage in the expedition of Cyrus. De
exped. lib. iii. p. 294, ex edit. Leuncl.
Sees a dream the night after the gene-
rals were seized ; which he pays great
regard to. but thinks ambiguous. Id.
p. 295. He and the whole army re-
gard sneezing as a very lucky omen.
Id. p. 300. Has another dream, when
he comes to the river Ckntrites, which
his fellow-general. Chihosphus, also
pays great regard to. Id. lib. iv. p.
323. The Greeks, suffering from a
cold north wind, sacrifice to it; and the
historian observes, that it immediately
abated. Id. p. 329. Xenophon con-
sults the sacrifices in secret, before he
would form any resolution with himself
about settling a colony. Lib. v. p. 359.
He was himself a very skilful augur.
Id. p. 361. Is determined by the vic-
tims to refuse the sole command of the
army which was offered him. Lib. vi.
p. 273. Oleander, the Spartan, though
very desirous of it, refuses for the same
reason. Id. p. 392. Xenophon men-
tions an old dream with the interpretation
given him, when he first joined Cyrus,
p. 373. Mentions also the place of
Hercules's descent into hell as believ-
ing it, and says the marks of it are still
remaining. Id. p. 375. Had almost
starved the army, rather than lead them
to the field against the auspices. Id.
p. 382, 383. His friend, Euclides, the
augur, would not believe that he had
brought no money from the expedition ;
till he (Euclides) sacrificed, and then
he saw the matter clearly in the Exta.
Lib. vii. p. 425. The same philoso-
pher, proposing a project of mines for
the encrease of the Athenian revenues,
advises them first to consult the oracle.
De rat. red. p. 392. That all this de-
votion was not a farce, in order to serve
a political purpose, appears both from
the facta themselves, and from the
genius of that age, when little or no-
thing could be gained by hypocrisy.
Besides, Xenophon, as appears from
his Memorabilia, was a kind of heretic
in those times, which no political de-
votee ever is. It is for the same rea-
son, I maintain, that Newton, Locke,
Clarke, &c. being Avians or Socinians,
were very sincere in the creed they pro-
fessed: And I always oppose this argu-
ment to some libertines, who will needs
have it, that it was impossible but that
these philosophers must have been hy-
pocrites.
362 THE NATURAL HISTORY OF RELIGION.
SECT, pear a devout religionist, makes no scrapie, in a public court
, of judicature, of treating the doctrine of a future state as a
ridiculous fable, to which no body could give any attention.*
Salltjst 2 represents (Lesar as speaking the same language
in the open senate. 3
But that all these freedoms implied not a total and uni-
versal infidelity and scepticism amongst the people, is too ap-
parent to be denied. Though some parts of the national
religion hung loose upon the minds of men, other parts
adhered more closely to them : And it was the chief business
of the sceptical philosophers to show, that there was no more
foundation for one than for the other. This is the artifice of
Cotta in the dialogues concerning the nature of the gods. He
refutes the whole system of mythology by leading the orthodox
gradually, from the more momentous stories, which were
believed, to the more frivolous, which every one ridiculed :
From the gods to the goddesses ; from the goddesses to the
nymphs ; from the nymphs to the fawns and satyrs. His
master, Carneades, had employed the same method of
reasoning. 4
Upon the whole, the greatest and most observable dif-
ferences between a traditional, mythological religion, and a
systematical, scholastic one are two : The former is often more
reasonable, as consisting only of a multitude of stories,
which, however groundless, imply no express absurdity and
demonstrative contradiction ; and sits also so easy and light
on men's minds, that, though it may be as universally re-
ceived, it happily makes no such deep impression on the
affections and understanding.
Sect. XIII. Impious conceptions of the divine nature 6 in
popular religions of both kinds.
The primary religion of mankind arises chiefly from an anxi-
^ ous fear of future events ; and what ideas will naturally be en-
1 Pro Cltjentio, cap. 61. the disposition of Cbphaujs in Plato
2 De bello Catilin. 51. \ (de Rep. lib. i. 330 D.) who while he was
* Cicero (Tusc. Quaest. lib. i. cap. 5, young and healthful could ridicule these
-^ 6) and Senkca (Epist. 24.), as also Ju- stories; bu* as soon as he became old and
venal (Satyr. 2. 149), maintain thatthere infirm, began to entertain apprehensions
is no boy or old woman so ridiculous as of their truth. This we may observe
to believe the poets in their accounts of not to be unusual even at present.
a future state. Why then does Lu- * Sext. Empir. advers. Mathem. lib.
CRKTius so highly exalt his master for ix. 429.
freeing us from those terrors? Perhaps 5 [In most popular: Editions L to Q.]
the generality of mankind were then in
IMPIOUS CONCEPTIONS OF THE DIVINE NATURE. 853
tertained of invisible, unknown powers, Avhile men lie under SECT.
Jismal apprehensions of any kind, may easily be conceived. ^J_ T _
Every image of vengeance, severity, cruelty, and malice must
occur, and must augment the ghastliness and horror, which
oppresses the amazed religionist. A panic having once
seized the mind, the active fancy still farther multiplies the
objects of terror ; while that profound darkness, or, what is
worse, thai glimmering light, with which we are environed,
represents the spectres of divinity under the most dreadful
appearances imaginable. And no idea of perverse wickedness
can be framed, which those terrified devotees do not readily,
without scruple, apply to their deity.
This appears the natural state of religion, when surveyed
in one light. But if we consider, on the other hand, that
spirit of praise and eulogy, which necessarily has place in
all religions, and which is the consequence of these very
terrors, we must expect a quite contrary system of theology
to prevail. Every virtue, every excellence, must be ascribed
to the divinity, and no exaggeration will be deemed sufficient
to reach those perfections, with which he is endowed. What-
ever strains of panegyric can be invented, are immediately
embraced, without consulting any arguments or phsenomena :
It is esteemed a sufficient confirmation of them, that they
give us more magnificent ideas of the divine objects of our
worship and adoration.
Here therefore is a kind of contradiction between the dif-
ferent principles of human nature, which enter into religion.
Our natural terrors present the notion of a devilish and
malicious deity : Our propensity to adulation leads us to
acknowledge an excellent and divine. And the influence of
these opposite principles are various, according to the different
situation of the human understanding.
In very barbarous and ignorant nations, such as the
Africans and Indians, nay even the Japonese, who can
form no extensive ideas of power and knowledge, worship
may be paid to a being, whom they confess to be wicked and
detestable ; though they may be cautious, perhaps, of pro-
nouncing this judgment of him in public, or in his temple,
where he may be supposed to hear their reproaches.
Such rude, imperfect ideas of the Divinity adhere long to
all idolaters ; and it may safely be affirmed, that the Greeks
themselves never got entirely rid of them. It is remarked
VOL. IV. A A
364 THE NATURAL HISTORY OF RELIGION.
sfpt. by Xenophon, 1 in praise of Socrates, that this philosopher
r J__, assented not to the vulgar opinion, which supposed the gods
to know some things, and be ignorant of others : He main-
tained, that they knew every thing ; what was done, said, or
even thought. But as this was a train of philosophy 2 much
above the conception of his countrymen, we need not be
surprised, if very frankly, in their books and conversation,
they blamed the deities, whom they worshipped in their
temples. It is observable, that Herodotus in particular
scruples not, in many passages, to ascribe envy to the gods ;
a sentiment, of all others, the most suitable to a mean and
devilish nature. The pagan hymns, however, sung in public
worship, contained nothing but epithets of praise; even
while the actions ascribed to the gods were the most barba-
. rous and detestable. When Timotheus, the poet, recited a
- hymn to Diana, in which he enumerated, with the greatest
eulogies, all the actions and attributes of that cruel, capri-
cious goddess : May your daughter, said one present, become
such as the deity whom you celebrate. 3
But as men farther exalt their idea of their divinity ; it is
their notion of his power and knowledge only, not of his
goodness, which is improved. On the contrary, in propor-
tion to the supposed extent of his science and authority,
their terrors naturally augment ; while they believe, that no
secrecy can conceal them from his scrutiny, and that even the
inmost recesses of their breast lie open before him. They
must then be careful not to form expressly any sentiment of
blame and disapprobation. All must be applause, ravish-
ment, extacy. And while their gloomy apprehensions make
them ascribe to him measures of conduct, which, in human
creatures, would be highly blamed, they must still affect to
praise and admire that conduct in the object of their devo-
tional addresses. Thus it may safely be affirmed, that popular
religions are really, in the conception of their more vulgar
votaries, a species of daemonism ; and the higher the deity
is exalted in power and knowledge, the lower of course is
he depressed in goodness and benevolence ; whatever epithets
of praise may be bestowed on him by his amazed adorers.
1 Mem. lib. i. 1, 19. but was extended every where; as we
* It was considered among the an- learn from Ltjcian. Berniotimus sive
cifnts, as a very extraordinary, philoso- Be sectis, 81.
phieal paradox, that the presence of the s Plutarch, de Superstit. 10
gods was not confined to the heavens,
IMPIOUS CONCEPTIONS OF THE DIVINE NATURE. 355
Among idolaters, the words maybe false, and belie the secret SECT,
opinion : But among more exalted religionists, the opinion xin -
itself contracts a kind of falsehood, and belies the inward
sentiment. The heart secretly detests such measures of
cruel and implacable vengeance ; but the judgment dares
not but pronounce them perfect and adorable. And the ad-
ditional misery of this inward struggle aggravates all the
other terrors, by which these unhappy victims to supersti-
tion are for ever haunted.
Lucian l observes that a young man, who reads the history
of the gods in Homeb or Hesiod, and finds their factions,
wars, injustice, incest, adultery, and other immoralities so
highly celebrated, is much surprised afterwards, when he
comes into the world, to observe that punishments are by
law inflicted on the same actions, which he had been
taught to ascribe to superior beings. The contradiction
is still perhaps stronger between the representations given
us by some later religions and our natural ideas of gene-
rosity, lenity, impartiality, and justice; and in propor-
tion to the multiplied terrors of these religions, the bar-
barous conceptions of the divinity are multiplied upon us.*
Nothing can preserve untainted the genuine principles of
1 Necyomantia, 3. trines of eternal reprobation and pre-
s Bacchus, a divine being, is repre- destination. He expresses himself thus :
sented by the heathen mythology as the 'What strange ideas,' says he, 'would
inventor of dancing and the theatre. an Indian or a Chinese philosopher
Plays were' anciently even a part of have of our holy religion, if they judged
public worship on the most solemn occa- by the schemes given of it by our
sions, and often employed in times of modern free-thinkers, and pharisaical
pestilence, to appease the offended doctors of all sects ? According to the
deities. But they have been zealously odious and too vulgar system of these
proscribed by the godly in later ages ; incredulous scoffers and credulous scrib-
and the playhouse, according to a biers, " The God of the Jews is a most
learned divine, is the porch of hell. cruel, unjust, partial, and fantastical
But in order to show more evidently, being. He created, about 6000 years
that it is possible for a religion to repre- ago, a man and a woman, and placed
sent the divinity in still a more immoral them in a fine garden of Asia, of which
and unamiable light than he was pic- there are no remains. This garden was
tured by the ancients, we shall cite a furnished with all sorts of trees, foun-
long passage from an author of taste tains, and flowers. He allowed them the
and imagination, who was surely no use of all the fruits of this beautiful
enemy to Christianity. It is the Cheva- garden, except one, that was planted
Her Bamsat, a writer, who had so laud- in the midbt thereof, and that had in it
able an inclination to be orthodox, a secret virtue of preserving them in
that his reason never found any difficulty, continual health and vigour of body and
even in the doctrines which free-thinkers mind, of exalting their natural powers
scruple the most, the trinity, incarna- and making them wise. The devil en-
tion. and satisfaction: His humanity tered into the body of a serpent, and
lone, of which he seems to have had a solicited the first woman to eat of this
great stock, rebelled against the doc- forbidden fruit ; she engaged her hus-
a a 2
350
THE NATURAL HISTORY OF RELIGION.
SECT.
XI II.
morals in our judgment of human conduct, but the ab-
solute necessity of\ these principles to the existence of
society. If common conception can indulge princes in
a system of ethics, somewhat different from that which
should regulate private persons; how much more those
band to do the same. To punish this
slight curiosity and natural desire of life
and knowledge, God not only threw our
first parents out of paradise, but he con-
demned all their posterity to temporal
misery, and the greatest part of them
to eternal pains, though the souls of
these innocent children hare no more
relation to that of Adam than to those
of Nkko and Mahomet ; since, according
to the scholastic drivellers, fabulists,
and mythologists, all souls are created
pure, and infused immediately into
mortal bodies, so soon as the foetus is
formed. To accomplish the barbarous,
partial decree of predestination and
reprobation, God abandoned all nations
to darkness, idolatry, and superstition,
without any saving knowledge or salu-
tary graces ; unless it was one particular
nation, whom he chose as his peculiar
people. This chosen nation was, how-
ever, tho most stupid, ungrateful, rebel-
lious and perfidious of all nations.
After God had thus kept the far greater
part of all the human species, during
near 4000 years, in a reprobate state,
he changed all of a sudden, and took a
fancy for other nations beside the Jews.
Then he sent his only begotten Son to
the world, under a human form, to ap-
pease his wrath, satisfy his vindictive
justice, and die for the pardon of sin.
Very few nations, however, have heard
of this gospel ; and all the rest, though
left in invincible ignorance, are damned
without exception, or any possibility of
remission. The greatest part of those
who have heard of it, have changed
only some speculative notions about
God, and some external forms in wor-
ship : For, in other respects, the bulk of
Christians have continued as corrupt as
the rest of mankind in their morals ;
yea, so much the more perverse and
criminal, that their lights were greater.
Unless it be a very small select number,
all other Christians, like, the pagans,
will be for ever damned ; the great sac-
rifice offered up for them will become
void and of no effect; God will take
delight for ever, in their torments and
blasphemies ; and though he can, by one
fat change their hearts, yet they will
remain for ever unconverted and uncon-
vertible, because he wil v be for ever un-
appeasable and irreconcileable. It is
true, that all this makes God odious,
a hater of souls, rather than a lover of
them; a cruel, vindictive tyrant, an
impotent or a wrathful daemon, rather
than an all-powerful, beneficent father
of spirits: Yet all this is a mystery.
He has secret reasons for his conduct,
that are impenetrable ; and though he
appears unjust and barbarous, yet we
must believe the contrary, because what
is injustice, crime, cruelty, and the
blackest malice in us, is in him justice,
mercy, and sovereign goodness." Thus
the incredulous free-thinkers, the juda-
izing Christians, and the fatalistic doc-
tors have disfigured and dishonoured
the sublime mysteries of our holy faith ;
thus they have confounded the nature
of good and evil; transformed the
most monstrous passions into divine
attributes, and surpassed the pagans in
blasphemy, by ascribing to the eternal
nature, as perfections, what makes the
most horrid crimes amongst men. The
grosser pagans contented- themselves
with divinizing lubt, incest, and adul-
tery; but the predestinarian doctors
have divinized cruelty, wrath, fury,
vengeance, and all the blackest vices.'
See the Chevalier Ramsay's philoso-
phical principles of natural and revealed
religion, Part ii. p. 401.
The same author asserts, in otter
places, that the Arminian and Moliiiist
schemes serve very little to mend the
matter: And having thus thrown him-
self out of all received sects of Chris-
tianity, he is obliged to advance a system
of his own, which is a kind of Origenisnt,
and supposes the pre-existence of the
souls both of men and beasts, and the
eternal salvation and conversion of all
men, beasts, and devils. But this notion,
being quite peculiar to himself, we need
not treat of. I thought the opinions of
this ingenious author very curious ; but
I pretend not to warrant tho just m-sa
of them.
DIPIOUS CONCEPTIONS OF TIIE DIVINE NATURE. 357
superior beings, whose attributes, views, and nature are SECT,
so totally unknown to us? Sunt superis sua jura. 1 The _ ,
gods have maxims of justice peculiar to themselves.
Sect. XIV. Bad influence* of popular religions on morality.
Here I cannot forbear observing a fact, which may be
worth the attention of such as make human nature the object
of their enquiry. It is certain, that, in every religion, how-
ever sublime the verbal definition which it gives of its divinity,
many of the votaries, perhaps the greatest number, will still
seek the divine favour, not by virtue and good morals, which
alone can be acceptable to a perfect being, but either by fri-
volous observances, by intemperate zeal, by rapturous ex-
tasies, or by the belief of mysterious and absurd opinions.
The least part of the Sadder, as well as of the Pentateuch, con-
sists in precepts of morality ; and we may also be assured,
that that part was always the least observed and regarded.
When the old Komans were attacked with a pestilence, they
never ascribed their sufferings to their vices, or dreamed
of repentance and amendment. They never thought, that
they were the general robbers of the world, whose ambition
and avarice made desolate the earth, and reduced opulent
nations to want and beggary. They only created a dictator, 3
in order to drive a nail into a door ; and by that means, they
thought that they had sufficiently appeased their incensed
deity.
In J3gina, one faction forming a conspiracy, barbarously
and treacherously assassinated seven hundred of their fellow-
citizens ; and carried their fury so far, that, one miserable
fugitive having fled to the temple, they cut off his hands, by
which he clung to the gates, and carrying him out of holy
ground, immediately murdered him. By this impiety, says
Herodotus, 4 (not by the other many cruel assassinations) they
offended the gods, and contracted an inexpiable guilt.
Nay, if we should suppose, what never happens, that a popu-
lar religion were found, in which it was expressly declared,
that nothing but morality could gain the divine favour ; if an
order of priests were instituted to inculcate this opinion, in
/
1 Ovid. Metam. lib. Ix. 499. causa. T. Lrni, 1. vii. c. 3.
* [Most popular : Editions L to Q.l * Lib. vi. 91.
* Called Dictator clavis figendae
358 THE NATURAL HISTORY OF RELIGION.
SECT, daily sermons, and with all the arts of persuasion ; yet so
XIV - ^ inveterate are the people's prejudices, that, for want of some
other superstition, they would make the very attendance on
these sermons the essentials of religion, rather than place
them in virtue and good morals. The sublime prologue of
Zaleucus's laws l inspired not the Locijans, so far as we
can learn, with any sounder notions of the measures of
acceptance with the deity, than were familiar to the other
Greeks.
This observation, then, holds universally : But still one
may be at some loss to account for it. It is not sufficient to
observe, that the people, every where, degrade their deities
into a similitude with themselves, and consider them merely
as a species of human creatures, somewhat more potent and
intelligent. This will not remove the difficulty. For there
is no man so stupid, as that, judging by his natural reason,
he would not esteem virtue and honesty the most valuable
qualities, which any person could possess. Why not ascribe
the same sentiment to his deity? Why not make all
religion, or the chief part of it, to consist in these attain-
ments ?
Nor is it satisfactory to say, that the practice of morality
is more difficult than that of superstition ; and is therefore
rejected. For, not to mention the excessive penances of the
Brachmans and Talapoins ; it is certain, that the Rhamadan of
the Turks, during which the poor wretches, for many days,
often in the hottest months of the year, and in some of the
hottest climates of the world, remain without eating or drink-
ing from the rising to the setting sun ; this Rhamadan, I say,
must be more severe than the practice of any moral duty,
even to the most vicious and depraved of mankind. The four
lents of the Muscovites, and the austerities of some Roman
Catholics, appear more disagreeable than meekness and bene-
volence. In short, all virtue, when men are reconciled to it
by ever so little practice, is agreeable : All superstition is for
ever odious and burthen some.
Perhaps, the following account may be received as a true
solution of the difficulty. The duties, which a man performs
as a friend or parent, seem merely owing to his benefactor
or children ; nor can he be wanting to these duties, without
breaking through all the ties of nature and morality. A
1 To be found in Diod. Sic. lib. xii. 120.
BAD INFLUENCE OF POPULAR RELIGIONS.
3C9
strong inclination may prompt him to the performance : A
sentiment of order and moral obligation joins its force to
these natural ties : And the whole man, if truly virtuous, is
drawn to his duty, without any effort or endeavour. Even
with regard to the virtues, which are more austere, and more
founded on reflection, such as public spirit, filial duty, tem-
perance, or integrity ; the moral obligation, in our appre-
hension, removes all pretension to religious merit ; and the
virtuous conduct is deemed no more than what we owe to
society and to ourselves. In all this, a superstitious man
finds nothing, which he has properly performed for the sake
of his deity, or which can peculiarly recommend him to the
divine favour and protection. He considers not, that the
most genuine method of serving the divinity is by promoting
the happiness of his creatures. He still looks out for some
more immediate service of the supreme Being, in order to allay
those terrors, with which he is haunted. And any practice,
recommended to him, which either serves to no purpose in
life, or offers the strongest violence to his natural inclina-
tions ; that practice he will the more readily embrace, on
account of those very circumstances, which should make him
absolutely reject it. It seems the more purely religious, be-
cause it proceeds from no mixture of any other motive or con-
sideration. And if, for its sake, he sacrifices much of his ease
and quiet, his claim of merit appears still to rise upon him,
in proportion to the zeal and devotion which he discovers.
In restoring a loan, or paying a debt, his divinity is nowise
beholden to him ; because these acts of justice are what he
was bound to perform, and what many would have per-
formed, were there no god in the universe. But if he fast a
day, or give himself a sound whipping; this has a direct
reference, in his opinion, to the service of God. No other
motive could engage him to such austerities. By these dis
tinguished marks of devotion, he has now acquired the
divine favour ; and may expect, in recompence, protection
and safety in this world, and eternal happiness in the next.
Hence the greatest crimes have been found, in many in-
stances, compatible with a superstitious piety and devotion :
Hence, it is justly regarded as unsafe to draw any certain in-
ference in favour of a man's morals, from the fervour or strict-
ness of his religious exercises, even though he himself believe
them sincere. Nay, it has been observed, that enormities of
SECT.
XIV.
3G0 THE NATURAL HISTORY OF RELIGION.
SECT, the blackest dye have been rather apt to produce superstiti* >;:s
_" , '_- terrors, and encrease the religious passion. Bomilcae, having
formed a conspiracy for assassinating at once the whole senate
of Carthage, and invading the liberties of his country, lost,
the opportunity, from a continual regard to omens and prophe-
cies. Those who undertake the most criminal and most dangerous
enterprizes are commonly the most superstitious ; as an ancient
historian l remarks on this occasion. Their devotion and spiri-
tual faith rise with their fears. Catiline was not contented
with the established deities and received rites of the national
religion : His anxious terrors made him seek new inventions
of this kind ; 2 which he never probably had dreamed of,
had he remained a good citizen, and obedient to the laws of
his country.
To which we may add, that, after the commission of crimes,
there arise remorses and secret horrors, which give no rest
to the mind, but make it have recourse to religious rites and
ceremonies, as expiations of its offences. Whatever weakens
or disorders the internal frame promotes the interests of
superstition : And nothing is more destructive to them than
a manly, steady virtue, which either preserves us from disas-
trous, melancholy accidents, or teaches us to bear them.
During such calm sunshine of the mind, these spectres of false
divinity never make their appearance. On the other hand,
while we abandon ourselves to the natural undisciplined
suggestions of our timid and anxious hearts, every kind of
barbarity is ascribed to the supreme Being, from the terrors
with which we are agitated ; and every kind of caprice, from
the methods which we embrace in order to appease him. Bar-
barity, caprice ; these qualities, however nominally disguised,
we may universally observe, form the ruling character of the
deity in popular religions. Even priests, instead of correcting
these depraved ideas of mankind, have often been found ready
to foster and encourage them. The more tremendous the
divinity is represented, the more tame and submissive do men
become to his ministers : And the more unaccountable the
measures of acceptance required by him, the more necessary
does it become to abandon our natural reason, and yield to
their ghostly guidance and direction. Thus it may be allowed,
that the artifices of men aggravate our natural infirmities And
1 Diod. Sic. lib. xx. 43.
2 Cic. Catil. i. 6, Saj-lust. de bello Catil. 22.
BAD INFLUENCE OF POPULAR RELIGIONS. 301
follies of this kind, but never originally beget them. Their SECT,
root strikes deeper into the mind, and springs from the essen- X1V -
tial and universal properties of human nature.
Sect. XV. General Corollary.
Though the stupidity of men, barbarous and un instructed,
be so great, that they may not see a sovereign author in the
more obvious works of nature, to which they are so much
familiarized ; yet it scarcely seems possible, that any one of
good understanding should reject that idea, when once it is
suggested to him. A purpose, an intention, a design is evident
in every thing ; and when our comprehension is so far enlarged
as to contemplate the first rise of this visible system, we must -/-
adopt, with the strongest conviction, the idea of some intel-
ligent cause or author. The uniform maxims too, which
prevail throughout the whole frame of the universe, naturally,
if not necessarily, lead us to conceive this intelligence as single
and undivided, where the prejudices of education oppose not
so reasonable a theory. Even the contrarieties of nature, by
discovering themselves every where, become proofs of some
consistent plan, and establish one single purpose or intention,
however inexplicable and incomprehensible.
Good and ill are universally intermingled and confounded ;
happiness and misery, wisdom and folly, virtue and vice.
Nothing is pure and entirely of a piece. All advantages are
attended with disadvantages. An universal compensation
prevails in all conditions of being and existence. And it is
not possible for us, by our most chimerical wishes, to form the
idea of a station or situation altogether desirable. The
draughts of life, according to the poet's fiction, are always
mixed from the vessels on each hand of Jupiter : Or if any
cup be presented altogether pure, it is drawn only, as the same
poet tells us, from the left-handed vessel.
The more exquisite any good is, of which a small specimen
is afforded us, the sharper is the evil, allied to it ; and few
exceptions are found to this uniform law of nature. The most
sprightly wit borders on madness ; the highest effusions of
joy produce the deepest melancholy ; the most ravishing
pleasures are attended with the most cruel lassitude and
disgust ; the most flattering hopes make way for the severest
disappointments. And, in general, no course of life has such
302 THE NATU11AL HISTORY OF RELIGION.
SECr. safety (for happiness is not to be dreamed of) as the temperate
'_- and moderate, which maintains, as far as possible, a medioc-
rity, and a kind of insensibility, in every thing.
As the good, the great, the sublime, the ravishing are found
eminently in the genuine principles of theism ; it may be
expected, from the analogy of nature, that the base, the
absurd, the mean, the terrifying will be equally discovered in
religious fictions and chimeras.
The universal propensity to believe in invisible, intelligent
power, if not an original instinct, being at least a general
attendant of human nature, may be considered as a kind of
mark or stamp, which the divine workman has set upon his
work ; and nothing surely can more dignify mankind, than
to be thus selected from all other parts of the creation, and
to bear the image or impression of the universal Creator.
But consult this image, as it appears in the popular religions
of the world. How is the deity disfigured in our representa-
tions of him ! What caprice, absurdity, and immorality are
attributed to him ! How much is he degraded e en below the
character, which we should naturally, in common life, ascribe
to a man of sense and virtue !
What a noble privilege is it of human reason to attain the
V knowledge of the supreme Being ; and, from the visible works
of nature, be enabled to infer so sublime a principle as its
supreme Creator P But turn the reverse of the medal. Survey
most nations and most ages. Examine the religious princi-
ples, which have, in fact, prevailed in the world. You will
scarcely be persuaded, that they are any thing but sick men's
dreams : Or perhaps will regard them more as the playsome
whimsies of monkies in human shape, than the serious, posi-
tive, dogmatical asseverations of a being, who dignifies himself
with the name of rational.
Hear the verbal protestations of all men : Nothing so
certain as their religious tenets. Examine their lives : You
will scarcely think that they repose the smallest confidence in
them.
The greatest and truest zeal gives us no security against
hypocrisy : The most open impiety is attended with a secret
dread and compunction.
No theological absurdities so glaring that they have not,
sometimes, been embraced by men of the greatest and most
cultivated understanding. No religious precepts so rigorous
GENERAL COROLLARY. 363
that they have not been adopted by the most voluptuous and SECT,
most abandoned of men. - \'
Ignorance is the mother of Devotion : A maxim that is pro-
verbial, and confirmed by general experience. Look out for
a people, entirely destitute of religion : If you find them at
all, be assured, that they are but few degrees removed from
brutes.
What so pure as some of the morals, included in some
theological systems ? What so corrupt as some of the prac-
tices, to which these systems give rise ?
The comfortable views, exhibited by the belief of futurity,
are ravishing and delightful. But how quickly vanish on the
appearance of its terrors, which keep a more firm and durable
possession of the human mind?
The whole is a riddle, an senigma, an inexplicable mystery.
Doubt, uncertainty, suspence of judgment appear the only
result of our most accurate scrutiny, concerning this subject.
But such is the frailty of human reason, and such the irre-
sistible contagion of opinion, that even this deliberate doubt
could scarcely be upheld ; did we not enlarge our view, and
opposing one species of superstition to another, set them a
quarrelling ; while we ourselves, during their fury and conten- ;
tion, happily make our escape into the calm, though obscure
regions of philosophy.
ESS AYS
WITHDRAWN
ESSAYS WITHDRAWN.
Essay I. Of Essay Writing. 1 ESSAY
The elegant Part of Mankind, who are not immers'd in the
animal Life, but employ themselves in the Operations of the
Mind, may be divided into the learned and conversible. The
Learned are such as have chosen for their Portion the higher
and more difficult Operations of the Mind, which require
Leisure and Solitude, and cannot be brought to Perfection,
without long Preparation and severe Labour. The conver-
sible World join to a sociable Disposition, and a Taste of
Pleasure, an Inclination to the easier and more gentle Exer-
cises of the Understanding, to obvious Eeflections on human
Affairs, and the Duties of common Life, and to the Obser-
vation of the Blemishes or Perfections of the particular
Objects, that surround them. Such Subjects of Thought
furnish not sufficient Employment in Solitude, but require
the Company and Conversation of our Fellow- Creatures, to
render them a proper Exercise for the Mind : And this brings
Mankind together in Society, where every one displays his
Thoughts and Observations in the best Manner he is able,
and mutually gives and receives Information, as well as
Pleasure.
The Separation of the Learned from the conversible World
seems to have been the great Defect of the last Age, and
must have had a very bad Influence both on Books and
Company : For what Possibility is there of finding Topics of
Conversation fit for the Entertainment of rational Creatures,
without having Eecourse sometimes to History, Poetry,
Politics, and the more obvious Principles, at least, of Philo-
sophy ? Must our whole Discourse be a continued Series of
1 [This Essay appeared only in Edition C, 1742 : see * History of the Editions/
Vol. in pp. 43-4. -En.]
808 ESSAYS WITHDRAWN.
ESSAY gossipping Stories and idle Remarks ? Must the Mind never
_ _ r rise higher, but be perpetually
Stun'd and worn out with endless Cbat
Of Will did this, and Nan said that '(
This wou'd be to render the Time spent in Company the
most unentertaining, as well as the most unprofitable Part of
our Lives.
On the other Hand, Learning has been as great a Loser
by being shut up in Colleges and Cells, and secluded from
the World and good Company. By that Means, every Thing
of what we call Belles Lettres became totally barbarous, being
cultivated by Men without any Taste of Life or Manners,
and without that Liberty and Facility of Thought and Ex-
pression, which can only be acquir'd by Conversation. Even
Philosophy went to Wrack by this moaping recluse Method
of Study, and became as chimerical in her Conclusions as
she was unintelligible in her Stile and Manner of Delivery.
And indeed, what cou'd be expected from Men who never
consulted Experience in any of their Reasonings, or who
never search'd for that Experience, where alone it is to be
found, in common Life and Conversation ?
'Tis with great Pleasure I observe, That Men of Letters,
in this Age, have lost, in a great Measure, that Shyness and
Bashfulness of Temper, which kept them at a Distance from
Mankind ; and, at the same Time, That Men of the World
are proud of borrowing from Books their most agreeable
Topics of Conversation. 'Tis to be hop'd, that this League
betwixt the learned and conversible Worlds, which is so hap-
pily begun, will be still farther improv'd, to their mutual
Advantage ; and to that End, I know nothing more advan-
tageous than such Essays as these with which I endeavour
to entertain the Public. In this View, I cannot but consider
myself as a Kind of Resident or Ambassador from the Do-
minions of Learning to those of Conversation ; and shall
think it my constant Duty to promote a good Correspon-
dence betwixt these two States, which have so great a De-
pendence on each other. I shall give Intelligence to the
Learned of whatever passes in Company, and shall endeavour
to import into Company whatever Commodities I find in my
native Country proper for their Use and Entertainment.
The Balance of Trade we need not be jealous of, nor wiil
OF ESSAY WRITING. 3G9
there be any Difficulty to preserve it on both Sides. The
Materials of this Commerce must chiefly be furnish'd by
Conversation and common Life : The manufacturing of them
alone belongs to Learning.
As 'twou'd be an unpardonable Negligence in an Ambas-
sador not to pay his Respects to the Sovereign of the State
where he is commission'd to reside; so it wou'd be alto-
gether inexcusable in me not to address myself, with a par-
ticular Respect, to the Fair Sex, who are the Sovereigns of
the Empire of Conversation. I approach them with Reve-
rence ; and were not my Countrymen, the Learned, a stubborn
independent Race of Mortals, extremely jealous of their
Liberty, and unaccustom'd to Subjection, I shou'd resign
into their fair Hands the sovereign Authority over the Re-
public of Letters. As the Case stands, my Commission
extends no farther, than to desire a League, offensive and
defensive, against our common Enemies, against the Enemies
of Reason and Beauty, People of dull Heads and cold Hearts.
From this Moment let us pursue them with the severest
Vengeance : Let no Quarter be given, but to those of sound
Understandings and delicate Affections ; and these Charac-
ters, 'tis to be presum'd, we shall always find inseparable.
To be serious, and to quit the Allusion before it be worn
thread-bare, I am of Opinion, that Women, that is. Women
of Sense and Education (for to such alone I address myself)
are much better Judges of all polite Writing than Men of
the same Degree of Understanding; and that 'tis a vain
Pannic, if they be so far terrify'd with the common Ridicule
that is levell'd against learned Ladies, as utterly to abandon
every Kind of Books and Study to our Sex. Let the Dread
of that Ridicule have no other Effect, than to make them
conceal their knowledge before Fools, who are not worthy of
it, nor of them. Such will still presume upon the vain Title
of the Male Sex to affect a Superiority above them : But my
fair Readers may be assur'd, that all Men of Sense, who
know the World, have a great Deference for their Judgment
of such Books as ly within the Compass of their Knowledge,
and repose more Confidence in the Delicacy of their Taste,
tho' un guided by Rules, than in all the dull Labours of
Pedants and Commentators. In a neighbouring Nation,
equally famous for good Taste, and for Gallantry, the Ladies
are, in a Manner, the Sovereigns of the learned World, as
VOL. IV. B B
370 ESSAYS WITHDRAWN.
ESSAY well as of the conversible ; and no polite Writer pretends to
; , venture upon the Public, without the Approbation of some
celebrated Judges of that Sex. Their Verdict is, indeed,
sometimes complain'd of ; and, in particular, I find, that the
Admirers of Corneille, to save that great Poet's Honour upon
the Ascendant that Racine began to take over him, always
said, That it was not to be expected, that so old a Man could
dispute the Prize, before such Judges, with so young a Man
as his Rival. But this Observation has been found unjust,
since Posterity seems to have ratify'd the Verdict of that
Tribunal : And Racine, tho' dead, is still the Favourite of the
Fair Sex, as well as of the best Judges among the Men.
There is only one Subject, on which I am apt to distrust
the Judgment of Females, and that is, concerning Books of
Gallantry and Devotion, which they commonly affect as high
flown as possible ; and most of them seem more delighted
with the Warmth, than with the justness of the Passion. I
mention Gallantry and Devotion as the same Subject, be-
cause, in Reality, they become the same when treated in this
Manner ; and we may observe, that they both depend upon
the very same Complexion. As the Fair Sex have a great
Share of the tender and amorous Disposition, it perverts
their Judgment on this Occasion, and makes them be easily
affected, even by what has no Propriety in the Expression
nor Nature in the Sentiment. Mr. Addison's elegant Dis-
courses of Religion have no Relish with them, in Comparison
of Books of mystic Devotion : And Otwaifs Tragedies are re-
jected for the Rants of Mr. Dryden.
Wou'd the Ladies correct their false Taste in this Parti-
cular ; Let them accustom themselves a little more to Books
of all Kinds : Let them give Encouragement to Men of
Sense and Knowledge to frequent their Company: And
finally, let them concur heartily in that Union I have pro-
jected betwixt the learned and conversible Worlds. They
may, perhaps, meet with more Complaisance from their usual
Followers than from Men of Learning; but they cannot
reasonably expect so sincere an Affection : And, I hope,
they will never be guilty of so wrong a Choice, as to sacrifice
the Substance to the Shadow.
OF MORAL PREJUDICES. 371
Essay II. Of Moral Prejudices.*
There is a Set of Men lately sprung up amongst us, who
endeavour to distinguish themselves by ridiculing every
Thing, that has hitherto appear'd sacred and venerable in
the Eyes of Mankind. Eeason, Sobriety, Honour, Friend-
ship, Marriage, are the perpetual Subjects of their insipid
Raillery : And even public Spirit, and a Regard to our
Country, are treated as chimerical and romantic. Were the
Schemes of these Anti-reformers to take Place, all the Bonds
of Society must be broke, to make Way for the Indulgence
of a licentious Mirth and Gaiety : The Companion of our
drunken Frollics must be prefer'd to a Friend or Brother :
Dissolute Prodigality must be supply'd at the Expence of
every Thing valuable, either in public or private : And Men
shall have so little Regard to any Thing beyond themselves,
that, at last, a free Constitution of Government must become
a Scheme perfectly impracticable among Mankind, and
must degenerate into one universal System of Fraud and
Corruption.
There is another Humour, which may be observed in
some Pretenders to Wisdom, and which, if not so pernicious
as the idle petulant Humour above-mention'd, must, how-
ever, have a very bad Effect on those, who indulge it. I
mean that grave philosophic Endeavour after Perfection,
which, under Pretext of reforming Prejudices and Errors,
strikes at all the most endearing Sentiments of the Heart,
and all the most useful Byasses and Instincts, which can
govern a human Creature. The Stoics were remarkable for
this Folly among the Antients ; and I wish some of more
venerable Characters in latter Times had not copy'd them
too faithfully in this Particular. The virtuous and tender
Sentiments, or Prejudices, if you will, have suffer'd mightily
by these Reflections ; while a certain sullen Pride or Con-
tempt of Mankind has prevail'd in their Stead, and has been
esteem'd the greatest Wisdom ; tho', in Reality, it be the
most egregious Folly of all others. Statilius being sollicited
by Brutus to make one of that noble Band, who struck the
GoD-like Stroke for the Liberty of Rome, refus'd to accom-
1 [This Essay appeared only in Edition C, 1742 : see ' History of the Editions,'
VoL in. p. 44. Ed.]
b b 2
372 ESSAYS WITHDRAWN.
pany them, saying, That all Men were Fools or Mad, and
did not deserve thata wise Man should trouble his Head about
them.
My learned Beader will here easily recollect the Reason,
which an antient Philosopher gave, why he wou'd not be
reconcil'd to his Brother, who sollicited his Friendship. He
was too much a Philosopher to think, that the Connexion of
having sprung from the same Parent, ought to have any
Influence on a reasonable Mind, and exprest his Sentiment
after such a Manner as I think not proper to repeat. When
your Friend is in Affliction, says Epictetus, you may counter-
feit a Sympathy with him, if it give him Relief; but take
Care not to allow any Compassion to sink into your Heart,
or disturb that Tranquillity, which is the Perfection of Wis-
dom. Diogenes being ask'd by his Friends in his Sickness,
What should be done with him after his Death? Why,
says he, throw me out into the Fields. ' What ! reply'd they,
to the Birds or Beasts ? ' No : Place a Cudgel by me, to
defend myself withal. ' To what Purpose, say they, you will
not have any Sense, nor any Power of making Use of it.'
Then if the Beasts shou'd devour me, cries he, shall I be any
more sensible of it? I know none of the Sayings of that
Philosopher, which shews more evidently both the Liveliness
and Ferocity of his Temper.
How different from these are the Maxims by which Eu-
genius conducts himself! In his Youth he apply'd himself,
with the most unwearied Labour, to the Study of Philo-
sophy ; and nothing was ever able to draw him from it,
except when an Opportunity offer'd of serving his Friends,
or doing a Pleasure to some Man of Merit. When he was
about thirty Years of Age, he was determin'd to quit the
free Life of a Batchelor (in which otherwise he wou'd have
been inclin'd to remain), by considering, that he was the
last Branch of an antient Family, which must have been
extinguish'd had he died without Children. He made Choice
of the virtuous and beautiful Emira for his Consort, who,
after being the Solace of his Life for many Years, and having
made him the Father of several Children, paid at last the
general Debt to Nature. Nothing cou'd have supported him
under so severe an Affliction, but the Consolation he receiv'd
from his young Family, who were now become dearer to him
on account of their deceast Mother. One Daughter in par-
OF MORAL PREJUDICES. 373
ticular is his Darling, and the secret Joy of his Soul ; because
her Features, her Air, her Voice recal every Moment the
tender Memory of his Spouse, and fill his Eyes with Tears.
He conceals this Partiality as much as possible ; and none
but his intimate Friends are acquainted with it. To them
he reveals all his Tenderness ; nor is he so affectedly philo-
sophical, as even to call it by the Name of Weakness. They
know, that he still keeps the Birth-day of Emira with Tears,
and a more fond and tender Recollection of past Pleasures ;
in like manner as it was celebrated in her Lifetime with Joy
and Festivity. They know, that he preserves her Picture
with the utmost Care, and has one Picture in Minature,
which he always wears next to his Bosom : That he has left
Orders in his last Will, that, in whatever Part of the World
he shall happen to die, his Body shall be transported, and
laid in the same Grave with her's : And that a Monument
shall be erected over them, and their mutual Love and
Happiness celebrated in an Epitaph, which he himself has
compos'd for that Purpose.
A few Years ago I receiv'd a Letter from a Friend, who
was abroad on his Travels, and shall here communicate it to
the Public. It contains such an Instance of a Philosophic
Spirit, as I think pretty extraordinary, and may serve as an
Example, not to depart too far from the receiv'd Maxims of
Conduct and Behaviour, by a refin'd Search after Happiness
or Perfection. The Story I have been since assur'd of as
Matter of Fact.
Paris, Aug. 2, 1 737.
Sir, I know you are more curious of Accounts of Men
than of Buildings, and are more desirous of being inform'd
of private History than of public Transactions ; for which
Reason, I thought the following Story, which is the common
Topic of Conversation in this City, wou'd be no unacceptable
Entertainment to you.
A young Lady of Birth and Fortune, being left intirely at
her own Disposal, persisted long in a Resolution of leading
a single Life, notwithstanding several advantageous Offers
that had been made to her. She had been detennin'd to
embrace this Resolution, by observing the many unhappy
Marriages among her Acquaintance, and by hearing the
Complaints, which her Female Friends made of the Tyranny,
374 ESSAYS WITHDRAWN.
ESSAY Inconstancy, Jealousy or Indifference of their Husbands.
** . Being a Woman of strong Spirit and an uncommon Way of
thinking, she found no Difficulty either in forming or main-
taining this Resolution, and cou'd not suspect herself of
such Weakness, as ever to be induc'd, by any Temptation,
to depart from it. She had, however, entertain'd a strong
Desire of having a Son, whose Education she was resolv'd to
make the principal Concern of her Life, and by that Means
supply the Place of those other Passions, which she was re-
solv'd for ever to renounce. She push'd her Philosophy to
such an uncommon Length, as to find no Contradiction be-
twixt such a Desire and her former Resolution ; and accord-
ingly look'd about, with great Deliberation, to find, among
all her Male-Acquaintance, one whose Character and Person
were agreeable to her, without being able to satisfy herself
on that Head. At Length, being in the Play-house one
Evening, she sees in the Parterre, a young Man of a most
engaging Countenance and modest Deportment ; and feels
such a Pre-possession in his Favour, that she had Hopes this
must be the Person she had long sought for in vain. She
immediately dispatches a Servant to him ; desiring his Com-
pany, at her Lodgings, next Morning. The young Man was
over-joy'd at the Message, and cou'd not command his Satis-
faction, upon receiving such an Advance from a Lady of so
great Beauty, Reputation and Quality. He was, therefore,
much disappointed, when he found a Woman, who wou'd
allow him no Freedoms ; and amidst all her obliging Be-
haviour, confin'd and over-aw'd him to the Bounds of
rational Discourse and Conversation. She seem'd, however,
willing to commence a Friendship with him ; and told him,
that his Company wou'd always be acceptable to her, when-
ever he had a leisure Hour to bestow. He needed not much
Entreaty to renew his Visits, being so struck with her Wit
and Beauty, that he must have been unhappy, had he been
debarr'd her Company. Every Conversation serv'd only the
more to inflame his Passion, and gave him more Occasion to
admire her Person and Understanding, as well as to rejoice
in his own Good-fortune. He was not, however, without
Anxiety, when he consider'd the Disproportion of their Birth
and Fortune ; nor was his Uneasiness allay'd even when he
reflected on the extraordinary Manner in which their Ac-
quaintance had commenc'd. Our Philosophical Heroine,
OF MORAL PREJUDICES. 375
in the mean Time, discover'd, that her Lover's personal essay
Qualities did not belye his Phisiognomy ; so that, judging . IIj
there was no Occasion for any farther Trial, she takes a
proper Opportunity of communicating to him her whole
Intention. Their Intercourse continu'd for some-time, till
at last her Wishes were crown'd, and she was now Mother
of a Boy, who was to be the Object of her future Care and
Concern. Gladly wou'd she have continu'd her Friendship
with the Father ; but finding him too passionate a Lover to
remain within the Bounds of Friendship, she was oblig'd to
put a Violence upon herself. She sends him a Letter, in
which she had inclos'd a Bond of Annuity for a Thousand
Crowns ; desiring him, at the same Time, never to see her
more, and to forget, if possible, all past Favours and Famili-
arities. He was Thunder-struck at receiving this Message ;
and, having tried, in vain, all the Arts that might win upon
the Eesolution of a Woman, resolv'd at last to attack her
by her Foible. He commences a Law-suit against her before
the Parliament of Paris ; and claims his Son, whom he pre-
tends a Eight to educate as he pleas'd, according to the
usual Maxims of the Law in such Cases. She pleads, on
the other Hand, their express Agreement before their Com-
merce, and pretends, that he had renounc'd all Claim to any
Offspring that might arise from their Embraces. It is not
yet known, how the Parliament will determine in this ex-
traordinary Case, which puzzles all the Lawyers, as much as
it does the Philosophers. As soon as they come to any
Issue, I shall inform you of it, and shall embrace any Oppor-
tunity of subscribing myself, as I do at present,
Sir,
Tour most humble Servant.
Essay III. Of the Middle Station of Life. 1
The Moral of the following Fable will easily discover itself,
without my explaining it. One Eivulet meeting another,
with whom he had been long united in strictest Amity, with
noisy Haughtiness and Disdain thus bespoke him, " What,
Brother ! Still in the same State ! Still low and creeping !
' [This Essiy appeared only in Edition C, 1742: see 'History of the Edi-
tions,' Vol. in. p. 44. Ed.]
370 ESSAYS WITHDRAWN.
ESSAY Are you not asham'd, when you behold me, who, tho' lately
/ .. in a like Condition with you, am now become a great River,
and shall shortly be able to rival the Danube or the Rhine,
provided those friendly Eains continue, which have favour'd
my Banks, but neglected yours." Very true, replies the
humble Rivulet : " You are now, indeed, swoln to a great
Size : But methinks you are become, withal, somewhat
turbulent and muddy. I am contented with my low Condi-
tion and my Purity."
Instead of commenting upon this Fable, I shall take Occa-
sion, from it, to compare the different Stations of Life, and
to perswade such of my Readers as are plac'd in the Middle
Station to be satisfy'd with it, as the most eligible of all
others. These form the most numerous Rank of Men, that
can be suppos'd susceptible of Philosophy ; and therefore, all
Discourses of Morality ought principally to be address'd to
them. The Great are too much immers'd in Pleasure ; and
the Poor too much occupy'd in providing for the Necessities
of Life, to hearken to the calm Voice of Reason. The Middle
Station, as it is most happy in many Respects, so particularly
in this, that a Man, plac'd in it, can, with the greatest
Leisure, consider his own Happiness, and reap a new Enjoy-
ment, from comparing his Situation with that of persons
above or below him.
Agur's prayer is sufficiently noted. Two Things have I
reguir'd of thee, deny me them not before I die, Remove far from
me Vanity and Lies ; Give me neither Poverty nor Riches, Feed
me with Food convenient for me : Lest I be full and deny thee,
and say, Who is the Lord ? Or lest I be poor, and steal, and
take the Name of my GOD in vain. The middle Station is
here justly recommended, as affording the fullest Security
for Virtue ; and I may also add, that it gives Opportunity for
the most ample Exercise of it, and furnishes Employment
for every good Quality which we can possibly be possest of.
Those, who are plac'd among the lower Ranks of Men, have
little Opportunity of exerting any other Virtue, besides
those of Patience, Resignation, Industry and Integrity.
Those, who are advanc'd into the higher Stations, have full
employment for their Generosity, Humanity, Affability and
Charity. When a Man lyes betwixt these two Extremes, he can
exert the former Virtues towards his Superiors, and the latter
towards his Inferiors. Every moral Quality, which the
OF THE MIDDLE STATION OF LIFE. 377
human Soul is susceptible of, may have its Turn, and be ESSAY
called up to Action : And a Man may, after this Manner, .
be much more certain of his Progress in Virtue, than where
his good Qualities lye dormant, and without Employment.
But there is another Virtue, that seems principally to lye
among Equals, and is, for that Eeason, chiefly calculated for
the middle Station of Life. This Virtue is Friendship. I
believe most Men of generous Tempers are apt to envy the
Great, when they consider the large Opportunities such
Persons have of doing Good to their Fellow- creatures, and of
acquiring the Friendship and Esteem of Men of Merit. They
make no Advances in vain, and are not oblig'd to associate
with those whom they have little Kindness for ; like People
of inferior Stations, who are subject to have their Proffers of
Friendship rejected, even where they wou'd be most fond
of placing their Affections. But tho' the Great have more
Facility in acquiring Friendships, they cannot be so certain
of the Sincerity of them, as Men of a lower Rank ; since the
Favours, they bestow, may acquire them Flattery, instead of
Good-will and Kindness. It has been very judiciously
remark'd, that we attach ourselves more by the Services we
perform than by those we receive, and that a Man is in
Danger of losiug his Friends by obliging them too far. I
shou'd, therefore, chuse to lye in the middle Way, and to
have my Commerce with my Friend varied both by Obliga-
tions given and receiv'd. I have too much Pride to be willing
that all the Obligations should ly on my Side ; and shou'd
be afraid, that, if they all lay on his, he wou'd also have too
much Pride to be entirely easy under them, or have a perfect
Complacency in my Company.
We may also remark of the middle Station of Life, that it
is more favourable to the acquiring of Wisdom and Ability,
as well as of Virtue, and that a man so situate has a better
Chance for attaining a Knowledge both of Men and Things,
than those of a more elevated Station. He enters, with more
Familiarity, into human Life : Every Thing appears in its
natural Colours before him : He has more Leisure to form
Observations; and has, beside, the Motive of Ambition to push
him on in his Attainments ; being certain, that he can never
rise to any Distinction or Eminence in the World, without his
own industry. And here I cannot forbear communicating
a Remark, which may appear somewhat extraordinary, viz.
878 ESSAYS WITHDRAWN.
ESSAY That 'tis wisely ordain'd by Providence, that the middle
m ' _. Station shou'd be the most favourable to the improving our
natural Abilities, since there is really more Capacity requisite
to perform the Duties of that Station, than is requisite
to act in the higher Spheres of Life. There are more natural
Parts, and a stronger Genius requisite to make a good Lawyer
or Physician, than to make a great Monarch. For let us
take any Eace or Succession of Kings, where Birth alone
gives a Title to the Crown : The English Kings, for Instance ;
who have not been esteemed the most shining in History.
From the Conquest to the Succession of his present Majesty,
we may reckon twenty eight Sovereigns, omitting those who
died Minors. Of these, eight are esteem'd Princes of great
Capacity, viz. the Conqueror, Harry II. Edward I. Edward III.
Harry V. and VII. Elisabeth, and the late King William.
Now, I believe every one will allow, that, in the common
Run of Mankind, there are not eight out of twenty-eight,
who are fitted, by Nature, to make a Figure either on the
Bench or at the Bar. Since Charles VII. ten Monarchs have
reign'd in France, omitting Francis II. Five of those have
been esteem'd Princes of Capacity, viz. Louis XI. XII. and
XIV. Francis I. and Harry IV. In short, the governing of
Mankind well, requires a great deal of Virtue, Justice, and
Humanity, but not a surprising Capacity. A certain Pope,
whose Name I have forgot, us'd to say, Let us divert ourselves,
my Friends, the World governs itself. There are, indeed, some
critical Times, such as those in which Harry IV. liv'd, that
call for the utmost Vigour ; and a less Courage and Capacity,
than what appear'd in that great Monarch, must have sunk
under the Weight. But such Circumstances are rare ; and
even then, Fortune does, at least, one Half of the Business.
Since the common Professions, such as Law or Physic,
require equal, if not superior Capacity, to what are exerted
in the higher Spheres of Life, 'tis evident, that the Soul
must be made of still a finer Mold, to shine in Philosophy or
Poetry, or in any of the higher Parts of Learning. Courage
and Resolution are chiefly requisite in a Commander : Jus-
tice and Humanity in a Statesman : But Genius and Capacity
in a Scholar. Great Generals and great Politicians, are
found in all Ages and Countries of the World, and frequently
start up, at once, even amongst the greatest Barbarians.
Sweden was sunk in Ignorance, when it produc'd Gustavus
OF THE MIDDLE STATION OF LIFE. 379
Ericson,, and Gustavus Adolphus : Muscovy, when the Czar ESSAY
appear'd: and, perhaps, Carthage, when it gave Birth to ^.i^J^.
Hannibal. But England must pass thro' a long Gradation
of its Spencers, Johnsons, Wallers, Drydens, before it arrive at
an Addison or a Pope. A happy Talent for the liberal Arts
and Sciences, is a Kind of Prodigy among Men. Nature
must afford the richest Genius that comes from her hands ;
Education and Example must cultivate it from the earliest
Infancy ; And Industry must concur to carry it to any
Degree of Perfection. No Man needs be surprised to see
Kouli-Kan among the Persians : but Homer, in so early an
Age, among the Greeks, is certainly Matter of the highest
Wonder.
A man cannot show a Genius for War, who is not so
fortunate as to be trusted with Command ; and it seldom
happens, in any State or Kingdom, that several, at once, are
plac'd in that Situation. How many Marlboroughs were
there in the confederate Army, who never rose so much as to
the Command of a Regiment ? But I am perswaded there
has been but one Milton in England within these hundred
Years ; because every one may exert the Talents for Poetry
who is possest of them ; and no one cou'd exert them under
greater Disadvantages than that divine Poet. If no Man were
allow'd to write Verses, but who was, before-hand, named to
be laureat, cou'd we expect a Poet in ten thousand Years ?
Were we to distinguish the Ranks of Men by their Genius
and Capacity more than by their Virtue and Usefulness to
the Public, great Philosophers wou'd certainly challenge the
first Rank, and must be plac'd at the Top of human Kind.
So rare is this Character, that, perhaps, there has not, as yet,
been above two in the World, who can lay a just Claim to it.
At least, Galilwo and Newton seem to me so far to excel all
the rest, that I cannot admit any other into the same Class
with them.
Great Poets may challenge the second Place ; and this
Species of Genius, tho' rare, is yet much more frequent than
the former. Of the Greek Poets that remain, Homer alone
seems to merit this Character : Of the Romans, Virgil, Horace
and Lucretius : Of the English, Milton and Pope : Comeille,
Racine, Boileau and Voltaire of the French : And Tasso and
Ariosto of the Italians.
Great Orators and Historians are, perhaps, more rare than
380 ESSAYS WITHDRAWN.
ESSAY great Poets : But as the Opportunities for exerting the
. Talents requisite for. Eloquence, or acquiring the Knowledge
requisite for writing History, depend, in some Measure, upon
Fortune, we cannot pronounce these Productions of Genius to
be more extraordinary than the former.
I should now return from this Digression, and show, that
the middle Station of Life is more favourable to Happiness, as
well as to Virtue and Wisdom : But as the Arguments, that
prove this, seem pretty obvious, I shall here forbear insisting
on them.
Essay rV. 1 Of Impudence and Modesty.
I am of opinion, That the common complaints against Pro-
vidence are ill- grounded, and that the good or bad qualities
of men are the causes of their good or bad fortune, more
than what is generally imagined. There are, no doubt,
instances to the contrary, and these too pretty numerous ;
but few, in comparison of the instances we have of a right
distribution of prosperity and adversity: nor indeed could
it be otherwise from the common course of human affairs.
To be endowed with a benevolent disposition, and to love
others, will almost infallibly procure love and esteem ; which
is the chief circumstance in life, and facilitates every enter-
prize and undertaking ; besides the satisfaction, which im-
mediately results from it. The case is much the same with
the other virtues. Prosperity is naturally, though not neces-
sarily, attached to virtue and merit ; and adversity, in like
manner, to vice and folly.
I must, however confess, that this rule admits of an ex-
ception, with regard to one moral quality ; and that modesty
has a natural tendency to conceal a man's talents, as impu-
dence displays them to the utmost, and has been the only
cause why many have risen in the world, under all the dis-
advantages of low birth and little merit. Such indolence
and incapacity is there in the generality of mankind, that
they are apt to receive a man for whatever he has a mind to
put himself off for ; and admit his overbearing airs as proofs
of that merit which he assumes to himself. A decent assur-
ance seems to be the natural attendant of virtue ; and few
1 [This Essay appeared in Editions A to N, 1741-60. See 'History of the
Editions,' Vol. in., p. 44. Ed.]
OF IMPUDENCE AND MODESTY. 381
men can distinguish impudence from it : As, on the other ESSAY
hand, diffidence, being the natural result of vice and folly, . ' _.
has drawn disgrace upon modesty, which in outward ap
pearance so nearly resembles it. 1
As impudence, though really a vice, has the same effects
upon a man's fortune, as if it were a virtue ; so we may ob-
serve, that it is almost as difficult to be attained, and is, in
that respect, distinguished from all the other vices, which are
acquired with little pains, and continually encrease upon
indulgence. Many a man, being sensible that modesty is
extremely prejudicial to him in making his fortune, has
resolved to be impudent, and to put a bold face upon the
matter ; But, it is observable, that such people have seldom
succeeded in the attempt, but have been obliged to relapse
into their primitive modesty. Nothing carries a man through
the world like a true genuine natural impudence. Its
counterfeit is good for nothing, nor can ever support itself.
In any other attempt, whatever faults a man commits and is
sensible of, he is so much the nearer his end. But when he
endeavours at impudence, if he ever failed in the attempt,
the remembrance of that failure will make him blush, and
will infallibly disconcert him : After which every blush is a
cause for new blushes, till he be found out to be an arrant
cheat, and a vain pretender to impudence.
If any thing can give a modest man more assurance, it
must be some advantages of fortune, which chance procures
to him. Eiches naturally gain a man a favourable reception
in the world, and give merit a double lustre, when a person
is endowed with it ; and supply its place, in a great measure,
when it is absent. It is wonderful to observe what airs of
superiority fools and knaves, with large possessions, give
themselves above men of the greatest merit in poverty. Nor
do the men of merit make any strong opposition to these
usurpation 8 ; or rather seem to favour them by the modesty
of their behaviour. Their good sense and experience make
them diffident of their judgment, and cause them to examine
every thing with the greatest accuracy : As, on the othet
> [Editions A and B, 1741-2, insert Coxcombs should rise up to a Figure in
the following paragraph : I was lately the World : Upon which he said there
lamenting to a Friend of mine, who was nothing surprising in the Case,
loves a Conceit, That popular Applause Popular Fame, says he, w nothinq but
should be bestowed with so little Judg- Breath or Air; and Air very naturally
ment, and that so many empty forward presses into a Vacuum.']
382 ESSAYS WITHDRAWN.
ESSAY hand, the delicacy of their sentiments makes them timorous
J ' . lest they commit faults, and lose in the practice of the world
that integrity of virtue, so to speak, of which they are so
jealous. To make wisdom agree with confidence, is as dim-
cult as to reconcile vice and modesty.
These are the reflections which have occurred upon this
subject of impudence and modesty : and I hope the reader
will not be displeased to see them wrought into the following
allegory.
Jupiter, in the beginning, joined Virtue, Wisdom, and
Confidence together; and Vice, Tolly, and Diffidence:
And thus connected, sent them into the world. But though
he thought he had matched them with great judgment, and
said that Confidence was the natural companion of Virtue,
and that Vice deserved to be attended with Diffidence, they
had not gone far before dissension arose among them.
Wisdom, who was the guide of the one company, was always
accustomed before she ventured upon any road, however
beaten, to examine it carefully ; to enquire whither it led ;
what dangers, difficulties and hindrances might possibly or
probably occur in it. In these deliberations she usually con-
sumed some time ; which delay was very displeasing to Con-
fidence, who was always inclined to hurry on, without much
forethought or deliberation, in the first road he met. Wisdom
and Virtue were inseparable : But Confidence one day, follow-
ing his impetuous nature, advanced a considerable way before
his guides and companions ; and not feeling any want of
their company, he never enquired after them, nor ever met
with them more. In like manner, the other society, though
joined by Jupiter, disagreed and separated. As Folly
saw very little way before her, she had nothing to determine
concerning the goodness of roads, nor could give the
preference to one above another ; and this want of resolution
was encreased by Diffidence, who, with her doubts and scruples,
always retarded the journey. This was a great annoyance
to Vice, who loved not to hear of difficulties and delays, and
was never satisfied without his full career, in whatever his
inclinations led him to. Folly, he knew, though she hark-
ened to Diffidence, would be easily managed when alone;
and therefore, as a vicious horse throws his rider, he openly
beat away his controller of all his pleasures, and proceeded
in his journey with Folly, from whom he is inseparable.
OF IMPUDENCE AND MODESTY. 883
Confidence and Diffidence being, after this manner, both thrown ESSAY
loose from their respective companies, wandered for some ... ;' j
time ; till at last chance led them at the same time to one
village. Confidence went directly up to the great house, which
belonged to Wealth, the lord of the village ; and without
staj ing for a porter, intruded himself immediately into the in-
nermost apartments, where he found Vice and Folly well re-
ceived before him. He joined the train ; recommended himself
very quickly to his landlord ; and entered into such familiar-
ity with Vice, that he was enlisted in the same company
with Folly. They were frequent guests of Wealth, and from
that moment inseparable. Diffidence, in the mean time, not
daring to approach the great house, accepted of an invita-
tion from Poveety, one of the tenants ; and entering the
cottage, found Wisdom and Virtue, who being repulsed by
the landlord, had retired thither. Virtue took compassion of
her, and Wisdom found, from her temper, that she would
easily improve : So they admitted her into their society.
Accordingly, by their means, she altered in a little time
somewhat of her manner, and becoming much more amiable
and engaging, was now known by the name of Modesty. As
ill company has a greater effect than good, Confidence, though
more refractory to counsel and example, degenerated so far
by the society of Vice and Folly, as to pass by the name of
Impudence. Mankind, who saw these societies as Jupiter
first joined them, and know nothing of these mutual deser-
tions, are thereby led into strange mistakes ; and wherever
they see Impudence, make account of finding Virtue and
Wisdom ; and wherever they observe Modesty, call her at-
tendants Vice and Folly.
Essay V. 1 Of Love and Marriage.
I know not whence it proceeds, that women are so apt to
take amiss every thing which is said in disparagement of the
married state ; and always consider a satyr upon matrimony
as a satyr upon themselves. Do they mean, that they are
the parties principally concerned, and that if a backward-
ness to enter into that state should prevail in the world, they
would be the greatest sufferers ? Or, are they sensible, that
1 [This Essay appeared in Editions A to N, 1741-60. See 'History of the
Edition!,' Vol. in., p. 44. Ed.]
384 ESSAYS WITHDRAWN.
ESSAY misfortunes and miscarriages of the married state are owing
, ,' more to their sex than to ours ? I hope they do not intend
to confess either of these two particulars, or to give such an
advantage to their adversaries, the men, as even to allow
them to suspect it.
I have often had thoughts of complying with this humour
of the fair sex, and of writing a panegyric upon marriage :
But, in looking around for materials, they seemed to be of so
mixed a nature, that at the conclusion of my reflections, I
found that I was as much disposed to write a satyr, which
might be placed on the opposite pages of the panegyric :
And I am afraid, that as satyr is, on most occasions, thought
to contain more truth than panegyric, I should have done
their cause more harm than good by this expedient. To
misrepresent facts is what, I know, they will not require of
me. I must be more a friend to truth, than even to them,
where their interests are opposite.
I shall tell the women what it is our sex complains of most
in the married state ; and if they be disposed to satisfy us in
this particular, all the other differences will easily be accom-
modated. If I be not mistaken, 'tis their love of dominion,
which is the ground of the quarrel ; tho* 'tis very likely, that
they will think it an unreasonable love of it in us, which
makes us insist so much upon that point. However this may
be, no passion seems to have more influence on female minds,
than this for power; and there is a remarkable instance in
history of its prevailing above another passion, which is the
only one that can be supposed a proper counterpoise for it.
We are told, that all the women in Scythia once conspired
against the men, and kept the secret so well, that they
executed their design before they were suspected. They
surprised the men in drink, or asleep ; bound them all fast in
chains ; and having called a solemn council of the whole sex,
it was debated what expedient should be used to improve the
present advantage, and prevent their falling again into slavery.
To kill all the men did not seem to be the relish of any part of
the assembly, notwithstanding the injuries formerly received ;
and they were afterwards pleased to make a great merit of
this lenity of theirs. It was, therefore, agreed to put out the
eyes of the whole male sex, and thereby resign in all future
time the vanity which they could draw from their beauty, in
order to secure their authority. We must no longer pretend
OF LOVE AND MARRIAGE. 38C
to dress and show, said they ; but then we shall be free from essay
slavery. We shall hear no more tender sighs ; but in return ' ,
we shall hear no more imperious commands. Love must for
ever leave us ; but he will carry subjection along with him.
'Tis regarded by some as an unlucky circumstance, since
the women were resolved to maim the men, and deprive them
erf some of their senses, in order to render them humble and
dependent, that the sense of hearing could not serve their
purpose, since 'tis probable the females would rather have
attacked that than the sight : And I think it is agreed among
the learned, that, in a married state, 'tis not near so great an
inconvenience to lose the former sense as the latter. However
this may be, we are told by modern anecdotes, that some of
the Scythian women did secretly spare their husbands' eyes ;
presuming, I suppose, that they could govern them as well by
means of that sense as without it. But so incorrigible and
untractable were these men, that their wives were all obliged,
in a few years, as their youth and beauty decayed, to imitate
the example of their sisters ; which it was no difficult matter
to do in a state where the female sex had once got the
superiority.
I know not if our Scottish ladies derive any thing of this
humour from their Scythian ancestors ; but, I must confess
that I have often been surprized to see a woman very well
pleased to take a fool for her mate, that she might govern
with the less controul ; and could not but think her senti-
ments, in this respect, still more barbarous than those of the
Scythian women above-mentioned ; as much as the eyes of
the understanding are more valuable than those of the body.
But to be just, and to lay the blame more equally, I am
afraid it is the fault of our sex, if the women be so fond ot
rule, and that if we did not abuse our authority, they would
never think it worth while to dispute it. Tyrants, we know,
produce rebels ; and all history informs us, that rebels, when
they prevail, are apt to become tyrants in their turn. For
this reason, I could wish there were no pretensions to autho-
rity on either side ; but that every thing was carried on with
perfect equality, as between two equal members of the same
body. And to induce both parties to embrace those amicable
sentiments, I shall deliver to them Plato's account of the
origin of love and marriage.
Mankind, according to that fanciful philosopher, were not,
vol. iv. c c
386 ESSAYS WITHDRAWN.
ESSAY in their original, divided into male and female, as at present ;
' . but each individual person was a compound of both sexes,
and was in himself both husband and wife, melted down into
one living creature. This union, no doubt, was very intire,
and the parts very well adjusted together, since there resulted
a perfect harmony betwixt the male and female, altho' they
were obliged to be inseparable companions. And so great
were the harmony and happiness flowing from it, that the
Androgynes (for so Plato calls them) or men-women, became
insolent upon their prosperity, and rebelled against the Gods.
To punish them for this temerity, Jupiter could contrive no
better expedient, than to divorce the male-part from the
female, and make two imperfect beings of the compound,
which was before so perfect. Hence the origin of men and
women, as distinct creatures. But notwithstanding this divi-
sion, so lively is our remembrance of the happiness which we
enjoyed in our primaeval state, that we are never at rest in
this situation ; but each of these halves is continually search-
ing thro' the whole species to find the other half, which was
broken from it : And when they meet, they join again with
the greatest fondness and sympathy. But it often happens,
that they are mistaken in this particular ; that they take for
their half what no way corresponds to them ; and that the
parts do not meet nor join in with each other, as is usual in
fractures. In this case the union was soon dissolved, and
each part is set loose again to hunt for its lost half, joining
itself to every one whom it meets, by way of trial, and enjoy-
ing no rest till its perfect sympathy with its partner shews
that it has at last been successful in its endeavours.
Were I disposed to carry on this fiction of Plato, whicl
accounts for the mutual love betwixt the sexes in so agreeable
a manner, I would do it by the following allegory.
When Jupiter had separated the male from the female,
and had quelled their pride and ambition by so severe an
operation, he could not but repent him of the cruelty of his
vengeance, and take compassion on poor mortals, who were
now become incapable of any repose or tranquillity. Such
cravings, such anxieties, such necessities arose, as made them
curse their creation, and think existence itself a punishment.
In vain had they recourse to every other occupation and amuse-
ment. In vain did they seek after every pleasure of sense,
and every refinement of reason. Nothing could fill that void,
OF LOVE AND MARRIAGE. 387
which they felt in their hearts, or supply the* loss of their ESSAY
partner, who was so fatally separated from them. To remedy . ' __ ,
this disorder, and to bestow some comfort, at least, on the
human race in their forlorn situation, Jupiter sent down
Love and Hymen, to collect the broken halves of human
kind, and piece them together in the best manner possible.
These two deities found such a prompt disposition in man-
kind to unite again in their primaeval state, that they pro-
ceeded on their work with wonderful success for some time ;
till at last, from many unlucky accidents, dissension arose
betwixt them. The chief counsellor and favourite of Hymen
was Care, who was continually filling his patron's head with
prospects of futurity ; a settlement, family, children, servants ;
so that little else was regarded in all the matches they made.
On the other hand, Love had chosen Pleasure for his favourite,
who was as pernicious a counsellor as the other, and would never
allow Love to look beyond the present momentary gratifica-
tion, or the satisfying of the prevailing inclination. These
two favourites became, in a little time, irreconcileable enemies,
and made it their chief business to undermine each other in
all their undertakings. No sooner had Love fixed upon two
halves, which he was cementing together, and forming to a
close union, but Care insinuates himself, and bringing Hymen
along with him, dissolves the union produced by love, and
joins each half to some other half, which he had provided for
it. To be revenged of this, Pleasure creeps in upon a pair
already joined by Hymen ; and calling Love to his assistance,
they under hand contrive to join each half by secret links, to
halves, which Hymen was wholly unacquainted with. It
was not long before this quarrel was felt in its pernicious
consequences ; and such complaints arose before the throne
of Jupiter, that he was obliged to summon the offending
parties to appear before him, in order to give an account of
their proceedings. After hearing the pleadings on both sides,
he ordered an immediate reconcilement betwixt Love and
Hymen, as the only expedient for giving happiness to man-
kind : And that he might be sure this reconcilement should
be durable, he laid his strict injunctions on them never to
join any halves without consulting their favourites Care and
Pleasure, and obtaining the consent of both to the conjunction.
Where this order is strictly observed, the Androgyne is per-
fectly restored, and the human race enjoy the same happiness
c c 2
388 ESSAYS WITHDRAWN.
ESSAY as in their primaeval state. The seam is scarce perceived that
_ . _. joins the two beings ; but both of them combine to form one
perfect and happy creature.
Essay VI. 1 Of the Study of History.
There is nothing which I would recommend more earnestly
to my female readers than the study of history, as an occu-
pation, of all others, the best suited both to their sex and
education, much more instructive than their ordinary books of
amusement, and more entertaining than those serious com-
positions, which are usually to be found in their closets.
Among other important truths, which they may learn from
history, they may be informed of two particulars, the know-
ledge of which may contribute very much to their quiet and
repose ; That our sex, as well as theirs, are far from being such
perfect creatures as they are apt to imagine, and, That Love is
not the only passion, which governs the male-world, but is
often overcome by avarice, ambition, vanity, and a thousand
other passions. Whether they be the false representa-
tions of mankind in those two particulars, which endear
romances and novels so much to the fair sex, I know not ;
but must confess that I am sorry to see them have such an
aversion to matter of fact, and such an appetite for falshood.
I remember I was once desired by a young beauty, for whom
I had some passion, to send her some novels and romances
for her amusement in the country ; but was not so ungenerous
as to take the advantage, which such a course of reading might
have given me, being resolved not to make use of poisoned
arms against her. I therefore sent her Plutarch's Lives,
assuring her, at the same time, that there was not a word of
truth in them from beginning to end. She perused them
very attentively, 'till she came to the lives of Alexander and
Cesar, whose names she had heard of by accident ; and then
returned me the book, with, many reproaches for deceiving her.
I may indeed be told that the fair sex have no such aver-
sion to history, as I have represented, provided it be secret
history, and contain some memorable transaction proper to
excite their curiosity. But as I do not find that truth, which
1 [This Essay appeared in Editions A to N, 1741-60. See 'History of the
Editions,' Vol. in. p. 44. Ed.]
OF THE STUDY OF HISTORY. 389
is the basis of history, is at all regarded in those anecdotes, ESSAY
I cannot admit of this as a proof of their passion for that . / .
study. However this may be, I see not why the same curios-
ity might not receive a more proper direction, and lead them
to desire accounts of those who lived in past ages, as well as
of their cotemporaries. What is it to Cleoea, whether
Fulvia entertains a secret commerce of Love with Philander
or not ? Has she not equal reason to be pleased, when she
is informed (what is whispered about among historians) that
Cato's sister had an intrigue with CLesar, and palmed her
son, Marcus Brutus, upon her husband for his own, tho'
in reality he was her gallant's ? And are not the loves of
Messalina or Julia as proper subjects of discourse as any
intrigue that this city has produced of late years ?
But I know not whence it comes, that I have been thus
seduced into a kind of raillery against the ladies : Unless,
perhaps, it proceed from the same cause, which makes the
person, who is the favourite of the company, be often the
object of their good-natured jests and pleasantries. We are
pleased to address ourselves after any manner, to one who is
agreeable to us ; and, at the same time, presume that nothing
will be taken amiss by a person, who is secure of the good
opinion and affections of every one present. I shall now pro-
ceed to handle my subject more seriously, and shall point out
the many advantages which flow from the study of history,
and show how well suited it is to every one, but particularly
to those who are debarred the severer studies, by the tender-
ness of their complexion, and the weakness of their education.
The advantages found in history seem to be of three kinds,
as it amuses the fancy, as it improves the understanding, and
as it strengthens virtue.
In reality, what more agreeable entertainment to the mind,
than to be transported into the remotest ages of the world,
and to observe human society, in its infancy, making the first
faint essays towards the arts and sciences : To see the policy
of government, and the civility of conversation refining by
degrees, and every thing which is ornamental to human life
advancing towards its perfection. To remark the rise, pro-
gress, declension, and final extinction of the most flourishing
empires : The virtues, which contributed to their greatness,
and the vices, which drew on their ruin. In short, to see all
human race, from the beginning of time, pass, as it were, in
390 ESSAYS WITHDRAWN.
ESSAY review before us ; appearing in their true colours, without
._ t _^ any of those disguises, which, during their life-time, so much
perplexed the judgment of the beholders. What spectacle
can be imagined, so magnificent, so various, so interesting ?
What amusement, either of the senses or imagination, can
be compared with it 9 Shall those trifling pastimes, which
engross so much of our time, be preferred as more satisfac-
tory, and more fit to engage our attention ? How perverse
must that taste be, which is capable of so wrong a choice of
pleasures ?
But history is a most improving part of knowledge, as well
as an agreeable amusement ; and a great part of what we
commonly call Erudition, and value so highly, is nothing but
an acquaintance with historical facts. An extensive know-
ledge of this kind belongs to men of letters ; but I must think
it an unpardonable ignorance in persons of whatever sex or
condition, not to be acquainted with the history of their own
country, together with the histories of ancient Geeece and
Rome. A woman may behave herself with good manners,
and have even some vivacity in her turn of wit ; but where
her mind is so unfurnished, 'tis impossible her conversation
can afford any entertainment to men of sense and reflection.
I must add, that history is not only a valuable part of
knowledge, but opens the door to many other parts, and
affords materials to most of the sciences. And indeed, if we
consider the shortness of human life, and our limited know-
ledge, even of what passes in our own time, we must be sen-
sible that we should be for ever children in understanding,
were it not for this invention, which extends our experience
to all past ages, and to the most distant nations ; making
them contribute as much to our improvement in wisdom, as
if they had actually lain under our observation. A man ac-
quainted with history may, in some respect, be said to have
lived from the beginning of the world, and to have been
making continual additions to his stock of knowledge in every
century.
There is also an advantage in that experience which is
acquired by history, above what is learned by the practice of
the world, that it brings us acquainted with human affairs,
without diminishing in the least from the most delicate sen-
timents of virtue. And, to tell the truth, I know not any
study or occupation so unexceptionable as history in this
OF THE STUDY OF HISTORY. SSI
particular. Poets can paint virtue in the most charming ESSAY
colours ; but, as they address themselves entirely to the pas- . V f' _
sions, they often become advocates for vice. Even philoso-
phers are apt to bewilder themselves in the subtility of their
speculations ; and we have seen some go as far as to deny
the reality of all moral distinctions. But I think it a remark
worthy the attention of the speculative, that the historians
have been, almost without exception, the true friends of virtue,
and have always represented it in its proper colours, however
they may have erred in their judgments of particular per-
sons. Machiavel himself discovers a true sentiment of
virtue in his history of Floeence. When he talks as a
Politician, in his general reasonings, he considers poisoning,
assassination and perjury, as lawful arts of power; but when
he speaks as an Historian, in his particular narrations, he
shows so keen an indignation against vice, and so warm an
approbation of virtue, in many passages, that I could not
forbear applying to him that remark of Hoeace, That if you
chace away nature, tho' with ever so great indignity, she will
always return upon you. Nor is this combination of historians
in favour of virtue at all difficult to be accounted for. When
a man of business enters into life and action, he is more apt
to consider the characters of men, as they have relation to
his interest, than as they stand in themselves ; and has his
judgment warped on every occasion by the violence of his
passion. When a philosopher contemplates characters and
manners in his closet, the general abstract view of the objects
leaves the mind so cold and unmoved, that the sentiments of
nature have no room to play, and he scarce feels the differ-
ence between vice and virtue. History keeps in a just medium
betwixt these extremes, and places the objects in their true
point of view. The writers of history, as well as the readers,
are sufficiently interested in the characters and events, to
have a lively sentiment of blame or praise ; and, at the same
time, have no particular interest or concern to pervert their
judgment.
Veres voces turn demum pwtore ab imo
Eliciuntur. Ldcrkt. 1
1 [Lucret iii. 57. The reference was added in Edition K.]
892 ESSAYS WITHDRAWN
Essay VII
Of Avarice. 1
ESSAY "j IS eag y fa observe, that comic writers exaggerate every
. character, and draw their fop, or coward with stronger
features than are any where to be met with in nature. This
moral kind of painting for the stage has been often compared
to the painting for cupolas and ceilings, where the colours
are over- charged, and every part is drawn excessively large,
and beyond nature. The figures seem monstrous and dis-
proportioned, when seen too nigh ; but become natural and
regular, when seen at a distance, and placed in that point of
view, in which they are intended to be surveyed. For a like
reason, when characters are exhibited in theatrical repre-
sentations, the want of reality removes, in a manner, the
personages ; and rendering them more cold and unentertain-
ing, makes it necessary to compensate, by the force of
colouring, what they want in substance. Thus we find in
common life, that when a man once allows himself to depart
from truth in his narrations, he never can keep within the
bounds of probability ; but adds still some new circumstance
to render his stories more marvellous, and to satisfy his
imagination. Two men in buckram suits became eleven to
Sir John Falstaff before the end of the story.
There is only one vice, which may be found in life with as
strong features, and as high a colouring as needs be em-
ployed by any satyrist or comic poet ; and that is Avakice.
Every day we meet with men of immense fortunes, without
heirs, and on the very brink of the grave, who refuse them-
selves the most common necessaries of life, and go on heaping
possessions on possessions, under all the real pressures of
the severest poverty. An old usurer, says the story, lying
in his last agonies, was presented by the priest with the
crucifix to worship. He opens his eyes a moment before he
expires, considers the crucifix, and cries, These jewels are not
true; I can only lend ten pistoles upon such a pledge. This
was probably the invention of some epigrammatist ; and yet
every one, from his own experience, may be able to recollect
1 (This Essay appeared in Editions A to P, 1741-68: see 'History of the
Edition*' Vol. in. p. 44. Ed.]
OF AVAEICE. 393
almost as strong instances of perseverance in avarice. 'Tis ESSAY
commonly reported of a famous miser in this city, that finding . , [ _.
himself near death, he sent for some of the magistrates, and
gave them a bill of an hundred pounds, payable after his
decease; which sum he intended should be disposed of in
charitable uses ; but scarce were they gone, when he orders
them to be called back, and offers them ready money, if they
would abate five pounds of the sum. Another noted miser
in the north, intending to defraud his heirs, and leave his
fortune to the building of an hospital, protracted the drawing
of his will from day to day ; and 'tis thought, that if those
interested in it had not paid for the drawing it, he had died
intestate. In short, none of the most furious excesses of
love and ambition are in any respect to be compared to the
extremes of avarice.
The best excuse that can be made for avarice is, that it
generally prevails in old men, or in men of cold tempers,
where all the other affections are extinct; and the mind
being incapable of remaining without some passion or pur-
suit, at last finds out this monstrously absurd one, which
suits the coldness and inactivity of its temper. At the same
time, it seems very extraordinary, that so frosty, spiritless a
passion should be able to carry us farther than all the
warmth of youth and pleasure : but if we look more narrowly
into the matter, we shall find, that this very circumstance
renders the explication of the case more easy. When the
temper is warm and full of vigour, it naturally shoots out
more ways than one, and produces inferior passions to
counter-balance, in some degree, its predominant inclination.
'Tis impossible for a person of that temper, however bent on
any pursuit, to be deprived of all sense of shame, or all
regard to the sentiments of mankind. His friends must
have some influence over him : And other considerations are
apt to have their weight. All this serves to restrain him
within some bounds. But 'tis no wonder that the avaritious
man, being, from the coldness of his temper, without regard
to reputation, to friendship, or to pleasure, should be carried
so far by his prevailing inclination, and should display his
passion in such surprising instances.
Accordingly we find no vice so irreclaimable as avarice :
And though there scarcely has been a moralist or philo-
sopher, from the beginning of the world to this day, who
VII
394 ESSAYS WITHDRAWN.
ESSAY has not levelled a stroke at it, we hardly find a single
instance of any person's being cured of it. For this reason,
I am more apt to approve of those, who attack it with wit
and humour, than of those who treat it in a serious manner.
There being so little hopes of doing good to the people
infected with this vice, I would have the rest of mankind,
at least, diverted by our manner of exposing it : As indeed
there is no kind of diversion, of which they seem so willing
to partake.
Among the fables of Monsieur de la Motte, there is one
levelled against avarice, which seems to me more natural
and easy, than most of the fables of that ingenious author.
A miser, says he, being dead, and fairly interred, came to
the banks of the Styx, desiring to be ferried over along with
the other ghosts. Charon demands his fare, and is sur-
prized to see the miser, rather than pay it, throw himself
into the river, and swim over to the other side, notwith-
standing all the clamour and opposition that could be made
to him. All hell was in an uproar ; and each of the judges
was meditating some punishment, suitable to a crime of such
dangerous consequence to the infernal revenues. Shall he
be chained to the rock with Prometheus? Or tremble
below the precipice in company with the Dan aides 9 Or
assist Sisyphus in rolling his stone ? No, says Minos, none
of these. We must invent some severer punishment. Let
him be sent back to the earth, to see the use his heirs are
making of his riches.
I hope it will not be interpreted as a design of setting
myself in opposition to this celebrated author, if I proceed
to deliver a fable of my own, which is intended to expose the
same vice of avarice. The hint of it was taken from these
lines of Mr. Pope.
Damrid to the mines, an equal fate betides
The slave that digs it, and the slave that hides.
Our old mother Earth once lodged an indictment against
Avarice before the courts of heaven, for her wicked and
malicious council and advice, in tempting, inducing, per-
suading, and traiterously seducing the children of the
plaintiff to commit the detestable crime of parricide upon
her, and, mangling her body, ransack her very bowels for
hidden treasure. The indictment was very long and verbose;
OF AVARICE. 895
but we must omit a great part of the repetitions and synony- ESSAY
mous terms, not to tire our readers too much with our tale. . _ * _
Avaeice, being called before Jupiter to answer to this
charge, had not much to say in her own defence. The injus-
tice was clearly proved upon her. The fact, indeed, was
notorious, and the injury had been frequently repeated.
When therefore the plaintiff demanded justice, Jupiter
very readily gave sentence in her favour; and his decree
was to this purpose, That since dame Avarice, the defendant,
had thus grievously injured dame Earth, the plaintiff, she
was hereby ordered to take that treasure, of which she had
feloniously robbed the said plaintiff, by ransacking her
bosom, and in the same manner, as before, opening her
bosom, restore it back to her, without diminution or reten-
tion. From this sentence, it shall follow, says Jupiter to
the by-standers, That, in all future ages, the retainers of
Avarice shall bury and conceal their riches, and thereby
restore to the earth what they took from her.
Essay VIII. A Character of Sir Robert Walpole. 1
There never was a man, whose actions and character have
been more earnestly and openly canvassed, than those of the
present minister, who, having governed a learned and free
nation for so long a time, amidst such mighty opposition,
may make a large library of what has been wrote for and
against him, and is the subject of above half the paper that
has been blotted in the nation within these twenty years.
I wish for the honour of our country, that any one character
of him had been drawn with such judgment and impartiality,
as to have credit with posterity, and to shew, that our liberty
has, once at least, been employed to good purpose. I am
only afraid, of failing in the former quality of judgment :
But if it should be so, 'tis but one page more thrown away,
after an hundred thousand, upon the same subject, that have
perished, and become useless. In the mean time, I shall
natter myself with the pleasing imagination, that the fol-
lowing character will be adopted by future historians.
1 [This Essay first appeared in Edi- be reduced to a Science ' : in Edition Q
tion C, 1742; in Editions Dto P, 1748- 1770. it was dropt See 'History of
68, it was printed in a foot-note at the the Editions,' Vol. in. p. 46. Ed.]
end of the Essay, ' That Politics may
396 ESSAYS WITHDRAWN.
essay Sir ROBERT WALPOLE, prime minister of Great
. '_- Britain, is a man of ability, not a genius ; good-natured,
not virtuous ; constant, not magnanimous ; moderate, not
equitable ; His virtues, in some instances, are free from
the allay of those vices, which usually accompany such
virtues : He is a generous friend, without being a bitter
enemy. His vice3, in other instances, are not compensated
by those virtues which are nearly allyed to them ; His want
of enterprise is not attended with frugality. The private
character of the man is better than the public : His virtues
more than his vices : His fortune greater than his fame.
With many good qualities he has incurred the public hatred :
With good capacity he has not escaped ridicule. He would
have been esteemed more worthy of his high station had he
never possessed it ; and is better qualified for the second
than for the first place in any government. His ministry
has been more advantageous to his family than to the public,
better for this age than for posterity, and more pernicious
by bad precedents than by real grievances. During his time
trade has flourished, liberty declined, and learning gone to
ruin. As I am a man, I love him ; as I am a scholar, I
hate him ; as I am a Briton, I calmly wish his fall. And
were I a member of either house, I would give my vote for
removing him from St. James's ; but should be glad to see
him retire to Houghton-Hall, to pass the remainder of his
days in ease and pleasure.
1 Moderate in the exercise of power, not equitable in engrossing it.
UNPUBLISHED
ESSAYS.
UNPUBLISHED ESSAYS.
Essay I. 1 Of the Immortality of the Soul.
By the mere light of reason it seems difficult to prove the ESSAY
Immortality of the Soul. The arguments for it are commonly ._ L
derived either from metaphysical topics, or moral, or physical.
But in reality, it is the gospel, and the gospel alone, that has
brought life and immortality to light.
I. Metaphysical topics suppose that the soul is immaterial,
and that it is impossible for thought to belong to a material
substance.
But just metaphysics teach us, that the notion of sub-
stance is wholly confused and imperfect, and that we have
no other idea of any substance, than as an aggregate of
particular qualities inhering in an unknown something.
Matter, therefore, and spirit, are at bottom equally unknown ;
and we cannot determine what qualities inhere in the one or
in the other.
They likewise teach us, that nothing can be decided d
priori concerning any cause or effect ; and that experience,
being the only source of our judgments of this nature, we
cannot know from any other principle, whether matter, by
its structure or arrangement, may not be the cause of
thought. Abstract reasonings cannot decide any question
of fact or existence.
But admitting a spiritual substance to be dispersed
throughout the universe, like the ethereal fire of the Stoics,
and to be the only inherent subject of thought, we have
reason to conclude from analogy, that nature uses it after
the manner she does the other substance, matter. She em-
1 [Printed from the Proof Sheets in the Advocates' Library, Edinburgh. See
'History of the Editions,' Vol. hl p. 71. Ed.]
400 UNPUBLISHED ESSAYS.
ESSAY ploys it as a kind of paste or clay ; modifies it into a variety
*' _. of forms and existences ; dissolves after a time each modifi-
cation, and from its substance erects a new form. As the
same material substance may successively compose the bodies
of all animals, the same spiritual substance may compose
their minds : their consciousness, or that system of thought,
which they formed during life, may be continually dissolved
by death ; and nothing interests them in the new modifica-
tion. The most positive assertors of the mortality of the
soul, never denied the immortality of its substance. And
that an immaterial substance, as well as a material, may lose
its memory or consciousness, appears, in part, from experi-
ence, if the soul be immaterial.
Reasoning from the common course of nature, and with-
out supposing any new interposition of the Supreme Cause,
which ought always to be excluded from philosophy ; what
is incorruptible must also be ingenerable. The soul, there-
fore, if immortal, existed before our birth : And if the former
existence noways concerned us, neither will the latter.
Animals undoubtedly feel, think, love, hate, will, and even
reason, though in a more imperfect manner than man. Are
their souls also immaterial and immortal ?
II. Let us now consider the moral arguments, chiefly
those derived from the justice of God, which is supposed to
be further interested in the further puKishment of the vicious
and reward of the virtuous.
But these arguments are grounded on the supposition,
that God has attributes beyond what he has exerted in this
universe, with which alone we are acquainted. Whence do
we infer the existence of these attributes ?
'Tis very safe for us to affirm, that, whatever we know the
Deity to have actually done, is best ; but it is very dangerous
to affirm, that he must always do what to us seems best. In
how many instances would this reasoning fail us with regard
to the present world.
But if any purpose of nature be clear, we may affirm, that
the whole scope and intention of man's creation, so far as
we can judge by natural reason, is limited to the present
life. "With how weak a concern, from the original, inherent
structure of the mind and passions, does he ever look fur-
ther? What comparison either for steadiness or efficacy,
OF THE IMMORTALITY OF TIIE SOUL 401
betwixt so floating an idea, and the most doubtful persuasion
of any matter of fact, that occurs in common life ?
There arise, indeed, in some minds, some unaccountable
terrors with regard to futurity : But these would quickly
vanish, were they not artificially fostered by precept and
education. And those, who foster them : what is their
motive? Only to gain a livelihood, and to acquire power
and riches in this world. Their very zeal and industry,
therefore, are an argument against them.
What cruelty, what iniquity, what injustice in nature, to
confine thus all our concern, as well as all our knowledge, to
the present life, if there be another scene still waiting us, of
infinitely greater consequence ? Ought this barbarous deceit
to be ascribed to a beneficent and wise Being?
Observe with what exact proportion the task to be per-
formed, and the performing powers, are adjusted throughout
all nature. If the reason of man gives him a great supe-
riority above other animals, his necessities are proportionably
multiplied upon him. His whole time, his whole capacity,
activity, courage, passion, find sufficient employment, in
fencing against the miseries of his present condition. And
frequently, nay almost always, are too slender for the busi-
ness assigned them.
A pair of shoes, perhaps, was never yet wrought to the
highest degree of perfection, which that commodity is capa-
ble of attaining. Yet it is necessary, at least very useful,
that there should be some politicians and moralists, even
some geometers, poets, and philosophers among mankind.
The powers of men are no more superior to their wants,
considered merely in this life, than those of foxes and hares
are, compared to their wants and to their period of existence.
The inference from parity of reason is therefore obvious.
On the theory of the soul's mortality, the inferiority of
women's capacity is easily accounted for : Their domestic
life requires no higher faculties either of mind or body. This
circumstance vanishes and becomes absolutely insignificant,
on the religious theory : The one sex has an equal task to
perform as the other : Their powers of reason and resolution
ought also to have been equal, and both of them infinitely
greater than at present.
As every effect implies a cause, and that another, till we
reach the first cause of all, which is the Deity ; every thing
VOL. IV. D D
402 UNPUBLISHED ESSAYS.
that happens, is ordained by him ; and nothing can be the
object of his punishment or vengeance.
By what rule are punishments and rewards distributed ?
What is the Divine standard of merit and demerit ? Shall
we Suppose, that human sentiments have place in the Deity ?
However bold that hypothesis, We have no conception of any
other sentiments. 1
According to human sentiments, sense, courage, good
manners, industry, prudence, genius, &c. are essential parts
of personal merits. Shall we therefore erect an elysium for
poets and heroes, like that of the ancient mythology ? Why
confine all rewards to one species of virtue ?
Punishment, without any proper end or purpose, is incon-
sistent with our ideas of goodness and justice ; and no end
can be served by it after the whole scene is closed.
Punishment, according to our conception, should bear
some proportion to the offence. Why theh eternal punish-
ment for the temporary offences of so frail a creature as
man? Can any one approve of Alexander's rage, who in-
tended to exterminate a whole nation, because they had
seized his favourite horse, Bucephalus ? 2
Heaven and hell suppose two distinct species of men, the
good and the bad. But the greatest part of mankind float
betwixt vice and virtue.
Were one to go round the world with an intention of
giving a good supper to the righteous and a sound drubbing
to the wicked, he would frequently be embarrassed in his
choice, and would find, that the merits and demerits of most
men and women scarcely amount to the value of either.
To suppose measures of approbation and blame, different
from the human, confounds every thing. Whence do we
learn, that there is such a thing as moral distinctions, but
from our own sentiments ?
What man, who has not met with personal provocation
(or what good-natur'd man who has), could inflict on crimes,
from the sense of blame alone, even the common, legal, fri-
volous punishments 9 And does any thing steel the breast
of judges and juries against the sentiments of humanity but
reflections on necessity and public interest ?
By the Eoman law, those who had been guilty of parri-
1 [How bold that hypothesis! We ments. Editions of 1777 and 1783.]
have no conception of any other senti- 2 Quint. Curtis, lib. vi. cap. 6.
OF THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 403
cide, and confessed their crime, were pnt into a sack, along
with an ape, a dog, and a serpent ; and thrown into the river :
Death alone was the punishment of those, who denied their
guilt, however fully proved. A criminal was tried before
Augustus, and condemned after a full conviction : but the
humane emperor, when he put the last interrogatory, gave
it such a turn as to lead the wretch into a denial of his guilt.
"You surely, said the prince, did not kill your father?" 1
This lenity suits our natural ideas of right, even towards
the greatest of all criminals, and even though it prevents so
inconsiderable a sufferance. Nay, even the most bigoted
priest would naturally, without reflection, approve of it;
provided the crime was not heresy or infidelity. For as
these crimes hurt himself in his temporal interest and ad-
vantages ; perhaps he may not be altogether so indulgent to
them.
The chief source of moral ideas is the reflection on the in-
terests of human society. Ought these interests, so short,
so frivolous, to be guarded by punishments, eternal and in-
finite ? The damnation of one man is an infinitely greater
evil in the universe, than the subversion of a thousand mil-
lions of kingdoms.
Nature has rendered human infancy peculiarly frail and
mortal ; as it were on purpose to refute the notion of a pro-
bationary state. The half of mankind die before they are
rational creatures.
III. The physical arguments from the analogy of nature
are strong for the mortality of the soul : and these are really
the only philosophical arguments, which ought to be ad-
mitted with regard to this question, or indeed any question
of fact.
Where any two objects are so closely connected, that all
alterations, which we have ever seen in the one, are attended
with proportionable alterations in the other : we ought to
conclude, by all rules of analogy, that, when there are still
greater alterations produced in the former, and it is totally
dissolved, there follows a total dissolution of the latter.
Sleep, a very small effect on the body, is attended with a
temporary extinction : at least, a great confusion in the soul.
The weakness of the body and that of the mind in infancy
' Sueton. August, cap. 33.
D D 2
404 UNPUBLISHED ESSAYS.
are exactly proportioned ; their vigour in manhood, their
sympathetic disorder in sickness, their common gradual de-
cay in old age. The step further seems unavoidable ; their
common dissolution in death.
The last symptoms, which the mind discovers, are disorder,
weakness, insensibility, and stupidity ; the forerunners of its
annihilation. The further progress of the same causes, en-
creasing the same effects, totally extinguish it. 1
Judging by the usual analogy of nature, no form can con-
tinue, when transferred to a condition of life very different
from the original one, in which it was placed. Trees perish
in the water ; fishes in the air ; animals in the earth. Even
so small a difference as that of climate is often fatal. What
reason then to imagine, that an immense alteration, such as
is made on the soul by the dissolution of its body, and all
its organs of thought and sensation, can be effected without
the dissolution of the whole ?
Every thing is in common betwixt soul and body. The
organs of the one are all of them the organs of the other.
The existence therefore of the one must be dependent on the
other.
The souls of animals are allowed to be mortal : and these
bear so near a resemblance to the souls of men, that the
analogy from one to the other forms a very strong argument.
Their bodies are not more resembling : yet no one rejects the
argument drawn from comparative anatomy. The Metemp-
sychosis is therefore the only system of this kind, that philo-
sophy can hearken to.
Nothing in this world is perpetual ; Every thing, however
seemingly firm, is in continual flux and change : The world
itself gives symptoms of frailty and dissolution : How con-
trary to analogy, therefore, to imagine, that one single form,
seeming the frailest of any, and subject to the greatest dis-
orders, is immortal and indissoluble ? What a, daring theory
is that ! 2 How lightly, not to say how rashly, entertained !
How to dispose of the infinite number of posthumous ex-
istences ought also to embarrass the religious theory. Every
planet, in every solar system, we are at liberty to imagine
peopled with intelligent, mortal beings : At least we can fix
1 [The further progress of the same causes increasing, the same effects totally
extinguish it: Editions of 1777 and 1783.1
* [What theory is that ! Editions of 1777 and 1783 J
OF THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 406
on no other supposition. For these, then, a new universe ESSAY
must, every generation, be created beyond the bounds of the . (
present universe : or one must have been created at first so
prodigiously wide as to admit of this continual influx of
beings. Ought such bold suppositions to be received by any
philosophy : and that merely on the pretext of a bare possi-
bility ?
When it is asked, whether Agamemnon, Thersites, Hanni-
bal, Nero, 1 and every stupid clown, that ever existed in Italy,
Scythia, Bactria, or Guinea, are now alive ; can any man
think, that a scrutiny of nature will furnish arguments strong
enough to answer so strange a question in the afiirmative ?
The want of argument, without revelation, sufficiently estab-
lishes the negative. Quanto facilius, says Pliny, 2 certiusque
sibi quemque credere, ac specimin securitatis antegenitali
sumere experimento. Our insensibility, before the composition
of the body, seems to natural reason a proof of a like state
after dissolution.
Were our horrors of annihilation an original passion, not
the effect of our general love of happiness, it would rather
prove the mortality of the soul : For as nature does nothing
in vain, she would never give us a horror against an impos-
sible event. She may give us a horror against an unavoid-
able event, provided our endeavours, as in the present case,
may often remove it to some distance. Death is in the end
unavoidable ; yet the human species could not be preserved,
had not nature inspired us with an aversion towards it. All
doctrines are to be suspected which are favoured by our pas-
sions. And the hopes and fears which give rise to this 3
doctrine, are very obvious.
'Tis an infinite advantage in every controversy, to defend
the negative. If the question be out of the common expe-
rienced course of nature, this circumstance is almost, if not
altogether, decisive. By what arguments or analogies can
we prove any state of existence, which no one ever saw, and
which no way resembles any that ever was seen ? Who will
repose such trust in any pretended philosophy, as to admit
upon its testimony the reality of so marvellous a scene?
1 [Vctrro: Editions of 1777 and Text, and this as a correction in tha
1783.] Margin. The Editions of 1777 and
* Lib. 7. cap. 56. 1783 read this.}
* [The 'First proof has the in the
400 UNPUBLISHED ESSAYS.
Essay Some new species of logic is requisite for that purpose ; and
. r , some new faculties of the mind, that they may enable us to
comprehend that logic.
Nothing could set in a fuller light the infinite obligations
which mankind have to Divine revelation; since we find,
that no other medium could ascertain this great and im-
portant truth.
Essay II. 1 Of Suicide.
One considerable advantage that arises from Philosophy,
consists in the sovereign antidote which it affords to supersti-
tion and false religion. All other remedies against that
pestilent distemper are vain, or at least uncertain. Plain
good sense and the practice of the world, which alone serve
most purposes of life, are here found ineffectual : History as
well as daily experience furnish instances of men endowed
with the strongest capacity for business and affairs, who have
all their lives crouched under slavery to the grossest super-
stition. Even gaiety and sweetness of temper, which infuse
a balm into every other wound, afford no remedy to so viru-
lent a poison ; as we may particularly observe of the fair Sex,
who, tho' commonly possest of these rich presents of nature,
feel many of their joys blasted by this importunate intruder.
But when sound Philosophy has once gained possession of
the mind, superstition is effectually excluded ; and one may
fairly affirm, that her triumph over this enemy is more com-
plete than over most of the vices and imperfections incident to
human nature. Love or anger, ambition or avarice, have
their root in the temper and affections, which the soundest
reason is scarce ever able fully to correct ; but superstition
being founded on false opinion, must immediately vanish
when true philosophy has inspired juster sentiments of supe-
rior powers. The contest is here more equal between the
distemper and the medicine, and nothing can hinder the
latter from proving effectual, but its being false and sophis-
ticated.
It will here be superfluous to magnify the merits of philo-
sophy, by displaying the pernicious tendency of that vice of
which it cures the human mind. The superstitious man, says
1 [Printed from the Edition of 1777, with a few changes of punctuation. See
History of the Editions,' vol. iii. p. 70. En.J
OF SUICIDE. 407
Telly, 1 is miserable in every scene, in every incident of life ; ESSAY
even sleep itself, which banishes all other cares of unhappy . ** _
mortals, affords to him matter of new terror ; while he ex-
amines his dreams, and finds in those visions of the night
prognostications of future calamities. I may add, that tho'
death alone can put a full period to his misery, he dares not
fly to this refuge, but still prolongs a miserable existence from
a vain fear lest he offend his maker, by using the power, with
which that beneficent being has endowed him. The presents
of God and nature are ravished from us by this cruel enemy ;
and notwithstanding that one step would remove us from the
regions of pain and sorrow, her menaces still chain us down
to a hated being, which she herself chiefly contributes to
render miserable.
'Tis observed by such as have b'ien reduced by the calami-
ties of life to the necessity of employing this fatal remedy,
that if the unseasonable care of their friends deprive them of
that species of Death, which they proposed to themselves,
they seldom venture upon any other, or can summon up so
much resolution a second time, as to execute their purpose.
So great is our horror of death, that when it presents itself,
under any form, besides that to which a man has endeavoured
to reconcile his imagination, it acquires new terrors and
overcomes his feeble courage : But when the menaces of
superstition are joined to this natural timidity, no wonder it
quite deprives men of all power over their lives, since even
many pleasures and enjoyments, to which we are carried by
a strong propensity, are torn from us by this inhuman tyrant.
Let us here endeavour to restore men to their native liberty
by examining all the common arguments against Suicide, and
shewing that that action may be free from every imputation
of guilt or blame, according to the sentiments of all the
antient philosophers.
If Suicide be criminal, it must be a transgression of our
duty either to God, our neighbour, or ourselves. To prove
that suicide is no transgression of our duty to God, the fol-
lowing considerations may perhaps suffice. In order to
govern the material world, the almighty Creator has estab-
lished general and immutable laws by which all bodies, from
the greatest planet to the smallest particle of matter, are
maintained in their proper sphere and function. To govern
> De Divin. li!>. ii. 72, 150.
408 UNPUBLISHED ESSAYS.
E3&A.Y the animal world, he has endowed all living creatures with
._ / _. bodily and mental powers ; with senses, passions, appetites,
memory and judgment, by which they are impelled or regu-
lated in that course of life to which they are destined. These
two distinct principles of the material and animal world,
continually encroach upon each other, and mutually retard
or forward each others operations. The powers of men and
of all other animals are restrained and directed by the nature
and qualities of the surrounding bodies ; and the modifications
and actions of these bodies are incessantly altered by the
operation of all animals. Man is stopt by rivers in his pas-
sage over the surface of the earth ; and rivers, when properly
directed, lend their force to the motion of machines, which
serve to the use of man. But tho' the provinces of the mate-
rial and animal powers are not kept entirely separate,
there results from thence no discord or disorder in the crea-
tion ; on the contrary, from the mixture, union and contrast
of all the various powers of inanimate bodies and living
creatures, arises that surprizing harmony and proportion
which affords the surest argument of supreme wisdom. The
providence of the Deity appears not immediately in any ope-
ration, but governs everything by those general and immut-
able laws, which have been established from the beginning
of time. All events, in one sense, may be pronounced the
action of the Almighty ; they all proceed from those powers
with which he has endowed his creatures. A house which
falls by its own weight is not brought to ruin by his pro-
vidence more than one destroyed by the hands of men ; nor
are the human faculties less his workmanship, than the laws
of motion and gravitation. When the passions play, when
the judgment dictates, when the limbs obey ; this is all the
operation of God, and upon these animate principles, as well
as upon the inanimate, has he established the government of
the universe. Every event is alike important in the eyes of
that infinite being, who takes in at one glance the most dis-
tant regions of space and remotest periods of time. There is
no event, however important to us, which he has exempted
from the general laws that govern the universe, or which he
has peculiarly reserved for his own immediate action and
operation. The revolution of states and empires depends
upon the smallest caprice or passion of single men ; and the
lives of men are shortened or extended by the smallest acci-
OF SUICIDE. 409
dent of air or diet, sunshine or tempest. Nature still con- ESSAY
tinues her progress and operation ; and if general laws be , *'
ever broke by particular volitions of the Deity, 'tis after a
manner which entirely escapes human observation. As, on
the one hand, the elements and other inanimate parts of the
creation carry on their action without regard to the particular
interest and situation of men ; so men are entrusted to their
own judgment and discretion, in the various shocks of matter,
and may employ every faculty with which they are endowed,
in order to provide for their ease, happiness, or preserva-
tion. What is the meaning then of that principle, that a
man who, tired of life, and hunted by pain and misery,
bravely overcomes all the natural terrors of death and
makes his escape from this cruel scene ; that such a
man, I say, has incurred the indignation of his Creator
by encroaching on the office of divine providence, and
disturbing the order of the universe ? shall we assert
that the Almighty has reserved to himself in any peculiar
manner the disposal of the lives of men, and has not sub-
mitted that event, in common with others, to the general
laws by which the universe is governed? This is plainly
false ; the lives of men depend upon the same laws as the
lives of all other animals ; and these are subjected to the
general laws of matter and motion. The fall of a tower, or
the infusion of a poison, will destroy a man equally with the
meanest creature; an inundation sweeps away every thing
without distinction that comes within the reach of its fury.
Since therefore the lives of men are for ever dependant on
the general laws of matter and motion, is a man's disposing
of his life criminal, because in every case it is criminal to
encroach upon these laws, or disturb their operation ? But
this seems absurd; all animals are entrusted to their own
prudence and skill for their conduct in the world, and have
full authority, as far as their power extends, to alter all the
operations of nature. Without the exercise of this authority
they could not subsist a moment ; every action, every
motion of a man, innovates on the order of some parts of
matter, and diverts from their ordinary course the general
laws of motion. Putting together, therefore, these conclu-
sions, we find that human life depends upon the general
laws of matter and motion, and that it is no encroachment
on flic office of providence to disturb or alter these general
410 UNPUBLISHED ESSAYS.
i>say laws : Has not everj one, of consequence, the free disposal
r J . of his own life ? And may he not lawfully employ that
power with which nature has endowed him ? In order to
destroy the evidence of this conclusion, we must shew a
reason, why this particular case is excepted ; is it because
human life is of so great importance, that 'tis a presumption
for human prudence to dispose of it ? But the life of a man
is of no greater importance to the universe than that of an
oyster. And were it of ever so great importance, the order
of nature has actually submitted it to human prudence, and
reduced us to a necessity in every incident of determining
concerning it. Were the disposal of human life so much
reserved as the peculiar province of the Almighty that it
were an encroachment on his right, for men to dispose of
their own lives ; it would be equally criminal to act for the
preservation of life as for its destruction. If I turn aside a
stone which is falling upon my head, I disturb the course of
nature, and I invade the peculiar province of the Almighty
by lengthening out my life beyond the period which by the
general laws of matter and motion he had assigned it.
A hair, a fly, an insect is able to destroy this mighty being
whose life is of such importance. Is it an absurdity to sup-
pose that human prudence may lawfully dispose of what
depends on such insignificant causes ? It would be no crime
in me to divert the Nile or Danube from its course, were I
able to effect such purposes. Where then is the crime of
turning a few ounces of blood from their natural channel ?
Do you imagine that I repine at providence or curse my
creation, because I go out of life, and put a period to a being,
which, were it to continue, would render me miserable ? Far
be such sentiments from me; I am only convinced of a
matter of fact, which you yourself acknowledge possible, that
human life may be unhappy, and that my existence, if fur-
ther prolonged, would become ineligible : but I thank pro-
vidence, both for the good which I have already enjoyed,
and for the power with which I am endowed of escaping the
ill that threatens me. 1 To you it belongs to repine at pro-
vidence, who foolishly imagine that you have no such power,
and who must still prolong a hated life, tho' loaded with
pain and sickness, with shame and poverty. Do you not
teach, that when any ill befalls me, tho' by the malice of
1 Agamus Deo gratias, quod nemo in vita teneri potest. Sen., Epist 12.
OF SUICIDE, x 411
my enemies, I ought to be resigned to providence, and that essay
the actions of men are the operations of the Almighty as , _ U w ' .
much as the actions of inanimate beings ? When I fall
upon my own sword, therefore, I receive my death equally
from the hands of the Deity as if it had proceeded from a
lion, a precipice, or a fever. The submission which you
require to providence, in every calamity that befalls me,
excludes not human skill and industry, if possibly by their
means I can avoid or escape the calamity : And why may I
not employ one remedy as well as another? If my life be
not my own, it were criminal for me to put it in danger, as
well as to dispose of it ; nor could one man deserve the ap-
pellation of hero whom glory or friendship transports into
the greatest dangers, and another merit the reproach of
wretch or miscreant who puts a period to his life from the
same or like motives. There is no being, which possesses
any power or faculty, that it receives not from its Creator,
nor is there any one, which by ever so irregular an action
can encroach upon the plan of his providence, or disorder
the universe. Its operations are his works equally with that
chain of events, which it invades, and which ever principle
prevails, we may for that very reason conclude it to be most
favoured by him. Be it animate, or inanimate, rational, or
irrational ; 'tis all a case : Its power is still derived from the
supreme creator, and is alike comprehended in the order of
his providence. When the horror of pain prevails over the
love of life ; when a voluntary action anticipates the effects
of blind causes ; 'tis only in consequence of those powers
and principles, which he has implanted in his creatures.
Divine providence is still inviolate and placed far beyond the
reach of human injuries. 1 'Tis impious, says the old Eoman
superstition, to divert rivers from their course, or invade the
prerogatives of nature. 'Tis impious, says the French super-
stition, to inoculate for the small-pox, or usurp the business
of providence, by voluntarily producing distempers and
maladies. 'Tis impious, says the modern European super-
stition, to put a period to our own life, and thereby rebel
against our creator ; and why not impious, say I, to build
houses, cultivate the ground, or sail upon the ocean? In
all these actions we employ our powers of mind and body, to
produce some innovation in the course of nature j and in
Tacit. Ann. lib. i. 79.
412 UNPUBLISHED ESSAYS.
essay none of them do we any more. They are all of them there-
._ / _, fore equally innocent, or equally criminal. But you are
placed by providence, like a centinel in a particular station,
and when you desert it without being recalled, you are equally
guilty of rebellion against your almighty sovereign, and have
incurred his displeasure. I ask, why do you conclude that
providence has placed me in this station ? For my part I
find that I owe my birth to a long chain of causes, of which
many depended upon voluntary actions of men. But Provi-
dence guided all these Causes, and nothing happens in the
universe without its consent and Co-operation. If so, then
neither does my death, however voluntary, happen without
its consent ; and whenever pain or sorrow so far overcome
my patience, as to make me tired of life, I may conclude
that I am recalled from my station in the clearest and most
express terms. 'Tis Providence surely that has placed me
at this present moment in this chamber : But may I not
leave it when I think proper, without being liable to the im-
putation of having deserted my post or station ? "When I
shall be dead, the principles of which I am composed will
still perform their part in the universe, and will be equally
useful in the grand fabric, as when they composed this in-
dividual creature. The difference to the whole will be no
greater than betwixt my being in a chamber and in the open
air. The one change is of more importance to me than the
other ; but not more so to the universe.
'Tis a kind of blasphemy to imagine that any created
being can disturb the order of the world or invade the
business of providence ! It supposes, that that Being pos-
sesses powers and faculties, which it received not from its
creator, and which are not subordinate to his government
and authority. A man may disturb society no doubt, and
thereby incur the displeasure of the Almighty : But the
government of the world is placed far beyond his reach and
violence. And how does it appear that the Almighty is dis-
pleased with those actions that disturb society ? By the
principles which he has implanted in human nature, and
which inspire us with a sentiment of remorse if we ourselves
have been guilty of such actions, and with that of blame and
disapprobation, if we ever observe them in others. Let us
now examine, according to the method proposed, whether
OF SUICIDE. . 413
Suicide be of this kind of actions, and be a breach of our ESSAY
duty to our neighbour and to society. ,
A man, who retires from life, does no harm to society :
He only ceases to do good ; vajiich, if it is an injury, is of
the lowest kind. All our obligations to do good to society
seem to imply something reciprocal. I receive the benefits
of society and therefore ought to promote its interests, but
when I withdraw myself altogether from society, can I be
bound any longer ? But, allowing that our obligations to
do good were perpetual, they have certainly some bounds ;
I am not obliged to do a small good to society at the ex-
pence of a great harm to myself; why then should T prolong
a miserable existence, because of some frivolous advantage
which the public may perhaps receive from me ? If upon
account of age and infirmities I may lawfully resign any
office, and employ my time altogether in fencing against
these calamities, and alleviating as much as possible the
miseries of my future life : Why may I not cut short these
miseries at once by an action which is no more prejudicial
to society ? But suppose that it is no longer in my power
to promote the interest of society; suppose that I am a
burthen to it ; suppose that my life hinders some person
from being much more useful to society. In such cases my
resignation of life must not only be innocent but laudable.
And most people who lie under any temptation to abandon
existence, are in some such situation ; those, who have health,
or power, or authority, have commonly better reason to be in
humour with the world.
A man is engaged in a conspiracy for the public interest ;
is seized upon suspicion ; is threatened with the rack ; and
knows from his own weakness that the secret will be extorted
from him: Could such a one consult the public interest
better than by putting a quick period to a miserable life ?
Thi3 was the case of the famous and brave Strozi of Florence.
Again, suppose a malefactor is justly condemned to a
shameful death ; can any reason be imagined, why he may not
anticipate his punishment, and save himself all the anguish
of thinking on its dreadful approaches? He invades the
business of providence no more than the magistrate did,
who ordered his execution ; and his voluntary death is
equally advantageous to society by ridding it of a pernicious
member.
414 UNPUBLISHED ESSAYS.
ESSAY That suicide may often be consistent with interest and
. _, _" _. with our duty to ourselves, no one can question, who allows
that age, sickness, or misfortune may render life a burthen,
and make it worse even than annihilation. I believe that
no man ever threw away life, while it was worth keeping.
For such is our natural horror of death, that small motives
will never be able to reconcile us to it ; and though perhaps
the situation of a man's health or fortune did not seem to
require this remedy, we may at least be assured, that any
one who, without apparent reason, has had recourse to it,
was curst with such an incurable depravity or gloominess of
temper as must poison all enjoyment, and render him equally
miserable as if he had been loaded with the most grievous
misfortunes. If suicide be supposed a crime, 'tis only
cowardice can impel us to it. If it be no crime, both pru-
dence and courage should engage us to rid ourselves at once
of existence, when it becomes a burthen. 'Tis the only way
that we can then be useful to society, by setting an example,
which, if imitated, would preserve to every one his chance
for happiness in life and would effectually free him from all
danger or misery. 1
1 It would be easy to prove that withstanding the letter of the law.
Suicide is as lawful under the Christian But were this commandment ever so
dispensation as it was to the Heathens. express against suicide, it would now
There is not a single text of Scripture have no authority, for all the law of
which prohibits it. That great and in- Moses is abolished, except so far as it is
fallible rule of faith and practice which established by the law of Nature. And
must controul all philosophy and human we have already endeavoured to prove,
reasoning, has left us in this particular that suicide is not prohibited by that
to our natural liberty. Resignation to law. In all cases Christians and
Providence is indeed recommended in Heathens are precisely upon the same
Scripture ; but that implies only sub- footing ; Cato and Brutus, Arria and
mission to ills that are unavoidable, not Portia acted heroically ; those who now
to such as may be remedied by prudence imitate their example ought to receive
or courage. Thou shalt not kill, is evi- the same praises from posterity. The
dently meant to exclude only the killing power of committing suicide is regarded
of others over whose life we have no by Pliny as an advantage which men
authority. That this precept, like most possess even above the Deity himself,
of the Scripture precepts, must be modi- ' Deus non sibi potest mortem con-
fled by reason and common sense, is sciscere si velit, quod homini dedit
plain from the practice of magistrates, optimum in tantis vitoe poenis.' Lib.
who punish criminals capitally, not- ii. cap. 5.
OF THE AUTHENTICITY OF OSSIAN'S POEMS. 415
Essay III. Of the Authenticity of Ossian's Poems. 1
I think the fate of this production the most curious effect of
prejudice, where superstition had no share, that ever was in
the world. A tiresome, insipid performance ; which, if it had
been presented in its real form, as the work of a contem-
porary, an obscure Highlander, no man could ever have had
the patience to have once perused, has, by passing for the
poetry of a royal bard, who flourished fifteen centuries ago,
been universally read, has been pretty generally admired, and
has been translated, in prose and verse, into several languages
of Europe. Even the style of the supposed English transla-
tion has been admired, though harsh and absurd in the
highest degree ; jumping perpetually from verse to prose, and
from prose to verse ; and running; most of it, in the light
cadence and measure of Molly Mog. Such is the Erse epic,
which has been puffed with a zeal and enthusiasm that has
drawn a ridicule on my countrymen.
But, to cut off at once the whole source of its reputation, I
shall collect a few very obvious arguments against the notion
of its great antiquity, with which so many people have been
intoxicated, and which alone made it worthy of any attention.
(1.) The very manner in which it was presented to the
public forms a strong presumption against its authenticity.
The pretended translator goes on a mission to the Highlands
to recover and collect a work, which, he affirmed, was dis-
persed, in fragments, among the natives. He returns, and
gives a quarto volume, and then another quarto, with the
same unsupported assurance as if it were a translation of the
Orlando Furioso, or Louisade, or any poem the best known in
Europe. It might have been expected, at least, that he would
have told the public, and the subscribers to his mission, and
the purchasers of his book, This part I got from such a person,
in such a place ; that other part, from such another person. I
was enabled to correct my first copy of such a passage by the
recital of such another person ; a fourth supplied such a defect
in my first copy. By such a history of his gradual discoveries
he would have given some face of probability to them. Any
man of common sense, who was in earnest, must, in this case,
1 [Mr. Burton supposes that this Es- feeling towards Dr. Blair. See Burton's
say, found among Hume's papers, was Life of Hume, Vol. n. p. 85, and teq.
withheld from publication out of a kindly Ed.]
ESSAY
III.
416 UNPUBLISHED ESSAYS.
ESSAY have seen the peculiar necessity of that precaution : any man
, _- that had regard to his own character, would have anxiously
followed that obvious and easy method. All the friends of
the pretended translator exhorted and entreated him to give
them and the public that satisfaction. No ! those who could
doubt his veracity were fools, whom it was not worth while to
satisfy. The most incredible of all facts was to be taken oe
his word, whom nobody knew ; and an experiment was to be
made, I suppose in jest, how far the credulity of the public
would give way to assurance and dogmatical affirmation.
(2.) But, to show the utter incredibility of the fact, let
these following considerations be weighed, or, rather, simply
reflected on ; for it seems ridiculous to weigh them. Consider
the size of these poems. What is given us is asserted to be
only a part of a much greater collection ; yet even these
pieces amount to two quartos. And they were composed,
you say, in the Highlands, about fifteen centuries ago ; and
have been faithfully transmitted, ever since, by oral tradition,
through ages totally ignorant of letters, by the rudest, per-
haps, of all the European nations ; the most necessitous, the
most turbulent, the most ferocious, and the most unsettled.
Did ever any event happen that approached within a hundred
degrees of this mighty wonder, even to the nations the most
fortunate in their climate and situation ? Can a ballad be
shown that has passed, uncorrupted, by oral tradition, through
three generations, among the Greeks, or Italians, or Phoeni-
cians, or Egyptians, or even among the natives of such
countries as Otaheite or Molacca, who seem exempted by
nature from all attention but to amusement, to poetry, and
music ?
But the Celtic nations, it is said, had peculiar advantages
for preserving their traditional poetry. The Irish, the "Welsh,
the Bretons, are all Celtic nations, much better entitled than
the Highlanders, from their soil, and climate, and situation,
to have leisure for these amusements. They, accordingly,
present us not with complete epic and historical poems, (for
they never had the assurance to go that length,) but with
very copious and circumstantial traditions, which are allowed,
by all men of sense, to be scandalous and ridiculous impostures.
(3.) The. style and genius of these pretended poems are
another sufficient proof of the imposition. The Lapland and
Runic odes, conveyed to us, besides their small compass, have
OF THE AUTHENTICITY OF OSSIAN'S FOEMS. 417
a savage rudeness, and sometimes grandeur, suited to those ESSAY
ages. But this Erse poetry has an insipid correctness, and . ,J_
regularity, and uniformity, which betrays a man without
genius, that has been acquainted with the productions of
civilized nations, and had his imagination so limited to that
tract, that it was impossible for him even to mimic the cha-
racter which he pretended to assume.
The manners are still a more striking proof of their want
of authenticity. We see nothing but the affected generosity
and gallantry of chivalry, which are quite unknown, not only
to all savage people, but to every nation not trained in these
artificial modes of thinking. In Homer, for instance, and
Virgil, and Ariosto, the heroes are represented as making a
nocturnal incursion into the camp of the enemy. Homer and
Virgil, who certainly were educated in much more civilized
ages than those of Ossian, make no scruple of representing
their heroes as committing undistinguished slaughter on the
sleeping foe. But Orlando walks quietly through the camp
of the Saracens, and scorns to kill even an infidel who cannot
defend himself. Gaul and Oscar are knight-errants, still
more romantic : they make a noise in the midst of the enemy's
camp, that they may waken them, and thereby have a right
to fight with them and to kill them. Nay, Fingal carries
his ideas of chivalry still farther ; much beyond what was
ever dreamt of by Amadis de Gaul or Lancelot de Lake.
When his territory is invaded, he scorns to repel the enemy
with his whole force : he sends only an equal number against
them, under an inferior captain : when these are repulsed, he
sends a second detachment ; and it is not till after a double
defeat, that he deigns himself to descend from the hill, where
he had remained, all the while, an idle spectator, and to
attack the enemy. Fingal and Swaran combat each other
all day, with the greatest fury. When darkness suspends
the fight, they feast together with the greatest amity, and
then renew the combat with the return of light. Are these
the manners of barbarous nations, or even of people that have
common sense ? We may remark, that all this narrative is
supposed to be given us by a contemporary poet. The facts,
therefore, must be supposed entirely, or nearly, conformable
to truth. The gallantry and extreme delicacy towards the
women, which is found in these productions, is, if possible,
still more contrary to the manners of barbarians. Among
VOL. IV. E E
418 UNPUBLISHED ESSAYS.
ESSAY all rude nations, force and courage are the predominant vir-
^.J^L, tues ; and the inferiority of the females, in these particulars,
renders them an object of contempt, not of deference and
regard.
(4.) But I derive a new argument against the antiquity of
these poems, from the general tenor of the narrative. Where
manners are represented in them, probability, or even possi-
bility, are totally disregarded : but in all other respects, the
events are within the course of nature ; no giants, no mon-
sters, no magic, no incredible feats of strength or activity.
Every transaction is conformable to familiar experience, and
scarcely even deserves the name of wonderful. Did this ever
happen in ancient and barbarous poetry ? Why is this
characteristic wanting, so essential to rude and ignorant
ages ? Ossian, you say, was singing the exploits of his con-
temporaries, and therefore could not falsify them in any great
degree. But if this had been a restraint, your pretended
Ossian had never sung the exploits of his contemporaries ; he
had gone back a generation or two, which would have been
sufficient to throw an entire obscurity on the events ; and he
would thereby have attained the marvellous, which is alone
striking to barbarians. I desire it may be observed, that
manners are the only circumstances which a rude people
cannot falsify ; because they have no notion of any manners
beside their own : but it is easy for them to let loose their
imagination, and violate the course of nature, in every other
particular ; and indeed they take no pleasure in any other
kind of narrative. In Ossian, nature is violated, where alone
she ought to have been preserved ; is preserved where alone
she ought to have been violated.
(5.) But there is another species of the marvellous, wanting
in Ossian, which is inseparable from all nations, civilized as
well as barbarous, but still more, if possible, from the bar-
barous, and that is religion; no religious sentiment in this
Erse poetry. All those Celtic heroes are more complete
atheists than ever were bred in the school of Epicurus. To
account for this singularity, we are told that a few generations
before Ossian, the people quarrelled with their Druidical
priests, and having expelled them, never afterwards adopted
any other species of religion. It is not quite unnatural, I
own, for the people to quarrel with their priests, as we did
with ours at the Reformation ; but we attached ourselves
OF THE AUTHENTICITY OF OS8IANS POEMS. 419
with fresh zeal to our new preachers and new system ; and B98 \ *
this passion increased in proportion to our hatred of the old. ..' _^
But I suppose the reason of this strange absurdity in our new
Erse poetry, is, that the author, finding by the assumed age
of his heroes, that he must have given them the Druidical
religion, and not trusting to his literature, (which seems
indeed to be very slender) for making the representations
consistent with antiquity, thought it safest to give them no
religion at all ; a circumstance so wonderfully unnatural, that
it is sufficient alone, if men had eyes, to detect the imposition.
(6.) The state of the arts, as represented in those poems,
is totally incompatible with the age assigned to them. We
know, that the houses even of the Southern Britons, till con-
quered by the Romans, were nothing but huts erected in the
woods ; but a stately stone building is mentioned by Ossian,
of which the walls remain, after it is consumed with fire.
The melancholy circumstance of a fox is described, who looks
out at the windows ; an image, if I be not mistaken, borrowed
from the Scriptures. The Caledonians, as well as the Irish,
had no shipping but currachs, or wicker boats covered with
hides : yet are they represented as passing, in great military
expeditions, from the Hebrides to Denmark, Norway, and
Sweden ; a most glaring absurdity. They live entirely by
hunting, yet muster armies, which make incursions to these
countries as well as to Ireland : though it is certain from
the experience of America, that the whole Highlands would
scarce subsist a hundred persons by hunting. They are
totally unacquainted with fishing ; though that occupation
first tempts all rude nations to venture on the sea. Ossian
alludes to a wind or water-mill, a machine then unknown to
the Greeks and Romans, according to the opinion of the
best antiquaries. His barbarians, though ignorant of tillage,
are well acquainted with the method of working all kinds of
metals. The harp is the musical instrument of Ossian ; but
the bagpipe, from time immemorial, has been the instru-
ment of the Highlanders. If ever the harp had been known
among them, it never had given place to the other barbarous
discord.
Stridenti miserum stipula disperdere carmen.
(7.) All the historical facts of this poem are opposed by
traditions, which, if all these tales be not equally contempt-
420 UNPUBLISHED ESSAYS.
ESSAY ible, seem to merit much more attention. The Irish Scoti
.. .,.'_ ^ are the undoubted ancestors of the present Highlanders, who
are but a small colony of that ancient people. But the Irish
traditions make Eingal, Ossian, Oscar, all Irishmen, and
place them some centuries distant from the Erse heroes.
They represent them as giants, and monsters, and enchanters,
a sure mark of a considerable antiquity of these traditions.
I ask the partisans of Erse poetry, since the names of these
heroes have crept over to Ireland, and have become quite
familiar to the natives of that country, how it happens, that
not a line of this poetry, in which they are all celebrated,
which, it is pretended, alone preserves their memory with
our Highlanders, and which is composed by one of these
heroes themselves in the Irish language, ever found its way
thither? The songs and traditions of the Senachies, the
genuine poetry of the Irish, carry in their rudeness and
absurdity the inseparable attendants of barbarism, a very
different aspect from the insipid correctness of Ossian ;
where the incidents, if you will pardon the antithesis, are
the most unnatural, merely because they are natural. The
same observation extends to the Welsh, another Celtic
nation.
(8.) The fiction of these poems is, if possible, still more
palpably detected, by the great numbers of other traditions,
which, the author pretends, are still fresh in the Highlands,
with regard to all the personages. The poems, composed in
the age of Truthil and Cormac, ancestors of Ossian, are, be
says, full of complaints against the roguery and tyranny of
the Druids. He talks as familiarly of the poetry of that
period as Lucian or Longinus would of the Greek poetry of
the Socratic age. I suppose here is a new rich mine of
poetry ready to break out upon us, if the author thinks it
can turn to account. For probably he does not mind the
danger of detection, which he has little reason to apprehend
from his experience of the public credulity. But I shall
venture to assert, without any reserve or further inquiry,
that there is no Highlander who is not, in some degree, a
man of letters, that ever so much as heard there was a Druid
in the world. The margin of every page almost of this won-
derful production is supported, as he pretends, by minute
oral traditions with regard to the personages. To the poem
of Dar-thula, there is prefixed a long account of the pedi-
OF THE AUTHENTICITY OF OSSIAN'S POEMS. 421
gree, marriages, and adventures of three brothers, Nathos, ESSAY
Althos, and Ardan, heroes that lived fifteen hundred years ^ _
ago in Argyllshire, and whose memory, it seems, is still
celebrated there, and in every part of the Highlands. How
ridiculous to advance such a pretension to the learned, who
know that there is no tradition of Alexander the great all
over the East ; that the Turks, who have heard of him from
their communication with the Greeks, believe him to have
been the captain of Solomon's guard; that the Greek and
Roman story, the moment it departs from the historical
ages, becomes a heap of fiction and absurdity ; that Cyrus
himself, the conqueror of the East, became so much un-
known, even in little more than half a century, that Herodotus
himself, born and bred in Asia, within the limits of the
Persian empire, could tell nothing of him, more than of
Croesus, the contemporary of Cyrus, and who reigned in the
neighbourhood of the historian, but the most ridiculous
fables ; and that the grandfather of Hengist and Horsa, the
first Saxon conquerors, was conceived to be a divinity. I
suppose it is sufficiently evident, that without the help of
books and history, the very name of Julius Csesar would at
present be totally unknown in Europe. A gentleman, who
travelled into Italy, told me, that in visiting Frescati or
Tusculum, his cicerone showed him the foundation and ruins
of Cicero's country house. He asked the fellow who this
Cicero might be, ' Un grandissimo gigante,' said he.
(9.) I ask, since the memory of Fingal and his ancestors
and descendants is still so fresh in the Highlands, how it
happens, that none of the compilers of the Scotch fabulous
history ever laid hold of them, and inserted them in the list
of our ancient monarchs, but we were obliged to have re-
course to direct fiction and lying to make out their genealo-
gies ? It is to be remarked, that the Highlanders, who are
now but an inferior part of the nation, anciently composed
the whole ; so that no tradition of theirs could be unknown
to the court, the nobility, and the whole kingdom. Where,
then, have these wonderful traditions skulked during so
many centuries, that they have never come to light till
yesterday ? And the very names of our ancient kings are
unknown; though it is pretended, that a very particular
narrative of their transactions was still preserved, and uni-
versally diffused among a numerous tribe, who are the
422 UNPUBLISHED ESSAYS.
essay original stem of the nation. Father Innes, the only judicious
\ ' , writer that ever touched our ancient history, finds in mon-
astic records the names, and little more than the names, of
kings from Fergus, whom we call Fergus the Second, who
lived long after the supposed Fingal : and he thence begins
the true history of the nation. He had too good sense to
give any attention to pretended traditions even of kings,
much less would he have believed that the memory and ad-
ventures of every leader of banditti in every valley of the
Highlands, could be circumstantially preserved by oral tradi-
tion through more than fifteen centuries.
(10.) I shall observe, that the character of the author,
from all his publications, (for I shall mention nothing else,)
gives us the greatest reason to suspect him of such a ludi-
crous imposition on the public. For to be sure it is only
ludicrous ; or at most a trial of wit, like that of the sophist,
who gave us Phalaris' Epistles, or of him that counterfeited
Cicero's Consolation, or supplied the fragments of Petronius.
These literary amusements have been very common ; and
unless supported by too violent asseverations, or persisted in
too long, never drew the opprobrious appellation of impostor
on the author.
He writes an ancient history of Britain, which is plainly
ludicrous. He gives us a long circumstantial history of the
emigrations of the Belgae, Cimbri, and Sarmatae, so unsup-
ported by any author of antiquity that nothing but a par-
ticular revelation could warrant it ; and yet it is delivered
with such seeming confidence, (for we must not think he
was in earnest,) that the history of the Punic wars is not
related with greater seriousness by Livy. He has even left
palpable contradictions in his narrative, in order to try the
faith of his reader. He tells us, for instance, that the present
inhabitants of Germany have no more connexion with the
Germans mentioned by Tacitus, than with the ancient in-
habitants of Peloponnesus : the Saxons and Angles, in par-
ticular, were all Sarmatians, a quite different tribe from the
Germans, in manners, laws, language, and customs. Yet a
few pages after, when he pretends to deliver the origin of
the Anglo-Saxon constitution, he professedly derives the
whole account from Tacitus. All this was only an experi-
ment to see how far the force of affirmation could impose on
the credulity of the public : but it did not succeed ; he was
OF TIIE AUTHENTICITY OF OSSIANS POEMS. 423
here iu the open daylight of Greek and Roman erudition, E88A1
not in the obscurity of his Erse poetry and traditions. Find- _ Jir _
ing the style of his Ossian admired by some, he attempts a
translation of Homer in the very same style. He begins
and finishes, in six weeks, a work that was for ever to
eclipse the translation of Pope, whom he does not even
deign to mention in his preface ; but this joke was still more
unsuccessful : he made a shift, however, to bring the work
to a second edition, where he says, that, notwithstanding all
the envy of his malignant opponents, his name alone will
preserve the work to a more equitable posterity !
In short, let him now take off the mask, and fairly and
openly laugh at the credulity of the public, who could
believe that long Erse epics had been secretly preserved in
the Highlands of Scotland, from the age of Severus till his
time.
The imposition is so gross, that he may well ask the
world how they could ever possibly believe him to be in
earnest ?
But it may reasonably be expected that I should mention
the external positive evidence, which is brought by Dr. Blair
to support the authenticity of these poems. I own, that this
evidence, considered in itself, is very respectable, and suffi-
cient to support any fact, that both lies within the bounds of
credibility, and has not become a matter of party. But will
any man pretend to bring human testimony to prove, that
above twenty thousand verses have been transmitted, by
tradition and memory, during more than fifteen hundred
years ; that is, above fifty generations, according to the
ordinary course of nature ? verses, too, which have not, in
their subject, any thing alluring or inviting to the people,
no miracle, no wonders, no superstitions, no useful instruc-
tion ; a people, too, who, during twelve centuries, at least, of
riiat period, had no writing, no alphabet ; and who, even in
the other three centuries, made very little use of that imper-
fect alphabet for any purpose; a people who, from the
miserable disadvantages of their soil and climate, were per-
petually struggling with the greatest necessities of nature ;
who, from the imperfections of government, lived in a con-
tinual state of internal hostility ; ever harassed with the
incursions of neighbouring tribes, or meditating revenge and
retaliation on their neighbours. Have such a people leisure
424 UNPUBLISHED ESSAYS.
jCSSAY to think of any poetry, except, perhaps, a miserable song or
. ljt ballad, in praise of their own chieftain, or to the disparage-
ment of his rivals ?
I should be sorry to be suspected of saying any thing
against the manners of the present Highlanders. I really
believe that, besides their signal bravery, there is not any
people in Europe, not even excepting the Swiss, who have
more plain honesty and fidelity, are more capable of grati-
tude and attachment, than that race of men. Yet it was,
no doubt, a great surprise to them to hear that, over and
above their known good qualities, they were also possessed
of an excellence which they never dreamt of, an elegant
taste in poetry, and inherited from the most remote anti-
quity the finest compositions of that kind, far surpassing the
popular traditional poems of any other language ; no wonder
they crowded to give testimony in favour of their authen-
ticity. Most of them, no doubt, were sincere in the delusion ;
the same names that were to be found in their popular
ballads were carefully preserved in the new publication ;
some incidents, too, were perhaps transferred from the one
to the other ; some sentiments also might be copied ; and,
on the whole, they were willing to believe, and still more
willing to persuade others, that the whole was genuine. On
such occasions, the greatest cloud of witnesses makes no
manner of evidence. What Jansenist was there in Paris,
which contains several thousands, that would not have given
evidence for the miracles of Abbe Paris ? The miracle is
greater, but not the evidence, with regard to the authenticity
of Ossian.
The late President Forbes was a great believer in the
second sight ; and I make no question but he could, on a
month's warning, have overpowered you with evidence in its
favour. But as finite added to finite never approaches a
hair's breadth nearer to infinite ; so a fact, incredible in itself,
acquires not the smallest accession of probability by the accu-
mulation of testimony.
The only real wonder in the whole affair is, that a person
of so fine a taste as Dr. Blair, should be so great an admirer
of these productions ; and one of so clear and cool a judg-
ment collect evidence of their authenticity.
425
LETTER TO THE AUTHORS OF THE
CRITICAL REVIEW CONCERNING THE EPIGONIAD
OF WILKIE. 1
To the Authors of the Critical Review.
April, 1759.
Gentlemen, The great advantages which result from
literary journals have recommended the use of them all
over Europe ; but as nothing is free from abuse, it must be
confessed that some inconveniences have also attended these
undertakings. The works of the learned multiply in such a
surprising manner, that a journalist, in order to give an ac-
count to the public of all new performances, is obliged to
peruse a small library every month, and as it is impossible
for him to bestow equal attention on every piece which he
criticises, he may readily be surprised into mistakes, and
give to a book such a character as, on a more careful perusal,
he would willingly retract. Even performances of the
greatest merit are not secure against this injury ; and, per-
haps, are sometimes the most exposed to it. An author of
genius scorns the vulgar arts of catching applause : he pays
no court to the great : gives no adulation to those celebrated
for learning : takes no care to provide himself of partisans,
or proneurs, as the French call them : and by that means his
work steals unobserved into the world : and it is some
time before the public, and even men of penetration, are sen-
sible of its merit. We take up the book with prepossession,
peruse it carelessly, are feebly affected by its beauties, and
lay it down with neglect, perhaps with disapprobation.
The public has done so much justice to the gentlemen en-
gaged in the Critical Review, as to acknowledge that no
literary journal was ever carried on in this country with
1 [Th's letter was never republished by the Author. Ed.]
426 LETTER TO THE CRITICAL REVIEW
equal spirit and impartiality : yet, I must confess that an
article published in your Eeview of 1757, gave me great
surprise, and not a little uneasiness. It regarded a book
called the Epigoniad, a poem of the epic kind, which was
at that time published with great applause at Edinburgh,
and of which a few copies had been sent up to London. The
author of that article had surely been lying under strong
prepossessions, when he spoke so negligently of a work
which abounds in such sublime beauties, and could endeavour
to discredit a poem, consisting of near six thousand lines, on
account of a few mistakes in expression and prosody, pro-
ceeding entirely from the author's being a Scotchman, who
had never been out of his own country. As there is a new
edition published of this poem, wherein all or most of these
trivial mistakes are corrected, I flatter myself that you will
gladly lay hold of this opportunity of retracting your over-
sight, and doing justice to a performance, which may, per-
haps, be regarded as one of the ornaments of our language.
I appeal from your sentence, as an old woman did from a
sentence pronounced by Philip of Macedon : I appeal from
Philip, ill-counselled and in a hurry, to Philip, well-advised,
and judging with deliberation. The authority which you
possess with the public makes your censure fall with weight :
and I question not but you will be the more ready, on that
account, to redress any injury into which either negligence,
prejudice, or mistake, may have betrayed you. As I profess
myself to be an admirer of this performance, it will afford me
pleasure to give you a short analysis of it, and to collect a
few specimens of those great beauties in which it abounds.
The author, who appears throughout his whole work to be
a great admirer and imitator of Homer, drew the subject of
this poem from the fourth Iliad, where Sthenelus gives
Agamemnon a short account of the sacking of Thebes. After
the fall of those heroes, celebrated by Statins, their sons, and
among the rest Diomede, undertook the siege of that city,
and were so fortunate as to succeed in their enterprise, and
to revenge on the Thebans and the tyrant Creon the death of
their fathers. These young heroes were known to the Greeks
under the title of the Epigoni, or ihe descendants ; and for
this reason the author has given to his poem the title of
Epigoniad, a name, it must be confessed somewhat un-
fortunately chosen, for as this particular was known only to
CONCERNING WILKIE'S EPIGONIAD. 427
a very few of the learned, the public were not able to con-
jecture what could be the subject of the poem, and were apt
to neglect what it was impossible for them to understand.
There remained a tradition among the Greeks, that Homer
had taken the siege of Thebes for the subject of a poem, which
is lost ; and our author seems to have pleased himself with
the thought of reviving the work, as well as of treading in
the footsteps of his favourite author. The actors are mostly
the same with those of the Iliad : Diomede is the hero :
Ulysses, Agamemnon, Menelaus, Nestor, Idomeneus, Merion,
even Thersites, all appear in different passages of the poem,
and act parts suitable to the lively characters drawn of them
by that great master. The whole turn of this new poem
would almost lead us to imagine that the Scottish bard had
found the lost manuscript of that father of poetry, and had
made a faithful translation of it into English. Longinus
imagines that the Odyssey was executed by Homer in his old
age ; we shall allow the Hiad to be the work of his middle
age ; and we shall suppose that the Epigoniad was the essay
of his youth, where his noble and sublime genius breaks
forth by frequent intervals, and gives strong symptoms of
that constant flame which distinguished its meridian.
The poem consists of nine books. We shall open the sub-
ject of it in the author's own words :
Ye pow'rs of song ! with whose immortal fire
Your bard enraptur'd sung Pelides' ire,
To Greece so fatal, when in evil hour,
He brav'd, in stern debate, the sov'reign pow'r,
By like example teach me now to show
From love, no less, what dire disasters flow.
For when the youth of Greece, by Theseus led,
Return'd to conquer where their fathers bled,
And punish guilty Thebes, by Heav'n ordain'd
For perfidy to fall, and oaths profan'd :
Venus, still partial to the Theban arms,
Tydeus' son seduc'd by female charms;
Who, from his plighted faith by passion sway'd,
The chiefs, the army, and himself betray'd.
This theme did once your favourite bard employ,
Whose verse immortaliz'd the fall of Troy :
But timers oblivious gulf, whose circle draws
All mortal things by fate's eternal laws,
428 LETTER TO THE CRITICAL REVIEW
In whose wide vortex wor , ' 1 < themselves are tost,
And rounding swift successively are lost,
This song hath snatch 'd. I now resume the strain,
Not from proud hope and emulation vain,
By this attempt to merit equal praise
With worth heroic, born in happier days.
Sooner the weed, that with the Spring appears,
And in the Summer's heat its blossom bears,
But, shriv'ling at the touch of Winter hoar,
Sinks to its native earth, and is no more ;
Might match the lofty oak, which long hath stood,
From age to age, the monarch of the wood.
But love excites me, and desire to trace
His glorious steps, tho' with unequal pace.
Before me still I see his awful shade,
With garlands crown'd of leaves which never fade ;
He points the path to fame, and bids me scale
Parnassus' slipp'ry height, where thousands fail :
I follow trembling ; for the cliffs are high,
And hov'ring round them watchful harpies fly,
To snatch the poet's wreath with envious claws,
And hiss contempt for merited applause.
The poet supposes that Cassandra, the daughcer of the
King of Pelignium in Italy, was pursued by the love of
Ectretus, a barbarous tyrant in the neighbourhood ; and as
her father rejected his addresses, he drew on himself the re-
sentment of the tyrant, who made war upon him, and forced
him to retire into Etolia, where Diomede gave him pro-
tection. This hero falls himself in love with Cassandra, and
is so fortunate as to make equal impression on her heart ; but
before the completion of his marriage, he is called to the
siege of Thebes, and leaves, as he supposes, Cassandra in
Etolia with her father. But Cassandra, anxious for her
lover's safety, and unwilling to part from the object of her
affections, had secretly put on a man's habit, had attended
him in the camp, and had fought by his side in all his
battles. Meanwhile the siege of Thebes is drawn out to some
length, and Venus, who favours that city, in opposition to
Juno and Pallas, who seek its destruction, deliberates con-
cerning the proper method of raising the siege. The fittest
expedient seems to be the exciting in Diomede a jealousy of
Cassandra, and persuading him that her affections were
secretly engaged to Ectretus, and that the tyrant had invaded
CONCERNING WILKIE'S EPIQONIAD. 429
Etolia in pursuit of his mistress. For this purpose Venus
sends down Jealousy, whom the author personifies under the
name of Zelotype. Her person and flight are painted in the
most splendid colours that poetry affords :
First to her feet the winged shoes she binds,
Which tread the air, and mount the rapid winds :
Aloft they bear her thro' th' ethereal plain,
Above the solid earth and liquid main :
Her arrows next she takes of pointed steel,
For sight too small, but terrible to feel :
Rous 'd by their smart the savage lion roars,
And mad to combat rush the tusky boars,
Of wounds secure ; for where their venom lights,
What feels their power all other torments slights.
A figur'd zone, mysteriously design'd,
Around her waist her yellow robe confin'd :
There dark Suspicion lurk'd, of sable hue ;
There hasty Rage his deadly dagger drew ;
Pale Envy inly pin'd : and by her side
Stood Phrenzy, raging with his chains unty'd ;
Affronted Pride with thirst of vengeance burn'd,
And Love's excess to deepest hatred turn'd.
All these the artist's curious hand express'd,
The work divine his matchless skill confess'd.
The virgin last, around her shoulders flung
The bow ; and by her side the quiver hung ;
Then, springing up, her airy course she bends,
For Thebes ; and lightly o'er the tents descends.
The son of Tydeus, 'midst his bands, she found
In arms complete, reposing on the ground :
And, as he slept, the hero thus address'd,
Her form to fancy's waking eye express'd.
Diomede, moved by the instigations of jealousy, and eager
to defend his mistress and his country, calls an assembly of
the princes, and proposes to raise the siege of Thebes, on ac-
count of the difficulty of the enterprize, and dangers which
surround the army. Theseus, the general, breaks out into
a passion at this proposal: but is pacified by Nestor.
Idomeneus rises, and reproaches Diomede for his dishonour-
able counsel, and among other topics, upbraids him with his
degeneracy from his father's bravery.
Should now, from hence arriv'd, some warrior's ghost
Greet valiant Tydeus on the Stygian coast,
430 LETTER TO THE CRITICAL REVIEW
And tell, when danger or distress is near,
That Diomed persuades the rest to fear :
He'd shun the synod of the mighty dead,
And hide his anguish in the deepest shade :
Nature in all an equal course maintains :
The lion's whelp succeeds to awe the plains :
Pards gender pards : from tigers tigers spring,
Nor doves are hatch'd beneath a vultur's wing :
Each parent's image in his offspring lives :
But nought of Tydeus in his son survives.
The debate is closed by Ulysses, who informs the princes
that the Thebans are preparing to march out in order to
attack them ; and that it is vain for them to deliberate any
longer concerning the conclusion of the war.
We have next a description of a battle between the The-
bans, under Creon, and the confederate Greeks, under
Theseus. The battle is full of the spirit of Homer. We shall
not trouble our reader with particulars, which would appear
insipid in prose, especially if compared to the lively poetry of
our author. We shall only transcribe one passage, as a
specimen of his happy choice of circumstances :
Next Areas, Cleon, valiant Chromeus dy'd ;
With Dares, to the Spartan chiefs ally'd.
And Phcemius, whom the gods in early youth
Had form'd for virtue and the love of truth ;
His gen'rous soul to noble deeds they turn'd,
And love to mankind in his bosom burn'd :
Cold thro' his throat the hissing weapon glides,
And on his neck the waving locks divides.
His fate the Graces mourn'd. The gods above,
Who sit around the starry throne of Jove,
On high Olympus bending from the skies,
His fate beheld with sorrow-streaming eyes.
Pallas alone, unalter'd and serene,
With secret triumph saw the mournful scene ;
Not hard of heart : for none of all the pow'rs,
In earth or ocean, or th' Olympian tow'rs,
Holds equal sympathy with human grief,
Or with a freer hand bestows relief:
But conscious that a mind by virtue steel'd
To no impression of distress will yield ;
That, still unconquer'd, in its awful hour
O'er death it triumphs with immortal pow'r.
CONCERNING WILKIE'S EPIGONIAD. 481
The battle ends with advantage to the confederate Greeks :
but the approach of night prevents their total victory.
Creon, king of Thebes, sends next an embassy to the
confederate Greeks, desiring a truce of seven days, in
order to bury the dead. Diomede, impatient to return
home, and stimulated by jealousy, violently opposes this
overture, but it is over-ruled by the other princes, and the
truce is concluded. The author, in imitation of Homer,
and the other ancient poets, takes here an opportunity of
describing games celebrated for honouring the dead. The
games he has chosen are different from those which are
to be found among the ancients, and the incidents are new
and curious.
Diomede took no share in. these games : his impatient
spirit could not brook the delay which arose from the truce :
he pretends that he consented not to it, and is not included
in it : he therefore proposes to his troops to attack the The-
bans while they are employed in performing the funeral rites
of the dead ; but is opposed in this design by Deiphobus his
tutor, who represents to him in the severest terms the rash-
ness and iniquity of his proposal. After some altercation,
Diomede, impatient of contradiction in his favourite object,
and stung by the free reproaches of his tutor, breaks out into
a violent passion, and throws his spear at Deiphobus, which
pierced him to the heart.
This incident, which is apt to surprize us, seems to have
been copied by our author, from that circumstance in the life
of Alexander, where this heroic conqueror, moved by a sud-
den passion, stabs Clytus his ancient friend, by whom his life
had been formerly saved in battle. The repentance of
Diomede is equal to that of Alexander. No sooner had he
struck the fatal blow than his eyes are opened : he is sensible
of his guilt and shame ; he refuses all consolation ; abstains
even from food : and shuts himself up alone in his tent. His
followers, amazed at the violence of his passion, keep at a
distance from him : all but Cassandra, who enters his tent
with a potion, which she had prepared for him. While she
stands before him alone, her timidity and passion betray her
sex : and Diomede immediately perceives her to be Cassandra,
who had followed him to the camp, under a warlike disguise.
As his repentance for the murder of Deiphobus was now the
ruling passion in his breast, he is not moved by tenderness
482 LETTER TO THE CRITICAL REVIEW
for Cassandra : on the contrary, he considers her as the cause,
however innocent, of the murder of his friend, and of his
own guilt ; and he' treats her with such coldness that she re-
tires in confusion. She even leaves the camp, and resolves
to return to her father in Etolia ; but is taken on the road by
a party of Thebans, who carry her to Creon. That tyrant
determines to make the most political use of this incident :
he sends privately a message to Diomede, threatening to put
Cassandra to death, if that hero would not agree to a separate
truce with Thebes. This proposal is at first rejected by Dio-
mede, who threatens immediate destruction to Creon and
all his race. Nothing can be more artfully managed by the
poet than this incident. We shall hear him in his own
words :
Sternly the hero ended, and rosign'd,
To fierce disorder, all his mighty mind.
Already in his thoughts, with vengeful hands,
He dealt destruction 'midst the Theban bands,
In fancy saw the tott'ring turrets fall,
And led his warriors o'er the level 'd wall.
Rous'd with the thought, from his high seat he sprung,
And grasp'd the sword, which on a column hung ;
The shining blade he balanc'd thrice in air ;
His lances next he view'd, and armour fair.
"When, hanging 'midst the costly panoply,
A scarf embroider'd met the hero's eye,
Which fair Cassandra's skilful hands had wrought,
A present for her lord, in secret brought
That day, when first he led his martial train
In arms, to combat on the Theban plain.
As some strong charm, which magic sounds compose,
Suspends a downward torrent as it flows ;
Checks in the precipice its headlong course,
And calls it trembling upwards to its source :
Such seem'd the robe, which, to the hero's eyes,
Made the fair artist in her charms to rise.
His rage, suspended in its full career,
To love resigns, to grief and tender fear.
Glad would he now his former words revoke,
And change the purpose which in wrath he spoke ;
From hostile hands his captive fair to gain,
From fate to save her, or the servile chain :
But pride, and shame, the fond design supprest ;
Silent he stood, and lock'd it in his breast.
CONCERNING WILKIE'S EPIGONIAD. 433
Yet had the wary Theban well divin'd,
By symptoms sure, each motion of his mind :
With joy he saw the heat of rage suppress'd ;
And thus again his artful words address'd.
The truce is concluded for twenty days ; but the perfidious*
Creon, hoping that Diomede would be overawed by the danger
of his mistress, resolves to surprise the Greeks ; and accord-
ingly makes a sudden attack upon them, breaks into their
camp, and carries everything before him. Diomede at first
stands neuter ; but when Ulysses suggests to him, that after
the defeat of the confederate Greeks, he has no security ; and
that so treacherous a prince as Creon will not spare, much
less restore Cassandra, he takes to arms, assaults the Thebans,
and obliges them, to seek shelter within their walls. Creon,
in revenge, puts Cassandra to death, and shews her head
over the walls. This sight so inflames Diomede, that he
attacks Thebes with double fury, takes the town by scalade,
and gratifies his vengeance by the death of Creon.
This is a short abstract of the story on which this new
poem is founded. The reader may perhaps conjecture (what
I am not very anxious to conceal) that the execution of the
Epigoniad is better than the design, the poetry superior to
the fable, and the colouring of the particular parts more
excellent than the general plan of the whole. Of all the
great epic poems which have been the admiration of man-
kind, the Jerusalem of Tasso alone would make a tolerable
novel, if reduced to prose, and related without that splendour
of versification and imagery by which it is supported : yet
in the opinion of many great judges, the Jerusalem is the
least perfect of all these productions : chiefly, because it has
least nature and simplicity in the sentiments, and is most
liable to the objection of affectation and conceit. The story
of a poem, whatever may be imagined, is the least essential
part of it : the force of the versification, the vivacity of the
images, the justness of the descriptions, the natural play of
the passions, are the chief circumstances which distinguish
the great poet from the prosaic novelist, and give him so
high a rank among the heroes in literature ; and I will ven-
ture to affirm, that all these advantages, especially the three
former, are to be found in an eminent degree in the Epi-
goniad. The author, inspired with the true genius of Greece,
VOL. IV. F F
434 LETTER TO THE CRITICAL REVIEW
and smit with the most profound veneration for Homer, dis-
dains all frivolous ornaments ; and relying entirely on his
sublime imagination, and his nervous and harmonious ex-
pression, has ventured to present to his reader the naked
beauties of nature, and challenges for his partizans all the
admirers of genuine antiquity.
There is one circumstance in which the poet has carried
his boldness of copying antiquity beyond the practice of
many, even judicious moderns. He has drawn his per-
sonages, not only with all the simplicity of the Grecian
heroes, but also with some degree of their roughness, and
even of their ferocity. This is a circumstance which a mere
modern is apt to find fault with in Homer, and which
perhaps he will not easily excuse in his imitator. It is cer-
tain, that the ideas of manners are so much changed since
the age of Homer, that though the Iliad was always among
the ancients conceived to be a panegyric on the Greeks, yet the
reader is now almost always on the side of the Trojans, and is
much more interested for the humane and soft manners of
Priam, Hector, Andromache, Sarpedon, iEneas, Glaucus,
nay, even of Paris and Helen, than for the severe and cruel
bravery of Achilles, Agamemnon, and the other Grecian
heroes. Sensible of this inconvenience, Fenelon, in his
elegant romance, has softened extremely the harsh man-
ners of the heroic ages, and has contented himself with
retaining that amiable simplicity by which those ages were
distinguished. If the reader be displeased, that the British
poet has not followed the example of the French writer, he
must, at least, allow that he has drawn a more exact and
faithful copy of antiquity, and has made fewer sacrifices of
truth to ornament.
There is another circumstance of our author's choice which
will be liable to dispute. It may be thought that by intro-
ducing the heroes of Homer, he has lost all the charm of
novelty, and leads us into fictions which are somewhat stale
and thread-bare. Boileau, the greatest critic of the French
nation, was of a very different opinion :
La feble offre a l'esprit mille agrements divers
La tous les noma heureux semblent nez pour les vers :
Ulysse, Agamemnon, Oreste, Idomenee,
Helene, Menelas, Paris, Hector, Enee.
CONCERNING WILKIE'S EPIGONIAD. 436
It is certain that there is in that poetic ground a kind of
enchantment which allures every person of a tender and
lively imagination ; nor is this impression diminished, but
rather much increased, by our early introduction to the know-
ledge of it in our perusal of the Greek and Latin classics.
The same great French critic makes the apology of our
poet in his use of the ancient mythology :
Ainsi dans cet amas de nobles fictions,
Le poet s'egeye en mille inventions,
Orne, eleve, embellit, aggrandit toutes choses,
Et trouve sous sa main des fleurs toujours ecloses.
It would seem, indeed, that if the machinery of the heathen
gods be not admitted, epic poetry, at least all the marvellous
part of it, must be entirely abandoned. The Christian reli-
gion, for many reasons, is unfit for the fa.bulous ornaments
of poetry : the introduction of allegory, after the manner of
Voltaire, is liable to many objections : and though a mere
historical epic poem, like Leonidas, may have its beauties,
it will always be inferior to the force and pathetic of tragedy,
and must resign to that species of poetry the precedency
which the former composition has always challenged among
the productions of human genius. But with regard to these
particulars, the author has himself made a sufficient apology
in the judicious and spirited preface which accompanies his
poem.
But though our poet has in general followed so success-
fully the footsteps of Homer, he has, in particular passages,
chosen other ancient poets for his model. His seventh book
contains an episode, very artfully inserted, concerning the
death of Hercules : where he has plainly had Sophocles in
his view, and has ventured to engage in a rivalship with that
great master of the tragic scene. If the sublimity of our
poet's imagination, and the energy of his style, appear any
where conspicuous, it is in this episode, which we shall not
scruple to compare with any poetry in the English language.
Nothing can be more pathetic than the complaint of Her-
cules, when the poison of the centaur's robe begins first to
prey upon him :
Sov'reign of Heav'n and Earth 1 whose boundless sway
The fates of men and mortal things obey,
r> 2
430 LETTER TO THE CRITICAL REVIEW
If e'er delighted from the courts above,
In human form you sought Alcmene's love ;
If fame's unchanging voice to all the Earth,
With truth, proclaims you author of my birth ;
Whence, from a course of spotless glory run,
Successful toils and wreaths of triumph won,
Am I thus wretched ? better that before
Some monster fierce had drank my streaming gore ;
Or crush'd by Cacus, foe to gods and men,
My batter'd brains had strew'd his rocky den :
Than, from my glorious toils and triumphs past,
To fall subdu'd by female arts, at last.
O cool my boiling blood, ye winds, that blow
From mountains loaded with eternal snow,
And crack the icy cliffs ; in vain ! in vain !
Your rigour cannot quench my raging pain !
For round this heart the furies wave their branas,
And wring my entrails with their burning hands.
Now bending from the skies, O wife of Jove !
Enjoy the vengeance of thy injur'd love :
For fate, by me, the Thund'rer'a guilt atones ;
And, punish'd in her son, Alcmene groans :
The object of your hate shall soon expire,
Fix'd on my shoulders preys a net of fire ;
Whom nor the toils nor dangers could subdue,
By false Eurystheus dictated from you ;
Nor tyrants lawless, nor the monstrous brood
Which haunts the desert or infests the flood,
Nor Greece, nor all the barb'rous climes that lie
Where Phoebus ever points his golden eye ;
A woman hath o'erthrown ! ye gods 1 I yield
To female arts, unconquer'd in the field.
My arms alas ! are these the same that bow'd
Anteus, and his giant force subdu'd ?
That dragg'd Nemea's monster from his den ?
And slew the dragon in his native fen ?
Alas ! alas ! their mighty muscles fail,
While pains infernal ev'ry nerve assail :
Alas, alas ! I feel in streams of woe
These eyes dissolve, before untaught to flow.
Awake my virtue, oft in dangers try'd,
Patient in toils, in deaths unterrify'd,
Rouse to my aid ; nor let my labours past,
With fame achiev'd, be blotted by the last :
Firm and unmov'd, the present shock endure;
Once triumph, and for ever rest secure.
CONCERNING WILKIES EPIGONIAD. 437
Our poet, though his genius be in many respects very
original, has not disdained to imitate even modern poets.
He has added to his heroic poem a dream, in the manner of
Spenser, where the poet supposes himself to be introduced
to Homer, who censures his poem in some particulars, and
excuses it in others. This poem is indeed a species of
apology for the Epigoniad, wrote in a very lively and elegant
manner: it may be compared to a well-polished gem, of the
purest water, and cut into the most beautiful form. Those
who would judge of our author's talents for poetry, without
perusing his larger work, may satisfy their curiosity, by
running over this short poem. They will see the same force
of imagination and harmony of numbers, which distinguish
his longer performance : and may thence, with small appli-
cation, receive a favourable impression of our author's genius.
D. H.
439
DEDICATION OF THE FOUE DISSEETATIONS,'
1757. 1
To the Reverend Mr. Hume, 9 Author of * Douglas,' a Tragedy.
My Dear Sir, It was the practice of the antients to ad-
dress their compositions only to friends and equals, and to
render their dedications monuments of regard and affection,
not of servility and flattery. In those days of ingenuous and
candid liberty, a dedication did honour to the person to
whom it was addressed, without degrading the author. If
any partiality appeared towards the patron, it was at least
the partiality of friendship and affection.
Another instance of true liberty, of which antient times
can alone afford us an example, is the liberty of thought,
which engaged men of letters, however different in their
abstract opinions, to maintain a mutual friendship and re-
gard ; and never to quarrel about principles, while they
agreed in inclinations and manners. Science was often the
subject of disputation, never of animosity. Cicero, an aca-
demic, addressed his philosophical treatises, sometimes to
Brutus, a stoic ; sometimes to Atticus, an epicurean.
I have been seized with a strong desire of renewing these
laudable practices of antiquity, by addressing the following
dissertations to you, my good friend : For such I will ever
call and esteem you, notwithstanding the opposition, which
prevails between us, with regard to many of our speculative
tenets. These differences of opinion I have only found to
1 [The circumstances attending the may stand by the side of his sanction of
publication of this ' Dedication ' are the Epigonind and of his condemnation
given in the ' History of the Editions,' of the Poems of Ossian. En.]
VoL III. p. 6ft, where it has already [* So Hume chose to spell the name :
been printed. It is repeated here, in Burton's Life of Hume, Vol. II. p. 506.
order that Hume's eulogy of Douglas Ed.]
410 DEDICATION OF THE ' TOUIi DISSERTATIONS,' 1757,
enliven our conversation ; while our common passion for
science and letters served as a cement to our friendship. I
still admired your genius, even when I imagined, that you
lay under the influence of prejudice ; and you sometimes
told me, that you excused my errors, on account of the
candor and sincerity, which, you thought, accompanied them.
But to tell truth, it is less my admiration of your fine
genius, which has engaged me to make this address to you,
than my esteem of your character and my affection to your
person. That generosity of mind which ever accompanies
you ; that cordiality of friendship, that spirited honour and
integrity, have long interested me strongly in your behalf,
and have made me desirous, that a monument of our mutual
amity should be publicly erected, and, if possible, be preserved
to posterity.
I own too, tha,t I have the ambition to be the first who
shall in public express his admiration of your noble tragedy of
Douglas ; one of the most interesting and pathetic pieces,
that was ever exhibited on any theatre. Should I give it
the preference to the Merope of Maffei, and to that of Vol-
taire, which it resembles in its subject; should I affirm, that it
contained more fire and spirit than the former, more tender-
ness and simplicity than the latter ; I might be accused of
partiality ; And how could I entirely acquit myself, after the
professions of friendship, which I have made you ? But the
unfeigned tears which flowed from every eye, in the numerous
representations which were made of it on this theatre ; the
unparalleled command, which you appeared to have over
every affection of the human breast : These are incontestible
proofs, that you possess the true theatric genius of Shakespear
and Otway, refined from the unhappy barbarism of the one,
and licentiousness of the other.
My enemies, you know, and, I own, even sometimes my
friends, have reproached me with the love bf paradoxes and
singular opinions ; and I expect to be exposed to the same
imputation, on account of the character which I have here
given of your Douglas. I shall be told, no doubt, that I had
artfully chosen the only time, when this high esteem of that
piece could be regarded as a paradox, to wit, before its publi-
cation ; and that not being able to contradict in this particular
the sentiments of the public, I have, at least, resolved to go
before them. But I shall be amply compensated for all these
TO JOHN HOME. 441
pleasantries, if you accept this testimony of my regard, and
believe me to be, with the greatest sincerity,
Dear Sir,
Your most affectionate Friend,
and humble Servant,
David Hume.
Edinburgh: 3 January. 1757.'
44a
FRAGMENTS OF A PAPER IN HUME'S HAND-
WRITING, DESCRIBING THE DESCENT ON THE
COAST OF BRITTANY, IN 1746, AND THE CAUSES
OF ITS FAILURE. 1
The forces under Lieutenant General St. Clair consisted of
five battalions, viz. the first battalion of the 1st Royal, the
5th Highlanders, 3rd Brag's, 4th Richbell's, 2d Harrison's,
together with part of Frampton's, and some companies of
Marines, making in all about 4500 men. The fleet consisted
of . Though this army and fleet had been at
first fitted out for entering upon action in summer 1746,
and making conquest of Canada, it was found, after several
vain efforts to get out of the Channel, first under Com-
modore Cotes, then under Admiral Listock, that so much
time had been unavoidably lost, from contrary winds and
contrary orders, as to render it dangerous for so large a body
of ships to proceed thither. The middle of May was the
last day of rendezvous appointed at Spithead ; and in the
latter end of August, the fleet had yet got no farther than
St. Helen's, about a league below it. It is an observation,
that in the latter end of autumn, or beginning of winter,
the north-west winds blow so furiously on the coast of North
America, as to render it always difficult, and often impossible,
for ships that set out late to reach any harbour in those
parts. Instances have been found of vessels that have been
obliged to take shelter from these storms, even in the Lee-
ward Islands. It was therefore become necessary to abandon
all thoughts of proceeding to America that season ; and as
the transports were fitted out and fleet equipped at great
expense, an attempt was hastily made to turn them to some
account in Europe, during the small remainder of the sunl-
it This narrative, published as Ap- took Hume with him as Secretary and
pendix A to the ' Life of Hume' Vol. i. Judge Advocate of all the Forces under
E. 441, is supposed by Mr. Burton to his command. See ' Life of Hume,' VoL
a?e been 'drawn up as a vindication i. pp. 208 and seq. Ed.]
of the conduct of General St. Clair,' who
444 DESCENT ON THE COAST OF BRITTANY.
mer. The distress of the allies in Flanders demanded the
more immediate attention of the English nation and ministry,
and required, if possible, some speedy remedy. 'Twas too late
to think of sending the six battalions under General St.
Clair, to reinforce Prince Charles of Lorraine, who com-
manded the armies of the allies ; and their number was,
besides, too inconsiderable to hope for any great advantages
from that expedient. 'Twas more to be expected, that falling
on the parts of France, supposed to be defenceless and dis-
armed, they might make a diversion, and occasion the send-
ing a considerable detachment from the enemy's army in
Flanders. But as time pressed, and allowed not leisure to
concert and prepare this measure, the Duke of Newcastle,
Secretary of State, hoped to find that General St. Clair had
already planned and projected some enterprise of this nature.
He formed this presumption on a hint which had been started
very casually, and which had been immediately dropped by
the General.
In the spring, when the obstructions and delays thrown
in the way of the American enterprise were partly felt and
partly foreseen, the Secretary, lamenting the great and, he
feared, useless expense to which the nation had been put by
that undertaking, gave occasion to the General to throw out
a thought, which would naturally occur in such a situation.
He said, ' Why may you not send the squadron and troops to
some part of the coast of France, and at least frighten and
alarm them as they have done us ; and, as all their troops
are on the Flanders and German frontiers, 'tis most probable
that such an alarm may make them recall some of them ? '
The subject was then no farther prosecuted ; but the King,
being informed of this casual hint of the General's, asked
him if he had formed any plan or project by which the
service above-mentioned might be effectuated. He assured
his majesty that he had never so much as thought of it ; but
that, if it was his pleasure, he would confer with Sir John
Ligonier, and endeavour to find other people in London
who could let him into some knowledge of the coast of
France. To this the King replied, ' No, no ; you need not
give yourself any trouble about it.' And accordingly the
General never more thought of it, farther than to inform the
Duke of Newcastle of this conference with his majesty.
However, the Duke being willing that the person who was
UNDER GENERAL ST. CLAIR, 174G. 446
to execute the undertaking should also be the projector of it,
by which means both greater success might be hoped from
it, and every body else be screened from reflection in case of
its miscarriage, desired, in his letter of the 22d of August,
that both the Admiral and General should give their opinion
of such an invasion; and particularly the General, who,
having, he said, formed some time ago a project of this
nature, might be the better prepared to give his thoughts
with regard to it. They both jointly replied, that their utter
ignorance made them incapable of delivering their senti-
ments on so delicate a subject ; and the General, in a sepa-
rate letter, recalled to the Duke's memory the circumstances
of the story, as above related.
Though they declined proposing a project, they both
cheerfully offered, that if his majesty would honour them
with any plan of operation for a descent, they would do their
best to carry it into execution. They hoped that the Secretary
of State, who, by his office, is led to turn his eyes every
where, and who lives at London, the centre of commerce
and intelligence, could better form and digest such a plan,
than they who were cooped up in their ships, in a remote
sea-port town, without any former acquaintance with the
coast of France, and without any possibility of acquiring
new knowledge. They at least hoped, that so difficult a task
would not be required of them as either to give their senti-
ments without any materials afforded them to judge upon,
or to collect materials, while the most inviolable secrecy was
strictly enjoined on them. It is remarkable, that the Duke
of Newcastle, among other advantages proposed by this
expedition, mentions the giving assistance to such Pro-
testants as are already in arms, or may be disposed to rise
on the appearance of the English, as if we were living in
the time of the League, or during the confusion of Francis
the Second's minority.
Full of these reflections, they sailed from St. Helen's on
the 23d of August, and arrived at Plymouth on the 29th, in
obedience to their orders, which required them to put into
that harbour for farther instructions. They there found
positive orders to sail immediately, with the first fair wind,
to the coast of France, and make an attempt on L'Orient,
or Bochefort, or Rochelle, or sail up the river of Bourdeaux ;
or, if they judged any of these enterprises impracticable, to
446 DESCENT ON THE COAST OF BRITTANY.
sail to whatever other place on the western coast they should
think proper. Such unbounded discretionary powers could
not but be agreeable to the commanders, had it been ac-
companied with better, or indeed with any intelligence. As
the wind was then contrary, they had leisure to reply in
their letters of the 29th and 30th. They jointly represented
the difficulties, or rather impossibilities, of any attempt on
L'Orient, Rochefort, and Rochelle, by reason of the real
strength of these places, so far as their imperfect informa-
tion could reach ; or, if that were erroneous, by reason of
their own absolute want of intelligence, guides, and pilots,
which are the soul of all military operations.
The General, in a separate letter, enforced the same topics,
and added many other reflections of moment. He said, that
of all the places mentioned in his orders, Bourdeaux, if ac-
cessible, appeared to him the properest to be attempted;
both as it is one of the towns of greatest commerce and riches
in France, and as it is the farthest situated from their
Flanders' army, and on these accounts an attack on it would
most probably produce the wished-for alarm and diversion.
He added, that he himself knew the town to be of no
strength, and that the only place there capable of making
any defence, is Chateau Trompette, which serves it as a
citadel, and was intended, as almost all citadels are, more as
a curb, than a defence, on the inhabitants. But though
these circumstances promised some success, he observed that
there were many other difficulties to struggle with, which
threw a mighty damp on these promising expectations. In the
first place, he much questioned if there was in the fleet any one
person who had been ashore on the western coast of France,
except himself, who was once at Bourdeaux ; and he, too, was
a stranger to all the country betwixt the town and the sea.
He had no single map of any part of France on board with
liim ; and what intelligence he may be able to force from
the people of the country can be but little to be depended
on, as it must be their interest to mislead him. And if
money prove necessary, either for obtaining intelligence,
carrying on of works, or even subsisting the officers, he
must raise it in the country ; for, except a few chests of
Mexican dollars, consigned to other uses, he carried no
money with him. If he advanced any where into the country,
ho must be at a very great loss for want of horses to draw
the artillery; as the inhabitants will undoubtedly carry off
UNDER GENERAL ST. CLAIR, 1746. 447
as many of them as they could, and he had neither hussars
nor dragoons to force them back again. And as to the pre-
serving any conquests he might make, (of which the Duke
had dropped some hints,) he observed that every place which
was not impregnable to him, with such small force, must
be untenable by him. On the whole, he engaged for
nothing but obedience ; he promised no success ; he professed
absolute ignorance with regard to every circumstance of the
undertaking ; he even could not fix on any particular under-
taking ; and yet he lay under positive orders to sail with the
first fair wind, to approach the unknown coast, march
through the unknown country, and attack the unknown
cities of the most potent nation of the universe.
Meanwhile, Admiral Anson, who had put into Plymouth,
and had been detained there by the same contrary winds,
which still prevailed, had a conversation with the General
and Admiral on the subject of their enterprise. He told
them, that he remembered to have once casually heard from
Mr. Hume, member for Southwark, that he had been at
L'Orient, and that, though it be very strong by sea, it is not
so by land. Though Mr. Hume, the gentleman mentioned,
be bred to a mercantile profession, not to war, and though
the intelligence received from him was only casual, imperfect,
and by second-hand, yet it gave pleasure to the Admiral and
General, as it afforded them a faint glimmering ray in their
present obscurity and ignorance ; and they accordingly re-
solved to follow it. They wrote to the Duke of Newcastle,
September the 3d, that 'twas to L'Orient they intended to
bend their course, as soon as the wind offered. To remedy
the ignorance of the coast and want of pilots, as far as pos-
sible, Commodore Cotes in the Euby, together with Captain
Steward in the Hastings, and a sloop and tender, was imme-
diately despatched by the Admiral to view Port L'Orient and
all the places near it, so far as might regard the safe approach
and anchorage of the ships. The ignorance of the country, and
want of guides, was a desperate evil, for which the General
could provide no remedy. But as the wind still continued
contrary to the fleet and transports, though single ships of
war might work their way against it, the General had oc-
casion to see farther alterations made by the ministry in
their project of an invasion.
The Duke of Newcastle, who had before informed tlie
General that, if he could establish himself on any part of the
448 DESCENT ON THE COAST OF BRITTANY.
coast of France, two battalions of the Guards, and General
Huske's regiment, should be despatched after him, now says,
(Sept. 3), that these three battalions have got immediate
orders to follow him. He farther adds, that if the General
finds it impracticable to make any descent on the coast of
Brittany, or higher up in the Bay of Biscay, he would probably
find, on his return, some intelligence sent him, by the rein-
forcement, with regard to the coast of Normandy. Next day
the Duke changes his mind, and sends immediately this in-
telligence with regard to the coast of Normandy, and a plan
for annoying the French on that quarter, proposed by Major
Macdonald ; and to this plan he seems entirely to give the
preference to the other, of making an attempt on the western
coast of France, to which he had before confined the Admiral
and General. They considered the plan, and conversed with
Major Macdonald, who came down to Plymouth a few days
after. They found that this plan had been given in some
years before, and was not in the least calculated for the pre-
sent expedition, but required a body of cavalry as an essential
point towards its execution; an advantage of which the
General was entirely destitute. They found that Major Mac-
donald had had so few opportunities of improving himself in
the art of war, that it would be dangerous, without farther
information, to follow his plan in any military operations.
They found that he pretended only to know the strength of
the town, and nature of the country, in that province, but
bad never acquainted himself with the sea-coast-, or pitched
apon any proper place for disembarkation. They considered
that a very considerable step had been already taken towards
the execution of the other project on the coast of Brittany,
viz. the sending Commodore Cotes to inspect and sound the
coast ; and that the same step must now be taken anew, in so
late a season, with regard to the coast of Normandy. They
thought that, if their whole operations were to begin, an at-
tempt on the western coast was preferable, chiefly because
of its remoteness from the Flanders' army, which must in-
crease and spread the alarm, if the country were really so
defenceless as was believed. They represented all those
reasons to the Secretary ; but at the same time expressed
their intentions of remaining at Plymouth till they should
receive his majesty's positive orders with regard to the enter-
prise on which they were to engage.
UNDER GENERAL ST. CLAIR, 174G. 44f,
The Duke immediately despatched a messenger, with full
powers to them to go whithersoever they pleased. Daring
this interval, the General was obliged, to his great regret, to
remain in a manner wholly inactive. Plymouth was so re-
mote a place, that it was not to be expected he could there
get any proper intelligence. He was bound up by his orders
to such inviolable secrecy, that he could not make any in-
quiries for it, or scarce receive it, if offered. The Secretary
had sent Major Macdonald, and one Cooke, captain of a
privateer, who, 'twas found, could be of no manner of service
in this undertaking. These, he said, were the only persons
he could find in London that pretended to know any thing of
the coast of France, as if the question had been with regard
to the coast of Japan or of California. The General desired
to have maps of France, chiefly of Gascony and Brittany.
He receives only a map of Gascony, together with one of
Normandy. No map of Brittany ; none of France ; he is
obliged to set out on so important an enterprise without in-
telligence, without pilots, Avithout guides, without any map
of the country to which he was bound, except a common map,
on a small scale, of the kingdom of France, which his Aid-
de-camp had been able to pick up in a shop at Plymouth.
He represented all these difficulties to the ministry ; he
begged them not to flatter themselves with any success from
a General who had such obstacles to surmount, and who
must leave his conduct to the government of chance more
than prudence. He was answered, that nothing was expected
of him, but to land any where he pleased in France, to pro-
duce an alarm, and to return safe, with the fleet and trans-
ports, to the British dominions. Though he was sensible
that more would be expected by the people, yet he cheerfully
despised their rash judgments, while he acted in obedience
to orders, and in the prosecution of his duty. The fleet
sailed from Plymouth on the 15th of September, and, after a
short voyage of three days, arrived, in the evening of the 18th,
off the island of Groa, where they found Commodore Cotes
and Captain Stuart, who gave them an account of the suc-
cess which they had met with in the survey of the coast near
L'Orient. The place they had pitched on for landing, was
ten miles from that town, at the mouth of the river of Quiin-
perlay. They represented it as a flat open shore, with deep
water : on these accounts a good landing-place for the troopjj,
vol. iv. a Q
4o0 DESCENT ON THE COAST OF BRITTANY.
but a dangerous place for the ships to ride in, on account of
the rocks with which it was every where surrounded, and the
high swell which' was thrown in, from the Bay of Biscay, by
the west and south-west winds.
It was then about eight in the evening, a full moon and a
clear sky, witli a gentle breeze blowing in shore. The ques-
tion was, whether to sail directly to the landing-place, or hold
off till morning. The two officers who had surveyed the
coast were divided in opinion : one recommended the former
measure, the other suggested some scruples, by representing
the dangerous rocks that lay on every side of them, and the
ignorance of all the pilots with regard to their number and
situation. The Admiral was determined, by these reasons, to
agree to this opinion. The question seemed little important,
as it regarded only a short delay ; but really was of the ut-
most consequence, and was, indeed, the spring whence all the
ill success in this expedition flowed.
The great age of Admiral Listock, as it increased his ex-
perience, should make us cautious of censuring his opinion in
sea affairs, where he was allowed to have such consummate
knowledge. But at the same time, it may beget a suspicion,
that being now in the decline of life, he was thence naturally
inclined rather to the prudent counsels which suit a con-
certed enterprise, than to the bold temerity which belongs to
such hasty and blind undertakings. The unhappy conse-
quences of this over-cautious measure immediately appeared.
The Admiral had laid his account, that by a delay, which
procured a greater safety to the fleet and transports, only
four or five hours would be lost ; but the wind changing in
the morning, and blowing fresh off shore, all next day, and
part of next night, was spent before the ships could reach the
landing-place. Some of them were not able to reach it till
two days after.
During this time, the fleet lay full in view of the coast, and
preparations were making in Port Louis, L'Orient, and over
the whole country, for the reception of an enemy, who
threatened them with so unexpected an invasion.
The force of France, either for offence or defence, consists
chiefly in three different bodies of men : first, in a numerous
veteran army, which was then entirely employed in Italy and
on their frontiers, except some shattered regiments, which
were dispersed about the country, for the advantage of re-
UNDER GENERAL ST. CLAIR, 1740. 4
cruiting, and of which there were two regiments of dragoons
at that time in Brittany ; secondly, in a regular and disci-
plined militia, with which all the fortified cities along the
sea-coast were garrisoned, and many of the frontier-towns,
that seemed not to be threatened with any immediate attack.
Some bodies of this militia had also been employed in the
field with the regular troops, and had acquired honour, which
gave spirits and courage to the rest : thirdly, in a numerous
body of coast militia, or gardes-du-cote, amounting to near
200,000, ill armed and ill disciplined, formidable alone by
their numbers ; and in Brittany, by the ferocity of the in-
habitants, esteemed of old and at present, the most warlike
and least civilized of all the French peasants. Regular
signals were concerted for the assembling of these forces by
alarm guns, flags, and fires ; and in the morning of the 20th
of September, by break of day, a considerable body of all
these different kinds of troops, but chiefly of the last, amount-
ing to above 3,000 men, were seen upon the sea-shore to
oppose the disembarkation of the British forces. A disposition,
therefore, of ships and boats must be made for the regular
landing of the army ; and as the weather was then very
blustering, and the wind blew almost off shore, this could
not be effected till afternoon.
There appeared, in view of the fleet, three places which
seemed proper for a disembarkation, and which were separated
from each other either by a rising ground, or by a small arm of
the sea. The French militia had posted themselves in the two
places which lay nearest to L 'Orient ; and finding that they
were not numerous enough to cover the whole, they left the
third, which lay to the windward, almost wholly defenceless.
The General ordered the boats to rendezvous opposite to this
beach ; and he saw the French troops march off from the
next contiguous landing-place, and take post opposite to him.
They placed themselves behind some sand-banks in such a
manner as to be entirely sheltered from the cannon of those
English ships which covered the landing, while at the same
time they could rush in upon the troops, as soon as their
approach to the shore had obliged the ships to leave off
firing.
The General remarked their plan of defence, and was de-
termined to disappoint them. He observed, that the next
landing-place to the leeward was now empty; and that,
o o 2
452 DESCENT ON TIIE COAST OF BRITTANY.
though the troops which had been posted on the more distant
beach had quitted their station, and were making a circuit
round an arm of the sea, in order to occupy the place
deserted by the others, they had not as yet reached it. He
immediately seized the opportunity. He ordered his boats to
row directly forward, as if he intended to land on the beach
opposite to him ; but while the enemy were expecting him to
advance, he ordered the boats to turn, at a signal ; and,
making all the speed that both oars and sails could give
them, to steer directly to the place deserted by the enemy.
In order to render the disembarkation more safe, he had
previously ordered two tenders to attack a battery, which had
been placed on a mount towards the right, and which was
well situated for annoying the boats on their approach. The
tenders succeeded in chasing the French from their guns ; the
boats reached the shore before any of the French could be op-
posite to them. The soldiers landed, to the number of about
six hundred men, and formed in an instant ; immediately
upon which the whole militia dispersed and fled up into the
country. The English followed them regularly and in good
order ; prognosticating success to the enterprise from such a
fortunate beginning.
There was a creek, or arm of the sea, dry at low water,
which lay on the right hand of the landing-place, and through
which ran the nearest road to L'Orient, and the only one fit
for the march of troops, or the draught of cannon and heavy
carriages. As it was then high water, the French runaways
were obliged, by this creek, to make a circuit of some miles ;
and they thereby misled the general, who, justly concluding
they would take shelter in that town, and having no other
guides to conduct him, thought that, by following their foot-
steps, he would be led the readiest and shortest way to
L'Orient. He detached, therefore, in pursuit of the flying
militia, about a thousand men, under the command of Bri-
gadier O'Farrel; who, after being harassed by some firing
from the hedges, (by which Lieut.-Col. Erskine, Quarter-
Master General, was dangerously wounded,) arrived that
evening at Guidel, a village about a league distant from the
landing-place. The general himself lay near the sea-shore,
to wait for the landing of the rest of the forces. By break of
day he led them up to join the brigadier at Guidel. He there
learned from some peasants, taken prisoners, and who spoke
UNDER GENERAL ST. CLAIR, 1740. 453
the French language, (which few of the common people in
Brittany are able to do,) that the road into which he had
been led, by the reasons above specified, was the longest by
four or five miles. He was also informed, what he had partly
seen, that the road was very dangerous and difficult, running
through narrow lanes and defiles, betwixt high hedges, faced
with stone walls, and bordered in many places with thick
woods and brashes, where a very few disciplined and brave
troops might stop a whole army ; and where even a few,
without discipline or bravery, might, by firing suddenly upon
the forces, throw them into confusion.
In order to acquire a more thorough knowledge of the
country, of which he and the whole army were utterly igno-
rant, he here divided the troops into two equal bodies, and
marched them up to L'Orient, by two different roads, which
were pointed out to him. The one part, which he himself
conducted, passed without much molestation. The other,
under Brigadier O'Farrel, was not so fortunate. Two bat-
talions of that detachment, RichbelFs and Frampton's, partly
from their want of experience, and partly from the terror
naturally inspired into soldiers by finding themselves in a
difficult country unknown both to themselves and leaders,
and partly, perhaps, from accident, to which the courage of
men is extremely liable, fell into confusion, before a handful
of French peasants who fired at them from behind the hedges.
Notwithstanding all the endeavours of the Brigadier, many of
them threw down their arms and ran away ; others fired in
confusion, and wounded each other ; and if any regular forces
had been present to take advantage of this disorder, the most
fatal consequences might have ensued. And though they
were at last led on, and joined the general that evening
before L'Orient, the panic still remained in these two batta-
lions afterwards, and communicated itself toothers; kept the
whole army in anxiety, even when they were not in danger,
and threw a mighty damp on the expectations of success, con-
ceived from this undertaking. L'Orient, lately a small village,
now a considerable town, on the coast of Brittany, lies in the
extremity of a fine bay, the mouth of which is very narrow,
and guarded by the strong citadel of Port Louis. This town
has become the centre of the French East India trade, the
seat of the company established for that commerce, and the
magazine whence they distribute the East India commodities.
454 DESCENT ON THE COAST OF BRITTANY.
The great prizes made upon them by the English, during the
course of the war, had given a check to this growing com-
merce ; yet still the town was esteemed a valuable acquisition,
were it only on account of the wealth it contained, and the
store-houses of the company, a range of stately buildings,
erected at public charge, both for use and ornament. The
town itself is far from being strong. Two sides of it, which
are not protected with water, are defended only with a plain
wall, near thirty feet high, of no great thickness, and without
any fosse or parapet. But the water which covers the other
two sides, rendered it impossible to be invested, and gave an
opportunity for multitudes of people to throw themselves into
it from every corner of that populous country. And though
these, for want of discipline, could not be trusted in the
field against regular forces, yet became they of great use
in a defence behind walls, by throwing up works, erecting
batteries, and digging trenches, to secure (what was sufficient)
for a few days, a weak town against a small and ill-provided
army. The East India Company had numbers of cannon in
their magazines, and had there erected a school of engineers,
for the service of their ships and settlements ; the vessels in
the harbour supplied them with more cannon, and with sea-
men accustomed to their management and use ; and whatever
was wanting, either in artillery or warlike stores, could easily
be brought by water from Port Louis, with which the town
of L'Orient kept always an open communication.
But as these advantages, though great, require both a
sufficient presence of mind, and some time, to be employed
against an enemy, 'tis not improbable, that if the admiral
had been supplied with proper pilots, and the general with
proper guides, which could have led the English immediately
upon the coast, and to the town, the very terror of so unex-
pected an invasion would have rendered the inhabitants
incapable of resistance, and made them surrender at discre-
tion. The want of these advantages had already lost two
days ; and more time must yet be consumed, before they could
so much as make the appearance of an attack. Cannon was
wanting, and the road by which the army had marched, was
absolutely unfit for the conveyance of them. The general,
therefore, having first despatched an officer and a party to
reconnoitre the country, and find a nearer and better road,
September 22d, went himself next day to the sea-shore, for the
UNDER GENERAL ST. CLAIR. 1740. 466
same purpose, and also in order to concert with the admiral
the proper method of bringing up cannon ; as almost all the
horses in the country, which are extremely weak and of a
diminutive size, had been driven away by the peasants.
Accordingly, a road was found, much nearer, though still
ten miles of length ; and much better, though easily rendered
impassable by rainy weather, as was afterwards experienced.
A council of war was held on board the Princessa, consist-
ing of the admiral and general, Brigadier O'Farrel and Com-
modore Cotes. The engineers, Director- General Armstrong,
and Captain Watson, who had surveyed the town of L'Orient,
being called in, were asked their opinion with regard to the
practicability of an attempt on it, together with the time,
and artillery, and ammunition, requisite for that purpose.
Their answer was, that with two twelve pounders and a ten
inch mortar, planted on the spot which they had pitched on
for erecting a battery, they engaged either to make a prac-
ticable breach in the walls, or with cartridges, bombs, and
red-hot balls, destroy the town, by laying it in ashes in
twenty-four hours. Captain Chalmers, the captain of the
artillery, who had not then seen the town, was of the same
opinion, from their description of it, provided the battery
was within the proper distance. Had the king's orders been
less positive for making an attempt on some part of the coast
of France, yet such flattering views offered by men who pro-
mised what lay within the sphere of their own profession,
must have engaged the attention of the admiral and general,
and induced them to venture on a much more hazardous and
difficult undertaking. 'Twas accordingly agreed that four
twelve pounders, and a ten inch mortar, together with three
field-pieces, should be drawn up to the camp by sailors, in
order to make, with still greater assurance, the attempt,
whose success seemed so certain to the engineers. These
pieces of artillery, with the stores demanded, notwithstanding
all difficulties, were drawn to the camp in two days, except
two twelve pounders, which arrived not till the day afterwards.
A third part of the sailors of the whole fleet, together with
all the marines, were employed in this drudgery ; the admiral
gave all assistance in his power to the general ; and the public,
in one instance, saw that it was not impossible for land and
sea officers to live in harmony together, and concur in pro-
moting the success of an enterprise.
45G DESCENT ON TILE COAST OF BRITTANY.
The general, on his arrival in the camp, found the officer
returned whom he had sent to summon the town of L'Orient.
By his information, it appeared that the inhabitants were so
much alarmed by the suddenness of this incursion, and the
terror of a. force which their fears magnified, as to think of
surrendering, though upon conditions, which would have ren-
dered the conquest of no avail to their enemies. The inha-
bitants insisted upon an absolute security to their houses and
goods ; the East India Company to their magazines and
store-houses ; and the garrison, consisting of about seven
hundred regular militia and troops, besides a great number
of irregulars, demanded a liberty of marching out with all the
honours of war. A weak town that opened its gates on such
conditions was not worth the entering ; since it must imme-
diately be abandoned, leaving only to its conquerors the shame
of their own folly, and perhaps the reproach of treachery.
The general, therefore, partly trusting to the promise of the
engineers, and partly desirous of improving the advantages
gained by the present danger, when the deputies arrived next
day, September 23d, from the governor, from the town, and
from the East India Company, refused to receive any articles
but those from the governor, who commanded in the name
of his most Christian majesty. He even refused liberty to
the garrison to march out ; well knowing that, as the town
was not invested, they could take that liberty whenever they
pleased.
Meanwhile, every accident concurred to render the enter-
prise of the English abortive. Some deserters got into the
town, who informed the garrison of the true force of the
English, which, conjecturing from the greatness and number
of the ships, they had much magnified. Even this small
body diminished daily, from the fatigue of excessive duty,
and from the great rains that began to fall. Scarce three
thousand were left to do duty, which still augmented the
fatigue to the few that remained ; especially when joined to
the frequent alarms, that the unaccountable panic they were
struck with made but too frequent. Rains had so spoilt the
roads as to render it impracticable to bring up any heavier
can non, or more of the same calibre, so long a way, by the
mere force of seamen. But what, above all things, made the
enterprise appear desperate, was the discovery of the ignorance
of the engineers, chiefly of the director-general, who in the
UNDER GENERAL ST. CLAIR, 1746. 457
whole course of his proceedings appeared neither to have
skill in contrivance, nor order and diligence in execution.
His own want of capacity and experience, made his projects
of no use ; his blind obstinacy rendered him incapable of
making use of the capacity of others. Though the general
offered to place and support the batteiy wherever the en-
gineer thought proper, he chose to set it above six hundred
yards from the wall, where such small cannon could do no
manner of execution. He planted it at so oblique an angle
to the wall that the ball thrown from the largest cannon
must have recoiled, without making any impression. He
trusted much to the red-hot balls, with which he promised
to lay the town in ashes in twenty-four hours ; yet, by his
negligence, or that of others, the furnace with which these
balls were to be heated, was forgot. After the furnace was
brought, he found that the bellows, and other implements
necessary for the execution of that work, were also left on
board the store-ships. With great difficulty, and infinite
pains, ammunition and artillery stores were drawn up from
the sea-shore in tumbrels. He was totally ignorant, till some
days after, that he had along with him ammunition wagons,
which would have much facilitated this labour. His orders
to the officers of the train were so confused, or so ill obeyed,
that no ammunition came regularly up to the camp, to serve
the few cannon and the mortars that played upon the town.
Not only fascines, piquets, and every thing necessary for the
battery, were supplied him beyond his demand; but even
workmen, notwithstanding the great fatigue and small num-
bers of the army. These workmen found no addition to their
fatigue in obeying his orders. He left them often unem-
ployed, for want of knowing in what business he should
occupy them.
Meanwhile the French garrison, being so weakly attacked,
had leisure to prepare for a defence, and make proper use of
their great number of workmen, if not of soldiers, and the
nearness and plenty of their military stores. By throwing
up earth in the inside of the wall, they had planted a great
many cannon, some of a large calibre, and opened six lot-
teries against one that played upon them from the English.
The distance alone of the besiegers' battery, made these
cannon of the enemy do less execution ; but that same dis-
tance rendered the attack absolutely ineffectual. Were the
458 DESCENT ON THE COAST OF BRITTANY.
battery brought nearer, to a hundred paces for instance,
'twould be requisite to make it communicate with the camp
by trenches and a covered way, to dig which was the work
of some days for so small an army. During this time, the
besieged, foreseeing the place to which the attack must be
directed, could easily fortify it by retrenchments in the
inside of the wall ; and planting ten cannon to one, could
silence the besiegers' feeble battery in a few hours. They
would not even have had leisure to make a breach in the thin
wall, which first discovered itself; and that breach, if made,
could not possibly serve to any purpose. Above fifteen
thousand men, completely armed by the East India Com-
pany, and brave while protected by cannon and ramparts,
still stood in opposition to three thousand, discouraged with
fatigue, with sickness, and with despair of ever succeeding
in so unequal a contest.
A certain foreign writer, more anxious to tell his stories
in an entertaining manner than to assure himself of their
reality, has endeavoured to put this expedition in a ridiculous
light ; but as there is not one circumstance of his narration,
which has truth in it, or even the least appearance of truth,
it would be needless to lose time in refuting it. 1 With regard
to the prejudices of the public, a few questions may suffice.
Was the attempt altogether impracticable from the begin-
ning ? The general neither proposed it, nor planned it, nor
approved it, nor answered for its success. Did the disap-
pointment proceed from want of expedition? He had no
pilots, guides, nor intelligence, afforded him ; and could not
possibly provide himself in any of these advantages, so
necessary to all military operations. Were the engineers
blamable ? This has always been considered as a branch of
military knowledge, distinct from that of a commander, and
which is altogether intrusted to those to whose profession
it peculiarly belongs. By his vigour in combating the vain
terrors spread amongst the troops, and by his prudence in
timely desisting from a fruitless enterprise, the misfortune
was confined merely to a disappointment, without any loss
or any dishonour to the British arms. Commanders, from
1 [Mr. Burton proves from a passage narration is found among Voltaire's
in Hume's Correspondence that the re- acknowledge I works. Life: vol. ii.
ference is to Voltaire, although no such p. 219. Ed.]
UNDER GENERAL ST. CLAIR, 1746. 459
the situation of affairs, have had opportunities of acquiring
more honour ; yet there is no one whose conduct, in every
circumstance, could be more free from reproach. On the
first of October, the fleet sailed out of Quimperlay Road,
from one of the most dangerous situations that so large a
fleet had ever lain in, at so late a season, and in so stormy
a sea as the Bay of Biscay. The reflection on this danger
had been no inconsiderable cause of hastening the re- em-
barkation of the troops. And the more so, that the secre-
tary had given express orders to the admiral not to bring the
fleet into any hazard. The prudence of the hasty departure
appeared the more visibly the very day the fleet sailed, when
a violent storm arising from the south west, it was concluded,
that if the ships had been lying at anchor on the coast, many
of them must have necessarily been driven ashore, and
wrecked on the rocks that surrounded them. The fleet was
dispersed, and six transports being separated from the rest,
went immediately for England, carrying with them about
eight hundred of the forces. The rest put into Quiberon
Bay, and the general landed his small body on the peninsula
of that name. By erecting a battery of some guns on the
narrow neck of land, which joins the peninsula to the con-
tinent, he rendered his situation almost impregnable, while
he saw the fleet riding secure in his neighbourhood, in one
of the finest bays in the world.
The industry and spirit of the general supported both
himself and the army against all these disadvantages, while
there was the smallest prospect of success. But his pru-
dence determined him to abandon it, when it appeared
altogether desperate.
The engineers, seeing no manner of effect from their shells
and red-hot balls, and sensible that 'twas impossible either
to make a breach from a battery, erected at so great a dis-
tance, or to place the battery nearer, under such a superiority
of French cannon, at last unanimously brought a report to
the general, that they had no longer any hope of success ;
and that even all the ammunition, which, with infinite
labour, had been brought, was expended: no prospect re-
mained of being farther supplied, on account of the broken
roads, which lay between them and the fleet. The council
of war held in consequence of this report, balanced the
reasons for continuing or abandoning the enterprise, if men
460 DESCENT ON THE COAST OF BRITTANY.
can be said to balance where they find nothing on the one
side but an extreme desire to serve their king and country,
and on the other every maxim of war and prudence. They
unanimously agreed to abandon the attempt, and return on
board the transports. The whole troops were accordingly
re-embarked by the 28th of September, with the loss of near
twenty men killed and wounded, on the whole enterprise.
SCOTTICISMS. 1
Will, in the first person, as I will walk, we will walk, ex-
presses the intention or resolution of the person, along with
the future event : In the second and third person, as, you
will, he will, they will, it expresses the future action or event,
without comprehending or excluding the volition.
Shall, in the first person, whether singular or plural, ex-
presses the future action or event, without excluding or
comprehending the intention or resolution : But in the second
or third person, it marks a necessity, and commonly a neces-
sity proceeding from the person who speaks; as, he shall
walk, you shall repent it.
These variations seem to have proceeded from a politeness
in the English, who, in speaking to others, or of others, made
use of the term will, which implies volition, even where the
event may be the subject of necessity and constraint. And
in speaking of themselves, made use of the term shall, which
implies constraint, even though the event may be the object
of choice.
Wou'd and shou'd are conjunctive moods, subject to the
same rule ; only, we may observe, that in a sentence, where
there is a condition exprest, and a consequence of that con-
dition, the former always requires shou'd, and the latter
wou'd, in the second and third persons ; as, if he shou'd fall,
he wou'd break his leg, etc.
These is the plural of this; those of that. The former,
1 [This List of Scotticisms, printed Edition published during Hume's life-
from the Edinburgh Edition of 1826, is time. "I told him that David Hume
said to occur in some copies of the bad made a short collection of Scott i-
' Political Discourses.' Edition H. The cisms. ' I wonder (said Johnson) that
present Editor has not found it in any he should find them.' " Boswkll.]
402
SCOTTICISMS.
therefore, expresses what is near : the latter what is more
remote. As, in these lines of the Duke of Buckingham,
" Philosophers and poets vainly strove,
In every age, the lumpish mass to move.
But those were pedants i f compared with these
Who knew not only to instruct, but please."
Where a relative is to follow, and the subject has not been
mentioned immediately before, those is always required.
Those observations which he made. Those kingdoms which
Alexander conquered.
In the verbs, which end in t, or te, we frequently omit ed
in the preterperfect and in the participle ; as, he operate, it
was cultivate. Milton says, in thought more elevate ; but he
is the only author who uses that expression.
Notice should not be used as a verb. The proper phrase
is take notice. Yet I find Lord Shaftesbury uses notic'd, the
participle : And unnotic'd is very common.
Hinder to do, is Scotch. The English phrase is, hinder
from doing. Yet Milton says, Hindered not Satan to pervert
the mind. Book IX.
SCOTCH.
Conform to
Friends and acquaintances
Maltreat
Advert to
Proven, improven, approven
Pled
Incarcerate
Tear to pieces
Drunk, run
Fresh weather
Tender
In the long run
Notwithstanding of that
Contented himself to do
'Tis a question if
Discretion
With child to a man
Out of hand
Simply impossible
A park
Iu time coming
ENGLISH.
Conformable to
Friends and acquaintance
Abuse
Attend to
Prov'd, improv'd, approv'd
Pleaded
Imprison
Tear in pieces
Drank, ran
Open weather
Sickly
At long run
Notwithstanding that
Contented himself with doing
'Tis a question whether
Civility
With child by a man
Presently
Absolutely impossible
An enclosure
In time to come
SCOTTICISMS.
463
SCOTCH.
Nothing else
Mind it
Denuded
Severals
Some better
Anent
Allenarly
Alongst. Yet the English say
both amid, amidst, among, and
amongst
Evenly
As I shall answer
Cause him do it. Yet 'tis good
English to say, make him do it
Marry upon
Learn
There, where
Effectuate. This word in English
means to effect with pains and
difficulty
A wright. Yet 'tis good English
to say a wheelwright
Defunct
Evite
Part with child
Notour
To want it
To be difficulted
Rebuted
For ordinary
Think shame
In favours of
Dubiety
Prejudge
Compete
Heritable
To remeed
Bankier
Adduce a proof
Superplus
Forfaulture
In no event
Common soldiers
Big with a man
ENGLISH.
No other thing
Remember it
Divested
Several
Something better
With regard to
Solely
Along
Even
I protest or declare
Cause him to do it
Marry to
Teach
Thither, whither
Effect
A Carpenter
Deceast
Avoid
Miscarry
Notorious
To be without a thing, even
though it be not desirable
To be puzzled
Discouraged by repulses
Usually
Asham'd
In favour of
Doubtfulness
Hurt
Enter into competition
Hereditary
To remedy
Banker
Produce a proof
Surplus
Forfeiture
In no case
Private men
Great with a man
404
SCOTTICISMS.
SCOTCH.
Bygone
Debitor
Exeemed
Yesternight
Big coat
A chimney
Annualrent
Tenible argument
Amissing
To condescend upon
To discharge
To extinguish an obligation
To depone
A compliment
To inquire at a man
To be angry at a man
To send an errand
To furnish goods to him
To open up
Thucydlde, Herodot, Sueton
Butter and bread
Pepper and vinegar
Paper, pen, and ink
Eeadily
On a sudden
As ever I saw
For my share
Misgive
Rather chuse to buy as sell
Deduce
Look't over the window
A pretty enough girl
'Tis a week since he left this
Come in to the fire
To take off a new coat
Alwise
Cut out his hair
Cry him
To crave
To get a stomach
Vacance
ENGLISH.
Past
Debtor
Exempted
Last night
G reat coat
A grate
Interest
Good argument
Missing
To specify
To forbid
To cancel an obligation
To depose
A present
To inquire of a man
To be angry with a man
To send off an errand
To furnish him with goods
To open, or lay open
Thucydides, Herodotus, Suetonius
Bread and butter
Vinegar and pepper
Pen, ink, and paper
Probably
Of a sudden
As I ever saw
For my part
Fail
Rather chuse to buy than sell
Deduct
Look't out at the window
A pretty girl enough
' Tis a week since he left this place
Come near the fire
To make up a new suit
Always
Cut off his hair
Call him
To dun, to ask payment
To get an appetite
Vacation
INDEX
THE FOURTH VOLUME.
f. means ' and following pages.'
AB8
Abstract Sciences. See Sciences, Ma-
thematics, Metaphysics
Achceus, death of, 283
Actions, human, discussion of, 80, f. ;
outlines of, 210, f. ; their ultimate
ends unaccountable, 264. See Morals
Addison, 5, 145
AZschines, 205
Mschines Socraticus, 286
Agrarian laws in Rome and Greece, 188
Alcibiades, why embraced by Timon, 213
Allegiance, based on good of society, 197
Alexander, the impostor, 97, f-
Alexander the Great, 232
Alexander VI., character of, by Guie-
ciardin, 286
Anacreon, 299
Analysis of the passions, 139, f.
Anaxagoras, the first theist among phi-
losophers, 324
Ancients, their ideas of morals com-
pared with modern, 289, f. ; their
cosmogonies, 322, f.
Animals, the reason of, 85, f.
Anson, Admiral, 447
Antoninus, Marcus, 350
Antony, his character by Caesar, 232
Appian, 203
Aristophanes, 321
Aristotle, 5, 20, 241, 285
Arnobius, 327
Arrian, 338, 340
Atheists, ancient philosophical, 324
Athenians, their triumphs in arts of war
and peace, 238
Athens, marriage laws in, 199, 292
Atticus, 267
Augustine, St, 346
CAU
Augustus, Emperor, tainted with super-
stition, 347 ; his lenity, 403
Avarice, Essay on, 392, f. ; a fable, 394
Bacon, Lord, 207 ; his reasoning upon
miracles, 107
Bayle, 127, 193, 340
Beauty, in animals, 226, f. ; moral and
natural, 263, f.
Belief, nature of, 41, f., 49; evidence
of, 88, f.
Bellarmine, Cardinal, 340
Benevolence, morally considered, 1 74, f.;
marks of, 178; no one quite devoid
of, 212 ; softening influence of, 236 ;
distinctions of, 268, f.
Berkeley, Dr., 127
Boccaccio, 22
Boileau, 233
Bomilcar, an example of superstition,
360
Boulainvilliers, 331
Brasidas, 340
Brittany, English descent on coast of,
described by Hume, 443, f.
Brumoy, Pkre, Theatre des Grecs, 321
Burton, Mr., his Life of Hume quoted,
415, 443
Gesar, J., his character of Antony, 232 ;
quoted, 321, 328
Catiline, hia superstitious terrors, 360
Causation, principle of connection of
ideas, 18, 23, 43, 45, 49 ; volition of
the Supreme Being, 58; absence of
connection in, 61, f.; our idea of, 67 ;
VOL. IV.
II II
4G0
INDFA'.
CAU
in human actions, 70, f.; property, a
species of, 151
Cause and Effect, reasoning on, 24 ; dis-
, coverable by experience only, 25, f.,
36 ; ultimate cause undiscoverable,
27,62; maxim as to, 119; definition
of cause, 63, 64, 78 ; idea of relation
of, 64
Charles XII., influence of his bravery,
238
Chastity, laws of, 198; its virtue con-
sists in its utility, ib.; marriage laws
in Greece and Rome, 199 ; reason of
the blame attaching to failure in, 222
Chati/lon, evidence of the Due de, as to
a miracle, 103
Cheerfulness, great merit of, 231 ; ex-
cessive, 237
Christian Religion, founded on faith,
not reason, 107 ; miracles of the, 108
Cicero, 5, 45, 175, 177, 184, 224,242,
284, 285, 300, 345, 347, 350, 351,
352, 407
Conde, Prince of, 232
Congreve, 22
Connection, idea of necessary, 50, 52
Contiguity, principle of connection of
ideas, 18, 23, 43, 46
Contrariety, a connection among ideas,
18, 22
Cordeliers, the, 331
Cosmogony, of the ancients, 322
Courage, merit of, 234, f.
Crime, definition of, 260
Critical Review, an unpublished letter of
Hume's to, 425, f.,
Custom, effect of, 37 ; the guide of life,
39 ; link of ideas, 46, 49
Decency, agreeableness of, 243
Deity, vulgar notions of, 329, f.; 352, f.;
Magian and Mahometan conceptions
of, 333. See God, Polytheism
De la Motte, his fable on avarice, 394
Demosthenes, 205, 234, 301
De Retz, Cardinal, story related by, 100
Des Cartes, 61 ; scepticism of, 123
Dicaearckus, erects one altar to Impiety
and another to Injustice, 223
Diodoms Siculus, 177, 227, 319, 321,
323, 345
Diogenes, compared with Pascal, 304 ;
cited, 372
Discretion, quality of, 220
Divine Nature, impious notions of, 352,
f. See Deity
Drama. See Poetry
Dryden, 346
HEN
Effect, principle of connection of idoaa,
18. See Cause and effect
Emotions. See Passions
Energy, idea of in Metaphysics, 51
Epamonidas, character of, 227
Epictetus, 35, 236, 285, 350, 372
Epicurus, 110, 111, f., 267, 324
Equality, political, impracticable, 188
Essays, Hume's: on Essay Writing,
367, f.; on Moral Prejudices, 371, f. ,
on a Middle Station in Life, 375, f. ;
on Impudence and Modesty, 380, f. ;
Love and Marriage, 383, f.; the Study
of History, 388, f. ; Avarice, 392, f. ;
on Sir R. Walpole, 395, f. ; Immor-
tality of the Soul, 399, f.; Suicide,
406, f. ; Authenticity of Ossian's
Poems 415, f.
Euclid, 263
Euripides, 233, 285, 318
Experience, basis of reasoning on matter
of fact, 28 ; teaching of, 30, 34 ; argu-
ments from, founded on similarity,
31 ; inference from, 32, f. ; effect of
custom, 38 ; not distinct from reason,
ib. ; value of, 69 ; not always infal-
lible, 89, f.
Fanatics, religious, 187
Fontenelle, 269, 321
Force, idea of, in Metaphysics, 51 ;
physical, 227
Frugality, quality of, 221 ; extremes
of, ib.
Future State, 109, f . ; hypothetical
apology of Epicurus, 111, f. ; argu-
ments on, 118, f. See Immortality
Geometry, use of in Philosophy, 28
ideas of, 128, f.
Getes, monks mentioned by Strabo, 319
theism of, 334
God, operation of in nature, 59, f.
ultimate cause of all our volitions,
81; attributes of, 119, f. ; universal
belief in, 320. See Deity.
Gods, the, not regarded by the ancients
as creators, 320, f.; dependent on the
powers of Nature, 324 ; allegories of,
325; apotheosis, 327. See Poly-
theism
Golden Age, poetical fiction of, 184
Good and Evil. See Passions
Grotius, 184, 275
Guicciardin, 160, 210, 286
Hannibal, character of, by Livy, 285
Henri 7V., amours of, 237
INDEX.
467
HEN
Henriade, 20
Herodian, 327
Herodotus, 235, 321, 322, 334, 337,
342, 354, 357
Hesiod, 315, 322, 326
History, comparison of with opic poetry,
19, f. ; study of, 388, f. ; Machiavel
as an historian, 391
Hohbes, 184, 267
Homer, 22, 232, 326
Horace, 142, 208, 250, 267, 286, 299,
391, 345
Human Nature, unvarying principles of,
68
Human Reason, division of objects of,
20 ; its utmost effort, 27
Hume, D., dedication of his Four Dis-
sertations to the author of 'Douglas,'
439, f. ; his essays, 367. f. See
Essays ; his account of British descent
upon coast of Brittany, 443, f.
Hume, Mr., M.P. for Southwark, 446
Hutcheson, Mr., taught that morality is
only relative, 10
Hyde, de Relig. Veterum Persarum,
333, 338
Ideas, origin of, 13 ; dependent on sen-
sation, 15 ; of colours, 16 ; all are
faint, ih. ; innate, 1 7 ; loose meaning
of in Locke, ib. ; association of, 17,
144; principles connecting, 18, 43;
effects of their connection on the pas-
sions and imagination, 19, 145, f.,
199 ; relations of, 20, 161 ; copies of
impressions, 51, 64
Idolatry. See Polytheism.
Imagination, its freedom, 40, f ; its dis-
tinction from belief, 41, f.; painful or
pleasant stimulants of, 209, f. ; effect
of physical accomplishments on, 227 ;
of high position and wealth, 228 ;
influence of cheerfulness on, 231.
See Ideas
Immortality of the Soul, natural reasons
against, 400 ; moral arguments, 400,
f. ; physical reasons, 403. See Future
State.
Impressions, all vivid, 17. See Ideas
Impudence and Modesty, 380, f.; allegory
on, 382
Industry, quality of, 221
Inference, foundation of, 32, f. ; effect
of custom, 38
Instinct, in animals, 88
International law, cases justifying vio-
lation of, 198
Iphicrates, the Athenian, 242
Irish Ethics, 235. See Morals
MEN
Jacobins, the, 331
Jansenist Miracles, 101, f. ; attempts by
Molinists to discredit, 102
Jesuits, subtleties of the, 1 93
Justice, founded on utility, 179, f.; laws
of, 187, f- ; whimsicalities of, 191;
considerations on, 194, 272, f. ; its
real value, 196 ; international, 197 J
a rule having exceptions, 257, f. ;
conventional, 274 ; origin of, 275, f.
Juvenal, 175, 352
La Bruyere, 5
Lacedemonians, early devotions of the,
322
La Fontaine, 22, 302
Laocoon, statue of, 314
Laws, subordinate to public safety, 190 ;
designed for good of society, 191 ; of
justice and property, 193, f. ; inter-
national, 198 ; of social intercourse,
200, f. ; of war, 201
Lecompte, Pere, 321
Levellers, the, 188
Liberty and Necessity, 65 ; controversy
on, 66, f. ; belief in liberty accounted
for, 77 ; definition, 78
Listock, Admiral, 450
Literature, plan necessary in composi-
tions, 19 : union proposed between men
of learning and conversation, 367, f. ;
women best judges of, 369. See
Essays
Livy, 285, 350, 357
Locke, 5, 17, 47, 53,61, 267
Longinus, 232, 321
L' Orient, British attack on Port, 452
Louis XIV., 345
Love and Marriage, 383, f. ; origin of,
385, f. ; allegory, 386, f.
Lucian, 97, 98, 225, 322, 354, 355
Lucretius, 352, 391
Luxury, different opinions of, 178
Lysias, 301
Machiavel, 221, 340, 391
Macrobius, 336
Malebranche, 5, 61, 191
Manicheans, the two princi pies of the, 2 1 3
Mathematics, based on a supposition, 28 ;
their advantage over moral science,
50 ; absurdities of, 1 28, f.
Matter, vis inertise of, 60
Matters of fact, 22, f. ; reasoning on,
24, f., 85, 28 ; nature of belief in, 40 ;
incapable of demonstration, 134
Memory, quality of, 224
Mental science, province of. 9. See
Morals
li H 2
408
INDEX
MET
Metaphysics, 8 ; compared with mathe-
matics, 58 ; absurdities of, 128, f.
Milton, 22, 311
Mind, its operation involved in ob-
scurity, 9; its faculties, 10; ita pas-
sions divided into two classes, 11
their scope, ib, ; difference of its per-
ceptions, 13 ; power of, 54, f. ; its
relation to the passions, 140 ; pro-
perties of, 144 ; strength of, 222 ;
greatness of, 232. See Morals
Miracles, evidence of, 88, f., 94, f., 102,
f. ; definitions of, 93 ; none in all his-
tory, 94, f.; natural tendency to be-
lieve in, 95, and to invent, 96 ; the
product of barbarism, 97 ; reasons
against, 99; hypothetical, 106; said
to have been wrought by Vespasian,
99, f.; door-keeper of Saragossa, 101 ;
the Abb6 Paris, 101, f. ; Bacon's
reasoning upon, 107 ; scriptural, 108
Molinists, try to discredit the Jansenist
miracles, 102
Monks, their virtues rejected by men of
sense, 246 ; an order of Pagan, 319
Montaigne, 242
Montesquieu, 190
Montgernon, M., 101
Morality, relation of self-love to, 207
Morals, science of, compared with ma-
thematics, 50, f. ; ideas of, 51 ; theories
of, in reference to the passions, 139-
166 ; general principles of, 169, f. ;
distinctions in, 170, f.; object of specu-
lations in, 171 ; method of analysis,
173 ; qualities determining, 176, f. ;
rules of, 200, f. ; sceptical view of,
203; origin of, 204, 207; qualities
useful to ourselves, 217, f . ; their
connection with physical endowments,
226, f. ; qualities agreeable to our-
selves, 231, f . ; agreeable to others,
239 ; monkish virtues, 246 ; savage and
civilized, 250, f. ; the social virtues,
253, f. ; general principles of, 258, f. ;
definition of virtue, 261 ; mental and
physical beauty, 263, f. ; selfish
system of, 266 ; verbal disputes about,
278, f. ; virtuous and vicious, 282, f. ;
dialogue on, 289, f.; French, 297, f.,
301, different opinions and customs,
300 ; modesty of Greek, 301 ; English
and Koman, 302 ; bad influence of
popular religion on, 357, ; a philo-
sophic reformer of, 373
Natural History of Religion, 309 f.
Nature, her secret powers, 29, 32, 37
Necessity, our idea of, 67 ; in human
conduct, 71 ; definitions of, 79, See
Liberty and Necessity
PLU
Newcastle, Duke of, 445 f.
Newton, 60, 196
Noailles, Cardinal, 102
Numitianus, Claudius Rutilius, 347
Orange, Maurice, Prince of, 242
Ossian's Poems, Hume on authenticity
of, 415 f. ; a tiresome performance,
ib. ; arguments against their genuine-
ness, 416 f.
Ovid, 19, 321, 322, 357
Paganism, See Theism, Polytheism
Panatius, the Stoic, 350
Paris, TAbb'e, alleged miracles of, 101 f.
Pascal, compared with Diogenes, 304
Passions, theories of the, 139 f. ; good
and evil, ib. ; mixed, 144 f. ; associa-
tion of ideas in producing, 145 f. ;
pride and humility, 146 f. ; human
sympathy, 208 f. ; influence of
maxims on, 155 ; calming or exciting
causes, 162 f., 209 f. ; effect of power
and riches upon, 230 ; vulgar, 248 f. ;
humane, 249 ; their influence in life,
251 ; none disinterested, 266
Pastoral Poetry, cause of the pleasure
it gives, 209
Perceptions, difference of, 13 ; two
classes of, 13, 14; reasoning on,
124 f.
Pericles, 175
Persecution, religious, 336 f . ; among
Egyptians, 337 ; among the Persians,
338
Personal Merit, See Morals, Passions,
Qualities
Petronius, 299
Philip of Macedon, described by
Demosthenes, 234
Philosophers, two species of, 1,2; en-
couragement of in Greece and Rome,
109
Philosophy, different kinds of, 1 f. ;
study of, 7 ; accurate and just rea-
soning, 9; abstract speculations, 11,
12; how to test its terms, 17; un-
able to reconcile human actions with
God, 84 ; birth of, 109 ; jealousy of,
109 f . ; the Academic or Sceptical,
35, 122 f., 132 ; selfish system of,
266 f. ; difference between modern
and ancient methods, 287
Physical endowments, their influence on
the moral sentiments, 226 f.
Plato, 184, 198, 221, 286, 351, 385
Pliny, 314, 315, 324, 405, 414
Plutarch 92, 175, 198, 233, 285, 298
340
INDEX.
469
POE
Poetry, epic, 2C ; dramatic, 21 ; pas-
toral, 209 ; charm and merit of, 238
Politeness, rules of, 239
Polybius, 204, 223, 286
Polytheism, the primary religion of
man, 310 f. ; origin of, 313 f., 334
distinctive powers of the gods, 315
deification of causes, 317; mediaeval
320 ; gross ideas of Deity, 321
taking revenge on the gods, 322
various forms of, 325 f. ; general
principles of, 326 f. ; originates
Theism, 328 f. ; tutelar deities, 336 ;
inconvenience of, ib. ; tolerance of,
338 ; pagan heroes and Christian
saints, 339 ; Brasidas and Bellar-
mine, 340
Pompey, his blunders, 284 ; his reli-
gious devotion, 347
Pope, 394
Power, idea of, in Metaphysics, 51 f. ;
of the will, 53 ; Locke on, ib. ;
mental, 54 f. ; idea of relative, 64
Prejudices, moral, 371 f.
Pride and humility, passions of, 146 f . ;
meanings of pride, 281, See Pas-
sions
Prior, M., 160
Probability, 47 f.
Property, laws regulating, 189 f. ; not
transferable by the will alone, 193 ;
methods of acquisition, 194 ; origin
of, 275 f.
Prophecies, See Miracles
Provence, parliament of love in, 201
Providence, of a particular, 109 f. ;
supposed apology of Epicurus, 1 1 1 f. ;
arguments, 118 f
Puffendorf, 184
Pyrrhonism, 130 f.
Qualities, of objects, 126 f . ; useful to
ourselves, 217 f . ; physical, 226 f. ;
agreeable to ourselves, 231 f. ; nega-
tive, 234 ; companionable, 239 f. ;
personal merit, 245 f. ; verbal dis-
putes concerning, 278 f . ; virtuous
and vicious, 282 f.
Quintilian, 211
Quintus Curtius, 69, 322
Racine, account of a miracle given bv,
103
Ramsay, Chevalier, on free-thinking,
355 ; his Origenism, 356
Real Presence, Tillotson's argument
against, 88
Reason, demonstrative and moral rea-
soning, 31, 47 ; inference, 38 ; links
SCE
in, 39 ; of animals, 85 f. ; proceeds
in part from custom, 87 ; difference
in men and animals, ib. ; concerning
miracles, 88 f. ; arises in part from
nature, ib. ; objection against ab-
stract reasoning, 128 ; a calm pas-
sion, 161 f.
Reason and experience, distinction of,
erroneous, 38
Reason and taste, 265
Reynard, Voyage de Laponie, 321
Religion, ceremonies of the Eoman
Catholic, 44 ; Natural History of,
309 f. ; nations without, ib. ; poly-
theism primary religion, 310; influ-
ence of affliction in, 319; origin of,
334 ; alternations of Theism and
Polytheism, 335 f. ; in reference to
persecution and toleration, 336 f. ;
reason or absurdity of, 340 ; doubt
or conviction, 342 ; varieties of
doctrine, 343 ; resemblance of the
Jewish and Egyptian, 344 ; tra-
ditional and scriptural, 342, 352
belief more affected than real, 348 ,
character of the Pagan, 349 f. ; in-
fluence of popular on morality, 357 ;
rise and growth of, 361, See Poly-
theism, Theism, Roman Catholics
Resemblance, principle of connection of
ideas, 18, 23, 43
Rochefoucault, 281
Roman Catholics, religious doctrines of,
343
Romans, their appreciation of courage,
234
Sacrifices, human, 338; idea of sacri-
fice, ib.
Saints, Eoman Catholic, compared with
Pagan heroes, 339 f.
SaUust, 227, 352
Sannasarius, 210
Scepticism, philosophy of, 35 f. ; 122;
of Des Cartes, 123 ; topics employed
by, 124 f. ; sceptics try to destroy
reason by argument, 127 ; sceptic's
objections to moral evidence, 1 30 ;
no good resulting from, 131 ; objec-
tions fatal to, ib. ; academical or
mitigated, 132 f. ; assertion as to
origin of religious worship, 177 ;
during Ciceronian age, 347, See
Philosophy
Schoolmen, their ambiguity and cir-
cumlocution, 17
Sciences, abstract, objects of, 138 1;
other sciences, 1 35
Scotticisms, list of, 461 f.
Scriptures, miracles related, 108
470
INDEX.
SCY
Scythia7is, martial custom of, 235 ; the
men blinded by the women, 384
Self-Love, its relation W Morals, 207 ;
266 f. ; vulgar passions included in,
248
Self- Satisfaction, quality of. 223
Seneca, 302, 322, 410
Sense, perceptions of, 1 24 f.
Shakespeare, 232
Shaftesbury, Lord, 170
Sign, a, what it is, 64
Social Virtues, their utility their chief
merit, 203 f. ; different feelings ex-
cited by, 214 ; pretensions to, 225
their merit beyond dispute, ib.
Society, of political, 197 ; rules of
justice in, ib.
Socrates, 236, 242, 351
Solon, 250
Soul, its union with the body, 54 ;
essay on immortality of, 399 f. See
Immortality
Sparta, equality in, 1 88
Spartian, 347
Spencer, 235
Statilius, maxim, 3721
Station in Life, advantages of the
middle, 375
St. Clair, Lieut.-Gen., his expedition
against Brittany described by Hume,
443 ; his interview with the King,
444 ; his failure, 458
St. Evremond, 220, 232
Strabo, 319
Suetonius, 100, 203, 211, 322, 338,
345, 347, 403
Suevi, their dress designed to terrify
their enemies, 235
Suicide, essay on, 406 f. ; arguments
for and against, 407 f. ; not pro-
hibited by Scripture, 414. See
Essays
Superstition, vagaries of, 191, 344 f.,
357; growth of, 318; women the
leaders of, 319 ; mediaeval, 320 ;
Egyptian, 345; of the Stoics, 350;
instances of Xenophon's, 351 ; causes
of, 359 ; ignorance the mother of
devotion, 363
Sympathy, degrees of, 214 f.; no one
without, 219
Tacitus, 99, 100, 211, 233, 328, 345,
350, 410
Talents. See Qualities, Morals
Terence, 22
Terentia Cicero's wife, 347
XEN
Theism, origin of, 328 f. ; advantages
and disadvantages of, 336 ; intoler-
ance of, 337, See Polytheism
Theists, ancient philosophical, 324
Thoughts, confined within narrow
limits, 14; analysis of, 15. See
Ideas
Thucydides, 210, 235, 340
Tillotson, his argument against the
Real Presence, 88
Timon, why he embraced Alcibiades,
213
Timotheus, 354
Toleration, religious, 336 f. ; of idola-
ters, 337 ; English and Dutch, 338
Tranquillity, philosophical, 235 f.
Turenne, Marshal, 220
Tyrannicide, extolled in ancient times,
178
Ultimate Cause. See Cause and Effect
Understanding, doubts as to the opera-
tion of, 20 ; its ignorance and weak-
ness, 63
Unity of action in literary compositions,
20,21
Universe, system of, 82 ; geometrical
and metaphysical absurdities, 1 28
Utility, why it pleases, 202 f. ; in ani-
mate ana inanimate objects, ib.
Vanity, quality of, 241 f.
Varro, 346, 405
Verrius Flaccus, 336
Vespasian, said to have wrought
miracles, 99 f.
Vice, compared with Virtue, 256
Virgil, 163, 227
Virtue, character and utility of, 253,
282
Vitellius, humiliation of, 233
Volition, influence of, 54 f.
Walpole, Sir R., character of, 395 f.
WUkie's Epigoniad, unpublished letter
of Hume to ' Critical Review,' 425 f.
Will, influence of, 54 f. ; does not by
itself transfer property, 193; Roman
Catholic doctrine as to, ib.
Woolaston, Mr., 184
Xenophon, 203, 227, 354 ; his super-
stition, 351
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Abbott. Crown 8vo. ioj. 6d.
Spottiswoode & Co. Printers, New-street Square, London.
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