J Vlrich Middeldorf As usual M9 rhalf-title] has been brought to the front of the volume. ^^^^'^^ [£36] 2mo Rothschild ESSAYS BY DAVID HUME ESSAYS, LITERARY, MORAL AND POLITICAL. BY DAVID HUME, Esq., THE HISTORIAN. LONDON : WARD, LOCK & CO., LIMITED WARWICK HOUSE, SALISBURY SQUARE E. NEW YORK AND MELBOURNE. BRADBCRY, AQNEW & CO. L©., PRINTERS. LONDON AND TONBRIDOE. UitttEWUENTEK ADVERTISEMENT. Most of the principles and reasonings, contained in this volume, were published in a work in three volumes, called A Treatise of Human Nature : a work which the author had projected before he left college, and which he wrote and published not long after. But not finding it successful, he was sensible of his error in going to the press too early, and he cast the whole anew in the following pieces ; where some negligences in his former reasoning, and more in the expression, are, he hopes, corrected. Yet several writers, who have honoured the author's philosophy with answers, have taken care to direct all their batteries against that juvenile work, which the author never acknow- ledged, and have affected to triumph in any advantages which, they imagined, they had obtained over it. Henceforth, the author desires that the following pieces may alone be regarded as containing hia philosophical sentiments and principles. CONTENTS. PAGES Essay I. Of the Delicacy of Taste and Passion . . 9 — 1 1 II. Of the Liberty of the Press . . . . ii— 13 III. That PoUtics may be reduced to a Science . 13 — 22 IV. Of the First Principles of Government . . 23 — 25 V. Of the Origin of Government .... 25 — 28 VI. Of the Independence of Parliament . . . 28—31 VII. Whether the British Government inclines more to absolute Monarchy, or to a Republic . 31 — 35 VIII. Of Parties in General 35 — 40 IX. Of the Parties of Great Britain . . . 40 — 43 X. Of the Dignity or Meanness of Human Nature 45 — 49 XI. Of Civil Liberty 49 — 55 Xll. Of Eloquence 55 — 63 XIII. Rise and Progress of the Arts and Sciences . 63—79 XIV. The Epicurean 79 — 84 XV. The Stoic 84—90 XVI. The Platonist 90—93 XVII. The Sceptic 93 — 107 XVIII. Of Polygamy and Divorces .... 107 — uj XIX. Of Simplicity and Refinement in Writing . 113 — 1 16 XX. Of National Characters 116 — 127 XXI. Of Tragedy , 127 — 133 XXII. Of the Standard of Taste . . . • . 134 — 149 XXI II. Of Commerce 149 — 158 XXIV. Of Refinement in the Arts .... 159 — 167 XXV. Of Money 167—175 XXVI. Of Interest 176—184 XXVII. Of the Balance of Trade 184—195 XXVIII. Of the Jealousy of Trade 195 — 198 XXIX. Of the Balance of Power 198 — 203 XXX. OfTaxes 203 — 207 XXXI. Of Pubhc Credit 207—217 XXXII. Of some Remarkable Customs . . , 217 — 222 XXXIII. Of the Populousness of Ancient Nations. . 222 — 269 XXXIV. Of the Original Contract 270—283 XXXV. Of Passive Obedience 283—286 XXXVI. Of the Coalition of Parties .... 286—291 XXXVII. Of the Protestant Successio n .... 291 — 298 XXXVIII. Idea of a Perfect Commonwealth . . . 298—308 XXXIX. An inquiry concerning human understanding. Sect. I. Of the different species of Philosophy . . 308 — 316 II. Of the Origin of Ideas .... 316—320 HI. Of the Association of Ideas • • • . 320 — 321 CONTENTS. IV. Sceptical Doubts concerning the Operations of Understanding V. Sceptical Solution of these Doubts . VI. Of Probability VII. Of the Idea of Necessary Connection VIII. Of Liberty and Necessity . . . . IX. Of the Reason of Animals .... X. Of the Academical or Sceptical Philosophy . A Dissertation ON the passions 321—331 331—341 341—343 343—355 356—371 371—374 374—385 385—407 XL. XLL An inquiry concerning the principles of morals. Sect. I. Of the general Principles of Morals . . 407 — 411 Of Benevolence 411— 415 Of Justice 415 — 429 Of Political Society 429 — 433 Why Utility pleases 433—446 Of Qualities useful to Ourselves . . . 446 — 456 Of Qualities immediately agreeable to Ourselves 456 — 463 II. III. IV. V. VI. VII. VIII. Append. I. II. Of Qualities immediately agreeable to Others Concerning Moral Sentiment Of Self-love 484—489 Some farther considerations with regard to Justice IV. Of some Verbal Disputes . • • . XLII. A Dialogue XLIII. Thenaturalhistoryofreligion. Introduction I. Polytheism was the Primary Religion of Men Origin of Polytheism The same Subject continued Deities not considered as Creators or Formers of the World . Various Forms of Polytheism : Allegory, Hero- Worship Origin of Theism from Polytheism . Confirmation of this doctri-^^ . Flux and Reflux of Polytheism and Theism Comparison of these Religions with regard to Persecution and Toleration . With regard to Courage or Abasement . With Regard to Reason or Absurdity With Regard to Doubt or Conviction Conceptions of the Divine Nature in Religion Bad Influence of Popular Religions on Morahty III. II. III. IV. V. VI. VII. VIII. IX. X. XI. XII. XIII. XIV. XV. 463 — 478 478—484 489—494 494—501 501—514 514— 515 515— 518 518—520 520—523 523—527 527-530 530—533 533— 534 534— 536 536-538 538—539 540— 541 541— 547 547—549 549—551 General Corollary 551 — 552 Of Miracles Of a particular Providence and of a Future State Of Superstition and Enthusiasm . . . . 553-56C 568—579 579-583 HUME'S ESSAYS. I.— OF THE DELICACY OF TASTE AND PASSION. Some people are subject to a certain delicacy of passion^ which makes them extremely sensible to all the accidents of life, and gives them a lively joy upon every prosperous event, as well as a piercing grief, when they meet with misfortunes and adversity. Favours and good offices easily engage their friendship ; while the smallest injury provokes their resentment. Any honour or mark of distinction elevates them above measure ; but they are as sensibly touched with contempt. People of this character have, no doubt, more lively enjoyments, as well as more pungent sorrows, than men of cool and sedate tempers : but, I believe, when everything is balanced, there is no one, who would not rather be of the latter character, were he entirely master of his own disposition. Good or ill fortune is very little at our disposal : and when a person, that has this sensibility of temper, meets with any misfortune, his sorrow or resentment takes entire possession of him, and deprives him of all relish in the common occurrences of life ; the right enjoy- ment of which forms the chief part of our happiness. Great pleasures are much less frequent than great pains ; so that a sensible temper must meet with fewer trials in the former way than in the latter. Not to mention, that men of such lively passions are apt to be transported beyond all bounds of prudence and discretion, and to take false steps in the conduct of life, which are often irretrievable. There is a delicacy of taste observable in some men, which very much resembles thii> delicacy of passion^ and produces the same sensi- bility to beauty and deformity of every kind, as that does to prosperity and adversity, obligations and injuries. When you present a poem or a picture to a man possessed of this talent, the delicacy of his feelings makes him be sensibly touched with every part of it ; nor are the masterly strokes perceived with more exquisite relish and satisfaction, than the negligences or absurdities with disgust and uneasiness. A polite and judicious conversation affords him the highest entertain- ment ; rudeness or impertinence is as great a punishment to him. In short, delicacy of taste has the samx effect as delicacy of passion : it enlarges the sphere both of our happiness and misery, and makes us lO THE DELICACY OF TASTE AND PASSION. sensible to the pains as well as to the pleasures, which escape the rest of mankind. I believe, however, every one will agree with me, that, notwithstand- ing this resemblance, dehcacy of taste is as much to be desired and cuhivated, as delicacy of passion is to be lamented, and to be remedied, if possible. The good or ill accidents of life are very little at our disposal ; but we are pretty much masters what books we shall read, what diversions we shall partake of, and what company we shall keep. Philosophers have endeavoured to render happiness entirely indepen- dent of everything external. The degree of perfection is impossible to be attained; but every wise man will endeavour to place his happiness on such objects chiefly as depend upon himself: and that is not to be attained so much by any other means as by this delicacy of sentiment. When a man is possessed of that talent, he is more happy by what pleases his taste, than by what gratifies his appetites ; and receives more enjoyment from a poem or a piece of reasoning than the most expensive luxury can afford. Whatever connection there may be originally between these two species of dehcacy, I am persuaded, that nothing is so proper to cure us of this delicacy of passion, as the cultivating of that higher and more refined taste, which enables us to judge of the characters of men, of compositions of genius, and of the productions of the nobler arts. A greater or less relish for those obvious beauties, which strike the senses, depends entirely upon the greater or less sensibility of the temper : but with regard to the sciences and liberal arts, a fine taste is, in some measure, the same with strong sense, or at least depends so much upon it that they are inseparable. In order to judge aright of a composition of genius, there are so many views to be taken in, so many circumstances to be compared, and such a knowledge of human nature requisite, that no man, who is not possessed of the soundest judgment, will ever make a tolerable critic in such performances. And this is a new reason for cultivating a relish in the Hberal arts. Our judgment will strengthen by this exercise : we shall form juster notions of life. Many things which please or afflict others, will appear to us too frivolous to engage our attention : and we shall lose by degrees that sensibihty and dehcacy of passion, which is so incommodious. But perhaps I have gone too far, in saying that a cultivated taste for the polite arts extinguishes the passions, and renders us indifferent to those objects, which are so fondly pursued by the rest of mankind. On farther reflection, I find, that it rather improves our sensibility for all the tender and agreeable passions ; at the same time that it renders the mind incapable of the rougher and more boisterous emotions. Ingenuas didicisse Jideliter artes^ Emollit 7nores, nec sinit esse feros. For this, I think, there may be assigned two very natural reasons. !• Nothing is so improving to the temper as the study of the beauties. ESSAY I. BY DAVID HUME. II either of poetry, eloquence, music, or painting. They give a certain elegance of sentiment to which the rest of mankind are strangers. The emotions which they excite are soft and tender. They draw off the mind from the hurry of business and interest ; cherish reflection ; dispose to tranquility ; and produce an agreeable melancholy, which, of all dispositions of the mind, is best suited to love and friendship. II. A delicacy of taste is favourable to love and friendship, by con- fining our choice to few people, and making us indifferent to the company and conversation of the greater part of men. You will seldom find that mere men of the world, whatever strong sense they may be endowed with, are very nice in distinguishing characters, or in marking those insensible differences and gradations, which make one man preferable to another. Any one, that has competent sense, is sufficient for their entertainment : they talk to him of their pleasures and affairs, with the same frankness that they would to another ; and finding many who are fit to supply his place, they never feel any vacancy or want in his absence. But to make use of the allusion of a celebrated French"^ author, the judgment may be compared to a clock or watch, where the most ordinary machinery is sufficient to tell the hours ; but the most elaborate alone can point out the minutes and seconds, and distinguish the smallest differences of time. One that has well digested his knowledge both of books and men, has irttte en- joyment but in the company of a few select companions. He feels too sensibly, how much all the rest of mankind fall short of the notions which he has entertained. And, his affections being thus confined within a narrow circle, no wonder he carries them further, than if they were more general and undistinguished. The gaiety and frolic of a bottle companion improves with him into a solid friendship : and the ardours of a youthful appetite become an elegant passion. II.— OF THE LIBERTY OF THE PRESS. Nothing is more apt to surprise a foreigner, than the extreme liberty, which we enjoy in this country, of communicating whatever we please to the public, and of openly censuring every measure, entered into by the King or his ministers. If the administration resolve upon war, it is affirmed, that, either wilfully or ignorantly, they mistake the interests of the nation ; and that peace, in the present situation of affairs, is in- finitely preferable. If the passion of the ministers lie towards peace, our political writers breathe nothing but war, and devastation, and represent the pacific conduct of the government as mean and pusil- ♦ FoNTENELfcE, Pluralite des Mondes, Soir 6, 12 THE LIBERTY OF THE PRESS. lanimous. As this liberty is not indulged in any other government, either republican or monarchical ; in Holland and Venice, more than in France or Spain ; it may very naturally give occasion to the ques- tion, How it happens that Great Britain alone enjoys this peculiar privilege ? The reason, why the laws indulge us in such a liberty, seems to be derived from our mixed form of government, which is neither wholly monarchical, nor wholly republican. It will be found, if I mistake not, a true observation in politics, that the two extremes in govern- ment, liberty and slavery, commonly approach nearest to each other; and that, as you depart from the extremes, and mix a little of monarchy with liberty, the government becomes always the more free ; and, on the other hand, when you mix a little of liberty with monarchy, the yoke becomes always the more grievous and intolerable. In a govern- ment, such as that of France, which is absolute, and where law, cus- tom, and religion concur, all of them, to make the people fully satisfied with their condition, the monarch cannot entertain any jealousy against his subjects, and therefore is apt to indulge them in great liberties both of speech and action. In a government altogether republican, such as that of Holland, where there is no magistrate so eminent as to give jealousy to the state, there is no danger in intrusting the magistrates with large discretionary powers ; and though many advantages result from such powers, in preserving peace and order, yet they lay a con- siderable restraint on men's actions, and make every private citizen pay a great respect to the government. Thus it seems evident that the two extremes of absolute monarchy and of a republic, approach near to each other in some material circumstances. I. The magistrate has no jealousy of the people. II. The people have none of the magistrate : which want of jealousy begets a mutual confidence and trust in both cases, and produces a species of liberty in monarchies, and of arbitrary power in republics. To justify the other part of the foregoing observation, that, in every government, the means are most wide of each other, and that the mix- tures of monarchy and liberty render the yoke either more easy or more grievous ; I must take notice of a remark in Tacitus with regard to the Romans under the emperors, that they neither could bear total slavery nor total liberty, Nec totam servitutejn, nec totam libertatem pati possunt. This remark a celebrated poet has translated and ap- plied to the English, in his lively description of Queen Ehzabeth's policy and government, Et Jit aimer son joiig a V Anglois indomptey Qui ne peut ni servir, nt vivre en liberie, Henri ADE, liv, i. According to these remarks, we are to consider the Roman govern- ESSAY II. BY DAVID HUME. «3 ment under the emperors as a mixture of despotism and liberty, where the despotism prevailed ; and the English government as a mixture of the same kind, where the liberty predominates. The consequences are conformable to the foregoing observation ; and as may be expected from those mixed forms of government, which beget a mutual watch- fulness and jealously. The Roman emperors were, many of them, the most frightful tyrants that ever disgraced human nature ; and it is evident, that their cruelty was chiefly excited by their jealousy^ and by their observing that all the great men of Rome bore with impatience the dominion of a family, which, but a little before, was nowise superior to their own. On the other hand, as the republican part of the government prevails in England, though with a great mixture of monarchy, it is obliged, for its own preservation, to maintain a watch- ful jealousy over the magistrate, to remove all discretionary powers, arui to secure every one's life and fortune by general and inflexible laws. No action must be deemed a crime but what the law has plainly determined to be such : no crime must be imputed to a man but from a legal proof before his judges and even these judges must be his fellow- sub- jects who are obliged, by their own interest, to have a watchful eye over the encroachments, and violence of the ministers. From these causes it pro- ceeds, that there is as much liberty, and even, perhaps licentiousness in Britain, as there were formerly slavery and tyranny in Rome. These principles account for the great liberty of the press in these kingdoms, beyond what is indulged in any other government. It is apprehended, that arbitrary power would steal in upon us, were we not careful to prevent its progress, and were there not an easy method of conveying the alarm from one end of the kingdom to the other. The spirit of the people must frequently be roused, in order to curb the ambition of the court ; and the dread of rousing this spirit must be employed to prevent that ambition. Nothing so effectual to this pur- pose as the liberty of the press : by which all the learning, wit, and genius of the nation, may be employed on the side of freedom, and every one be animated to its defence. As long, therefore, as the republican part of our government can maintain itself against the monarchical, it will naturally be careful to keep the press open, as of importance to it 3 own preservation. 1 1 must however be allowed,- that the unbounded liberty of the press, though it bedifficult, perhaps impossible, to propose a suitable remedy for it, is one of the evils attending mixed forms of governmenL . IIT.-THAT POLITICS MAY BE REDUCED TO A SCIENCE. It is a question with several, whether there De any essential differ- ence betv/een one form of government and another ? and whether 14 THAT POLITICS MAY BE REDUCED TO A SCIENCE. every form may not become good or bad, according as it is well or ill administered*? Were it once admitted, that all governments are alike, and that the only difference consists in the character and con- duct of the governors, most political disputes would be at an end, and all ^eal for one constitution above another must be esteemed mere bigotry and folly. But though a friend to moderation, I cannot forbear condemning this sentiment, and should be sorry to think, that human affairs admit of no greater stability, than what they receive from the casual humours and characters of particular men. It is true, those who maintain, that the goodness of all government consists in the goodness of the administration, may cite many particular instances in history, where the very same government, indifferent hands, has varied suddenly into the two opposite extremes of good and bad. Compare the French government under Henry 1 1 1, and under Henry IV. Oppression, levity, artifice on the part of the rulers ; faction, sedition, treachery, rebellion, disloyalty on the part of the subjects : these com- pose the character of the former miserable era. But when the patriot and heroic prince, who succeeded, was once firmly seated on the throne, the government, the people, every thing, seemed to be totally changed ; and all from the difference of the temper and conduct of these two sovereigns. Instances of this kind may be multiplied, almost without number, from ancient as well as modern history, foreign as well as domestic. But here it may be proper to make a distinction. All absolute governments must very much depend on the administration ; and this is one of the great inconveniences attending that form of government. But a republican and free government v/ould be an obvious absurdity, if the particular checks and controls, provided by the constitution, had really no influence, and made it not the interest, even of bad men, to act for the pubhc good. Such is the intention of these forms of government, and such is their real effect, where they are wisely consti- tuted : as on the other hand, they are the source of all disorder, and of the blackest crimes, where either skill or honesty has been wanting in their original frame and institution. So great is the force of laws, and of particular forms of government, and so little dependence have they on the humours and tempers of men, that consequences almost as general and certain may sometimes be deduced from them, as any which the mathematical sciences will afford us. The constitution of the Roman republic gave the whole legisla- tive power to the people, without allowing a negative voice either to the nobility or consul. This unbounded power they • For forms of government let fools ccntest,_, Whatever is best administered is best. Essay on Man, Book > ESSAY in. OF DAVID HUME. 15 possessed in a collective, not in a representative body. The conse- quences were : when the people, by success and conquest, had become very numerous, and had spread themselves to a great distance from the capital, the city-tribes, though the most contemptible, carried almost every vote : they were, therefore, most cajoled by every one that affected popularity: they were supported in idleness by the general distribution of corn, and by particular bribes, which they re- ceived from almost every candidate : by this means, they became every day more licentious, and the Campus Martius was a perpetual scene of tumult and sedition : armed slaves were introduced among these rascally citizens ; so that the whole government fell into anarchy ; and the greatest happiness, which the Romans could look for, was the despotic pt)wer of the Caesars. Such are the effects of democracy without a representative. A Nobility may possess the whole, or any part of the legislative power of a state, in two different ways. Either every nobleman shares the power as a part of the whole body, or the whole body enjoys the power as composed of parts, which have each a distinct power and authority. The Venetian aristocracy is an instance of the first kind of government ; the Polish, of the second. In the Venetian Govern- ment the whole body of nobility possesses the whole power, and no nobleman has any authority which he receives not from the whole. In the Polish government every nobleman, by means of his fiefs, has a distinct hereditary authority over his vassals, and the whole body has no authority but what it receives from the concurrence of its parts. The different operations and tendencies of these two species of govern- ment might be made apparent even a priori. A Venetian nobility is preferable to a Polish, let the humours and education of men be ever so much varied. A nobility, who possess their power in common, will preserve peace and order, both among themselves, and their subjects ; and no member can have authority enough to control the laws for a moment. The nobles will preserve their authority over the people, but without any grievous tyranny, or any breach of private property : because such a tyrannical government promotes not the interests of the whole body, however it may that of some individuals. There will be a distinction of rank between the nobility and people, but this will be the only distinction in the state. The whole nobility will form one body, and the whole people another, without any of those private feuds and animosities, which spread ruin and desolation everywhere. It is easy to see the disadvantages of a Polish nobility in every one of these particulars. It is possible so to constitute a free government, as that a single person, call him a doge, prince, or king, shall possess a large share of power, and shall form a proper balance or counterpoise to the other parts Qi "V»e leg^islature. This chief magistrate may be either elec^ l6 THAT POLITICS MAY BE REDUCED TO A SCIENCE. tive or hereditary; and though the former institution may, to a superficial view, appear the most advantageous ; yet a more accurate inspection will discover in it greater inconveniences than in the latter, and such as are founded on causes and principles eternal and immutable. The filling of the throne, in such a government, is a point of too great and too general interest, not to divide the whole people into factions : whence a civil war, the greatest of ills, may be apprehended, almost with certainty, upon every vacancy. The prince elected must be either a Foreigner or a Native. The former will be ignorant of the people whom he is to govern : suspicious of his new subjects, and suspected by them ; giving his confidence entirely to strangers, who will have no other care but of enriching themselves in the quickest manner while their master's favour and authority are able to support them. A native will carry into the throne all his private animosities and friendships, and will never be viewed in his elevation, without exciting the sentiment of envy in those who formerly considered him as their equal. Not to mention that a crown is too high a reward ever to be given to merit alone, and will always induce the candidates to employ force, or money, or intrigue, to procure the votes of the electors : so that such an election will give no better chance for superior merit in the prince, than if the state had trusted to birth alone for determining their sovereign. It may therefore be pronounced as an universal axiom in politics. That an hereditary prince^ a nobility without vassals^ and a people votiftgby their 7 epresentatives^ form the monarch Y, ARISTOCRACY, and DEMOCRACY. But in order to prove more fully, that politics admit of general truths, which are invariable by the humour or education either of subject or sovereign, it may not be amiss to observe some other principles of this science, which may seem to deserve that character. It may easily be observed, that, though free governments have been commonly the most happy for those who partake of their freedom ; yet are they the most ruinous and oppressive to their provinces : and this observation may, I believe, be fixed as a maxim of the kind we are here speaking of When a monarch extends his dominions by conquest, he soon learns to consider his old and his new subjects as on the same footing ; because, in reahty, all his subjects are to him the same, except the few friends and favourites, with whom he is per- sonally acquainted. He does not, therefore, make any distinction between them in his general laws ; and, at the same time, is careful to prevent all particular acts of oppression on the one as well as on the other. But a free state necessarily makes a great distinction, and must always do so, till men learn to love their neighbours as well as themselves. The conquerors, in sur^ a government, are all legislators, ESSAYS OF DAVID HUME. 17 and will be sure to contrive matters, by restrictions on trade, and by taxes, so as to draw some private, as well as public, advantage from their conquests. Provincial governors have also a better chance, in a republic, to escape with their plunder, by means of bribery or intrigue ; and their fellow-citizens, who find their own state to be enriched by the spoils of the subject provinces, will be the more inclined to tolerate such abuses. Not to mention, that it is a necessary precaution in a free state to change the governors frequently ; which obliges these tem- porary tyrants to be more expeditious and rapacious, that they ma^ accumulate sufficient wealth before they give place to their successors. What cruel tyrants were the Romans over the world during the time of their commonwealth ! It is true, they had laws to prevent oppres- sion in their provincial magistrates ; but Cicero informs us, that the Romans could not better consult the interests of the provinces than by repealing these very laws. For, in that case, says he, our magis- trates, having entire impunity, would plunder no more than would satisfy their own rapaciousness ; whereas, at present, they must also satisfy that of their judges, and of all the great men in Rome, of whose protection they stand in need. Who can read of the cruelties and oppressions of Verres without astonishment ? And who is not touched with indignation to hear, that, after Cicero had exhausted on that abandoned criminal all the thunders of his eloquence, and had pre- vailed so far as to get him condemned to the utmost extent of the laws ; yet that cruel tyrant lived peaceably to old age, in opulence and ease, and, thirty years afterwards, was put into the proscription by Mark Antony, on account of his exorbitant wealth, where he fell with Cicero himself, and all the most virtuous men of Rome? After the dissolution of the common-wealth, the Roman yoke became easier upon the pro- vinces, as Tacitus informs us ; [Ann. lib. L cap. 2.] and it may be ob- served, that many of the worst emperors, Domitian, [Suet, in vita Domit.] for instance, were careful to prevent all oppression on the pro- vinces. In Tiberius's* time, Gaul was esteemed richer than Italy it self : Nor do I find, during the whole time of the Roman monarchy that the empire became less rich or populous in any of its provinces ; though indeed its valour and military discipline were always upon the decline. The oppression and tyranny of the Carthaginians over their subject states in Africa went so far, as we learn from Polybius, [Lib. i. cap. 72.] that, not content with exacting the half of all the produce of the land, which of itself was a very high rent, they also loaded them with many other taxes. If we pass from ancient to modem times, wc shall still find the observation to hold. The provinces of absolute mo- narchies are always better treated than those of free states. Compare * * Egregium resumendae libertati tempus, si ipsi florentes, quam inops Italia, quam im bellis urbana plebs, nihil validum in exercitibus, nisi quod externum cogitarent."— -Tacit Ann. lib. iii 2 i8 POLITICS A SCIENCE. the Pats conquis of France with Ireland, and you will be convinced of this truth ; though this latter kingdom, being, in a good measure, peopled from England, possesses so many rights and privileges as should naturally make it challenge better treatment than that of a con- quered province. The island of Corsica is also an obvious instance to the same purpose. There is an observation in Machiavel, with regard to the conquests of Alexander the Great, which, I think, may be regarded as one of those eternal political truths, which no time nor accidents can vary. It may seem strange, says that poHtician, that such sudden conquests, as those of Alexander, should be possessed so peaceably by his successors, and that the Persians, during all the confusions and civil wars among the Greeks, never made the smallest effort towards the recovery of their former independent government. To satisfy us concerning the cause of this remarkable event, we may consider, that a monarch may govern his subjects in two different ways. He may either follow the maxims of the eastern princes, and stretch his authority so far as to leave no distinction of rank among his subjects, but what proceeds immediately from himself : no advantages of birth ; no hereditary honours and pos- sessions ; and, in a word, no credit among the people, except from his commission alone. Or a monarch may exert his power after a milder manner, like other European princes; and leave other sources of honour, beside his smile and favour : birth, titles, possessions, valour, integrity, knowledge, or great and fortunate achievements. In the former species of government, after a conquest, it is impossible ever to shake off the yoke ; since no one possesses, among the people, so much personal credit and authority as to begin such an enterprise : whereas, in the latter, the least misfortune, or discord among the victors, will encourage the vanquished to take arms, v/ho have leaders ready to prompt and conduct them in every undertaking* * I have taken it for granted, according to the supposition of Machiavel, that the ancient Persians had no nobility ; though there is reason to suspect, that the Florentine secretary, who seems to have been better acquainted with the Roman than the Greek authors, was mis- taken in this particular. The more ancient Persians, whose manners are described by Xenophon, were a free people, and had nobility. Their oiaoti^oi were preserved even after the extending of their conquests and the consequent change of their government. Arrian men- tions them in Darius* time, De exped. Alex. lib. ii. Hisiorians also speak often of the persons '\sx command as men of family. Tygranes, who was general of the Medes under Xerxes, was f the race of Achmaenes, Herod, lib. vii. cap. 62. Artachaeus, who directed the cutting of the canal about mount Athos, was of the same family. Id. cap. 11 7* Megabyzus was one of the seven eminent Persians who conspired against the Magi. His son, Zopyrus, was in the highest command under Darius, and delivered Babylon to him. His grandson, Megabyzus, com- manded the army defeated at Marathon. His great-grandson, Zopyrus, was also eminent, and was banished Persia. Herod, lib. iii. Thuc. lib. i. Rosaces, who commanded an army in Egypt under Artaxerxes, was also descended from one of the seven conspirators. Died. Sic. lib. xvi. Agesilaus, in Xenophon. Hist. Graec. lib. iv. being desirous of making a marriage betwixt king Coty s his ally, and the daughter of Spithridates, a Persia* of rank, who had deserted to him, first asked Cotys what fe.mily Spithridates is of. One of the most con- siderable in Persia, says Cotys. Ariaeus, when offered the sovereignty by Clearchus and the ttn thousand Greeks, refused it as of too low a rank, and said, that so many eminent Persians would never endure his rule. Id. de exped. lib. ii. Some of the famiUes descended from the seven Persians above-mentioned remained during Alexander's successors • and Mithridates, ii; ESSAYS OF DAVID HUME. 19 Such is the reasoning of Machiavel, which seems solid and con- clusive ; though I wished he had not mixed falsehood with truth, in asserting, that monarchies, governed according to eastern policy, though more easily kept when once subdued, yet are the most difficult to subdue ; since they cannot contain any powerful subject, whose dis- content and faction may facilitate the enterprises of an enemy. For besides, that such a tyrannical government enervates the courage of men, and renders them indifferent towards the fortunes of their sovereign ; besides this, I say, we find by experience, that even the temporary and delegated authority of the generals and magistrates, being ahvays, in such governments, as absolute within its sphere, as that of the prince himself, is able, with barbarians, accustomed to a blind submission, to produce the most dangerous and fatal revolutions. So that in every respect, a gentle government is preferable, and gives the greatest security to the sovereign as well as the subject. Legislators, therefore, ought not to trust the future government of a state entirely to chance, but ought to provide a system of laws to regu- late the administration of public affairs to the latest posterity. Effects will always correspond to causes ; and wise regulations, in any commonwealth, are the most valuable legacy that can be left to future ages. In the smallest court or office, the stated forms and methods, by which business must be conducted, are found to be a considerable check on the natural depravity of mankind. Why should not the case be the same in public affairs ? Can we ascribe the stability and wisdom of the Venetian government, through so many ages, to any thing but the form of government ? And is it not easy to point out these defects in the original constitution, which pro- duced the tumultuous governments of Athens and Rome, and ended at last in the ruin of these two famous republics ? And so little depen- dence has this affair on the humours and education of particular men, that one part of the same republic may be wisely conducted, and another weakly, by the very same men, merely on account of the difference of the forms and institutions by which these parts are regu- lated. Historians inform us that this was actually the case with Genoa. For while the state was always full of sedition, and tumult, and dis- order, the bank of St. George, which had become a considerable part Antiochiis' time, is said by Polybius to be descended from one of them, lib. v, cap. 43. Arta- bazus was esteemed, as Arrian says, ei/ tois -rgu'roig Tligaoou lib. iii. And when Alexander married in one day 80 of his captains to Persian women, his intention plainly was to ally the Macedonians with the most eminent Persian families. Id. lib. vii. Diodorus Siculus says, they were of the most noble birth in Persia, lib. xvii. The government of Persia was despotic, and conducted in many respects after the eastern manner, but was not carried so far as to ex- tirpate all nobility, and confound all ranks and orders. It left men who were still great, by themselves and their family, independent of their office and commission. And the reason why the Macedonians kept so easily dominion over them was owing to other causes easy to be found in the historians ; though it must be owned that Machiavel's reasoning is, in itself, just, however doubtful its application to the present case. 20 POLITICS A SCIENCE. of the people, was conducted, for several ages, with the utmost integ- rity and wisdom''^. The ages of greatest public spirit are not always most eminent for private virtue. Good laws may beget order and moderation in the government, where the manners and customs have instilkd little - humanity or justice into the tempers of men. The most illustrious period of the Roman history, considered in a political view, is that be- tween the beginning of the first and end of the last Punic war ; the due balance between the nobility and people being then fixed by the con- tests of the tribunes, and not being yet lost by the extent of conquests. Yet at this very time, the horrid practice of poisoning was so common, that, during part of the season, a PrcBtor punished capitally for this crime above 3000 [T. Livii, lib. xl. cap. 43.] persons in a part of Italy ; and found informations of this nature still multiplying upon him. There is a similar, or rather a worse instance, [T. Livii, lib. viii. cap, 18.] in the more early times of the commonwealth. So depraved in private life were that people, whom in their histories we so much ad- mire. I doubt not but they were really more virtuous during the time of the two Triumvirates ; when they were tearing their common country to pieces, and spreading slaughter and desolation over the face of the earth, merely for the choice of tyrants f. Here, then, is a sufficient inducement to maintain, with the utmost zeal, in every free state, those forms and institutions, by which liberty is secured, the public good consulted, and the avarice or ambition of particular men restrained and punished. Nothing does more honour to human nature, than to see it susceptible of so noble a passion ; as nothing can be a greater indication of meanness of heart in any man than to see him destitute of it. A man who loves only himself, without regard to friendship and desert, merits the severest blame ; and a man, who is only susceptible of friendship, without public spirit, or a regard to the community, is deficient in the most material part of virtue. But this is a subject which needs not be longer insisted on at present. There are enow of zealots on both sides, who kindle up the passions of their partizans, and, under pretence of public good, pursue the interests and ends of their particular faction. For my part, I shall always be more fond of promoting moderation than zeal ; though perhaps the syrest way of producing moderation in every party is to increase our zeal for the public. Let us therefore try, if it be possible, from the foregoing doctrine, to draw a lesson of moderation with re- * ** Essempio veramente raro, et da Filosofi intante lord imaginate et vedute Republiche mai non trovato, vedere dentro ad un medesimo cerchio, fra medesimi cittadhii. la liberta, et la tirannide. la vita civile et la corotta, la giustitia et la licenza ; perche quelle ordine solo mantiere quella citta piena di costumi antichi et venerabili. E s'egli auvenisse (che col tempo in ogni modo auverra) que San Giorgio tutta quel la citta occupasse, sarrebbe quella una Republica piu della Venetiana memorabile. — Delia Hist. Florentine, lib. viiL" \ * L'Aigle contre 1' Aigle, Remains contra Romains. Combtans seulement pour le Choix de tyran.' Oorneille^ ESSAYS OF DAVID HUME. 21 gard to the parties, into which our country is at present divided ; at the same time, that we allow not this moderation to abate the industry and passion, with which every individual is bound to pursue the good of his country. Those who either attack or defend a minister in such a government as ours, where the utmost liberty is allowed, always carry matters to an extreme, and exaggerate his merit or demerit with regard to the public. His enemies are sure to charge him with the greatest enor- rhities, both in domestic and foreign management ; and there is no meanness or crime, of which, in their account, he is not capable. Un- necessary wars, scandalous treaties, profusion of public treasure, op- pressive taxes, every kind of maladministration is ascribed to him. To aggravate the charge,, his pernicious conduct, it is said, will extend its baneful influence even to posterity, by undermining the best con- stitution in the world, and disordering that wise system of laws, insti- tutions, and customs, by which our ancestors, during so many centuries, have been so happily governed. He is not only a wicked minister in himself, but has removed every security provided against wicked ministers for the future. On the other hand, the partizans of the minister make his panegyric run as high as the accusation against him, and celebrate his wise, steady, and moderate conduct in every part of his administration. The honour and interest of the nation supported abroad, public credit main- tained at home, persecution restrained, faction subdued ; the merit of all these blessings is ascribed solely to the minister. At the same time, he crowns all his other merits by a religous care of the best con- stitution in the world, which he has preserved in all its parts, and has transmitted entire, to be the happiness and the security of the latest posterity. When this accusation and panegyric are received by the partizans of each party, no wonder they beget an extraordinary ferment on both sides, and fill the nation with violent animosities. But I would fain persuade these party zealots, that there is a flat contradiction both in the accusation and panegyric, and that it were impossible for either of them to run so high, were it not for this contradiction. If our consti- tution be really that noble fabric^ the pride of Britain^ the envy of our neighbours^ raised by the labour of so many centuries^ repaired at the expence of so many millions^ and cemented by such a profusio7i ofblood^j I say, if our constitution does in any degree deserve these eulogies, it would never have suffered a wicked and weak minister to govern triumphantly for a course of twenty years, when opposed by the greatest geniuses in the nation, who exercised the utmost liberty of tongue and pen, in par- liament, and in their frequent appeals to the people. But, if the minister be wicked and weak, to the degree so strenuously insisted on, * *' Dissertotion on ParHes," I^tt«r zo* 22 POLITICS A SCIENCE. the constitution must be faulty in its original principles, and he cannot consistently be charged with undermining the best form of government in the world. A constitution is only so far good, as it provides a remedy against maladministration ; and if the British, when in its greatest vigour, and repaired by two such remarkable events, as the Revolution and Accession^ by which our ancient royal family was sacrificed to it ; if our constitution, I say, with so great advantages, does not, in fact, provide any such remedy, we are rather beholden to any minister who undermines it, and affords us an opportunity of erect- ing a better in its place. I would employ the same topics to moderate the zeal of those who defend the minister. I sour constitution so excelle^it? Then a change of ministry can be no such dreadful event ; since it is essential to such a constitution, in every ministry, both to preserve itself from violation, and to prevent all enormities in the administration. Is our constitu- tion very badf Then so extraordinary a jealousy and apprehension, on account of changes, is ill placed ; and a man should no more be anxious in this case, than a husband, who had married a woman from the stews, should be watchful to prevent her infidelity. Public affairs, in such a government, must necessarily go to confusion, by whatever hands they are conducted ; and the zeal of patriots is in that case much less requisite than the patience and submission of philosophers. The virtue and good intentions of Cato and Brutus are highly laud- able ; but to what purpose did their zeal serve ? Only to hasten the fatal period of the Roman government, and render its convulsions and dying agonies more violent and painful. I would not be understood to mean, that public affairs deserve no care and attention at all. Would men be moderate and consistent, their claims might be admitted ; at least might be examined. The CO imtry -party might still assert, that our constitution, though excellent, will admit of maladministration to a certain degree ; and therefore, if the minister be bad, it is proper to oppose him with a suitable degree of zeal. And, on the other hand, the court-party may be allowed, upon the supposition that the minister were good, to defend, and with some zeal too, his administration. I would only persuade men not to contend, as if they were fighting pro aris et focis, and change a good constitution into a bad one, by the violence of their factions. I have not here considered anything that is personal in the present controversy. In the best civil constitution, where every man is re- strained by the most rigid laws, it is easy to discover either the good or bad intentions of a minister, and to judge, whether his personal character deserve love or hatred. But such questions are of little importance to the public, and lay those, who employ their pens upon them, under a just suspicion either of malevolence or of flattery. ESSAY IV. BV DAVID HUME. 23 IV.— OF THE FIRST PRINCIPLES OF GOVERNMENT. Nothing appears more surprising to those who consider human affairs with a philosophical eye, than the easiness with which the many are governed by the few ; and the implicit submission, with which men resign their own sentiments and passions to those of their rulers. When we enquire by what means this wonder is effected, we shall find, that, as Force is always on the side of the governed, the governors have nothing to support them but opinion. It is, therefore, on opinion only that government is founded ; and this maxim extends to the most despotic and most military governments, as well as to the most free and most popular. The soldan of Egypt, or the emperor of Rome, might drive his harmless subjects, like brute beasts, against their senti- ments and inclination : but he must, at least, have led his tnamelukes^ or prcBtorian bands, like men, by their opinion. Opinion is of two kinds, to wit, opinion of interest, and opinion of RIGHT. By opinion of interest, I chiefly understand the sense of the general advantage which is reaped from government ; together with the persuasion, that the particular government, which is established, is equally advantageous with any other that could easily be settled. When this opinion prevails among the generality of a state, or among those who have the force in their hands, it will give great security to any government. Right is of two kinds ; right to Power and right to Property. What prevalence opinion of the first kind has over mankind, may easily be understood, by observing the attachment which all nations have to their ancient government, and even to those names which have had the sanction of antiquity. Antiquity always begets the opinion of right ; and whatever disadvantageous sentiments we may entertain of mankind, they are always found to be prodigal both of blood and treasure in the maintenance of public justice. There is, indeed, no particular, in which, at first sight, there may appear a greater contra- diction in the frame of the human mind than the present. When men act in a faction, they are apt, without shame or remorse, to neglect all the ties of honour and morality, in order to serve their party ; and yet, when a faction is formed upon a point of right or principle, there is no occasion, where men discover a greater obstinacy, and a more deter- mined sense of justice and equity. The same social disposition of mankind is the cause of these contradictory appearances. It is sufficiently understood, that the opinion of right to property is of moment in all matters of government A noted author has made property the foundation of all government ; and most of our political 24 OF THE FIRST PRINCIPLES OF GOVERNMENT. writers seem inclined to follow him in that particular. This is carrying the matter too far ; but still it must be owned, that the opinion of right to property has a great influence in this subject. Upon these three opinions, therefore, of public interest^ of right to 't)ower^ and of right to property^ are all governments founded, and all authority of the few over the many. There are indeed other principles, which add force to these, and determine, limit, or alter their operation ; such as self-interest^ fear, and affection : but still we may assert, that these other principles can have no influence alone, but suppose the antecedent influence of those opinions above mentioned. They are, therefore, to be esteemed the secondary, not the original principles of government. For, first, as to self -interest hy which I mean the expectation of par- ticular rewards, distinct from the general protection which we receive from government, it is evident that the magistrate's authority must be antecedently established, at least be hoped for, in order to pro- duce this expectation. The prospect of reward may augment his authority with regard to some particular persons ; but can never give birth to it, with regard to the public. Men naturally look for the great- est favours from their friends and acquaintance ; and therefore, the hopes of any considerable number of the state would never center in any particular set of men, if these men had no other title to magistracy, and had no separate influence over the opinions of mankind. The same observation may be extended to the other two principles of fear and affection. No man would have any reason to fear the fury of a tyrant, if he had no authority over any but from fear ; since, as a single man, his bodily force can reach but a small way, and all the farther power he possesses must be founded either on our own opinion, or on the presumed opinion of others. And though affection to wisdom and virtue in a sovereigii extends very far, and has great influence ; yet he must antecedently be supposed invested with a public character, otherwise the public esteem will serve him in no stead, nor will his virtue have any influence beyond a narrow sphere. A government may endure for several ages, though the balance of oower, and the balance of property do not coincide. This chiefly happens, where any rank or order of the state has acquired a large >hare in the property ; but, from the original constitution of the go- irernment, has no share in the power. Under what pretence would any individual of that order assume authority in public affairs 1 As men are commonly much attached to their ancient government, it is not to be expected, that the public would ever favour such usurpations. But where the original constitution allows any share of power, though small, to an order of men, who possess a large share of the property, it is easy for them gradually to stretch their authority, and bring ESSAY V, BY DAVID HUME, «5 the balance of power to coincide with that of property. This has been the case with the House of Commons in England. Most writers, that have treated of the British government, have supposed, that, as the Lower House represents all the commons of Great Britain, its weight in the scale is proportioned to the property and power of all whom it represents. But this principle must not be received as absolutely true. For though the people are apt to attach themselves more to the House of Commons, than to any other member of the constitution ; the House being chosen by them as their representatives, and as the public guardians of their liberty : yet are there instances where the House, even when in opposition to the crown, has not been followed by the people ; as we may particularly observe of the tory House of Commons in the reign of King William. Were the members obliged to receive instructions from their con- stituents, like the Dutch deputies, this would entirely alter the case ; and if such immense power and riches, as those of all the commons of Great Britain, were brought into the scale, it is not easy to con- ceive, that the crown could either influence that multitude of people, or withstand that balance of property. It is true, the crown has great influence over the collective body in the elections of members ; but were this influence, which at present is only exerted once in seven years, to be employed in bringing over the people to every vote, it would soon be wasted ; and no skill, popularity, or revenue, could support it. I must, therefore, be of opinion, that an alteration in this particular would introduce a total alteration in our government, and would soon reduce it to a pure republic ; and, perhaps, to a republic of no inconvenient form. For though the people, collected in a body like the Roman tribes, be quite unfit for government, yet, when dispersed in small bodies, they are more susceptible both of reason and order ; the force of popular currents and tides is, in a great measure, broken ; and the public interest may be pursued with some method and constancy. But it is needless to reason any farther concerning a form of government, which is never likely to have place in Great Britain, and which seems not to be the aim of any party amongst us. Let us cherish and improve our ancient government as much as possible, without encouraging a passion for such dangerous novelties. v.— OF THE ORIGIN OF GOVERNMENT. Man, born in a family, is compelled to maintain society, from necessity, from natural inclination, and from habit. The same creature, in his farther progress, is engaged to established political society, in order to 26 THE ORIGIN OF GOVERNMENT. administer justice ; without which there can be no peace among them, nor safety, nor mutual intercourse, We are, therefore, to look, upon all the vast apparatus of our government, as having ultimately no other object or purpose but the distribution of justice, or, in other *^ords, the support of the twelve judges. Kings and parliaments, fleets and armies, officers of the court, and revenue ambassadors, ministers, and privy-counsellors, are all subordinate in their end to this part of administration. Even the clergy, as their duty leads them to inculcate morality, may justly be thought, so far as regards this world, to have no other useful object of their institution. All men are sensible of the necessity of justice to maintain peace and order ; and all men are sensible of the necessity of peace and order for the maintenance of society. Yet, notwithstanding this strong and obvious necessity, such is the frailty or perverseness of our nature ! it is impossible to keep men, faithfully and unerringly, in the paths of justice. Some extraordinary circumstance may happen, in which a man finds his interests to be more promoted by fraud or rapine, than hurt by the breach which his injustice makes in the social union. But much more frequently, he is seduced from his great and important, but distant interests, by the allurement of present, though often very frivolous temptations. This great weakness is incurable in human nature. Men must, therefore, endeavour to palliate what they cannot cure. They must institute some persons under the appellation of magistrates, whose pecuhar office it is to point out the decrees of equity, to punish transgressors, to correct fraud and violence, and to oblige men, how- ever reluctant, to consult their own real and permanent interests. In a word. Obedience is a new duty which must be invented to support that of justice ; and the ties of equity must be corroborated by those of allegiance to society. But still, viewing matters in an abstract light, it may be thought, that nothing is gained by this alliance, and that the factitious duty of obedience, from its very nature, has as feeble a hold of the human mind, as the primitive and natural duty of justice. Peculiar interests and presents temptations may overcome the one as well as the other. They are equally exposed to the same inconvenience. And the man, who is inclined to be a bad neighbour, must be led by the same motives, well or ill understood, to be a bad citizen and subject. Not to mention, that the magistrate himself may often be negilgent, or partial, or unjust in his administration. Experience, however, proves that there is a great difference between the cases. Order in society, we find, is much better^ maintained by means of government ; and our duty to the magistrate is more strictly guarded by the principles of human nature, than our duty to our fellow citizens. The love of dominion is so strong in the breast of man, that many not only submit to, but court all the dangers, and fatigues, and ESSAY VII, BY DAVID HUME. 27 cares of government ; and men, once raised to that station, though often led astray by private passions, find, in ordinary cases, a visible interest in the impartial administration of justice. The persons, who first attain this distinction by the consent, tacit or express, of the peo- ple, must be endowed with superior personal qualities of valour, force^ integrity, or prudence, which command respect and confidence : and, after government is established, a regard to birth, rank, and station has a mighty influence over men, and enforces the decrees of the magistrate. The prince or leader exclaims against every disorder which disturbs his society. He summons all his partizans and all men of probity to aid him in correcting and redressing it : and he is readily followed by all indifferent persons in the execution of his office. He soon acquires the power of rewarding these services ; and in the pro- gress of society, he establishes subordinate ministers and often a military force, who find an immediate and a visible interest in support- ing his authority. Habit soon consolidates what other principles of human nature had imperfectly founded ; and men, once accustomed to obedience, never think of departing from that path, in which they and their ancestors have constantly trod, and to which they are con- fined by so many urgent and visible motives. But though this progress of human affairs may appear certain and inevitable, and though the support which allegiance brings to justice be founded on obvious principles of human nature, it cannot be ex- pected that men should beforehand be able to discover them, or fore- see their operation. Government commences more casually and more imperfectly. It is probable, that the first ascendant of one man over multitudes begun during a state of war ; where the superiority of courage and of genius discovers itself most visibly, where unanimity and concert are most requisite ; and where the pernicious effects of disorder are most sensibly felt. The long continuance of that state, an incident common among savage tribes, inured the people to sub- mission ; and if the chieftain possessed as much equity as prudence and valour, he became, even during peace, the arbiter of all differences, and could gradually, by a mixture of force and consent, establish his authority. The benefit sensibly felt from his influence, made it be cherished by the people, at least by the peaceable and well-disposed among them ; and if his son enjoyed the same good qualities, govern- ment advanced the sooner to maturity and perfection ; but was still in a feeble state, till the farther progress of improvement procured the magistrate a revenue, and enabled him to bestow rewards on the several instruments of his administration, and to inflict punishments on the refractory and disobedient. Before that period, each exertion of his influence must have been particular, and founded on the peculiar cir- cumstances of the case. After it, submission was no longer a matter 28 THE INDEPENDENCY OF PARLIAMENT. of choice in the bulk of the community, but was rigorously exacted by the authority of the supreme magistrate. In all governments, there is a perpetual intestine struggle, open oi secret, between Authority and Liberty ; and neither of them can ever absolutely prevail in the contest. A great sacrifice of liberty must necessarily be made in every government ; yet even the authority, which confines liberty, can never, and perhaps ought never, in any constitution, to become quite entire and uncontroulable. The sultan is master of the life and fortune of any individual ; but will not be per- mitted to impose new taxes on his subjects : a French monarch can impose taxes at pleasure ; but would find it dangerous to attempt the lives and fortunes of individuals. Religion also, in most countries, is commonly found to be a very intractable principle ; and other principles or prejudices frequently resist all the authority of the civil magistrate ; whose power, being found "d on opinion, can never subvert other opinions, equally rooted with that of his title to dominion. The govern- ment, which, in common appellation, receives the appellation of free, is that which admits of a partition of power among several members, whose united authority is no less, or is commonly greater, than that of any monarch ; but who, in the usual course of administration, must act by general and equal laws, that are previously known to all the members, and to all their subjects. In this sense, it must be owned, that liberty is the perfection of civil society ; but still authority must be acknowledged essential to its very existence : and in those contests, which so often take place between the one and the other, the latter may, on that account, challenge the preference. Unless perhaps one may say (and it may be said with some reason) that a circumstance, which is essential to the existence of civil society, must always support itself, and needs be guarded with less jealousy, than one that contributes only to its perfection, which the indolence of men is so apt to neglect, or their ignorance to overlook. VI.— OF THE INDEPENDENCY OF PARLIAMENT. Political writers have established it as a maxim, that, in contriving any system of government, and fixing the several checks and controuls of the constitution, every man ought to be supposed a knave^ and to have no other end, in all his actions, than private interest. By this interest we must govern him, and, by means of it, make him, notwith- standing his insatiable avarice and ambition, co-operate to public good. Without this, say they, we shall in vain boast of the advantages of any constitution, and shall find, in the end, that we have no security for ESSAY VI. BY DAVID HUME. 29 our liberties or possessions, except the good- will of our rulers ; that is, we shall have no security at all. It is therefore, a just political maxim, that every man must be sup^ posed a knave : though, at the same time, it appears somewhat strange, that a maxim should be true in politics which is false in fact. But to satisfy us on this head, we may consider, that men are generally more honest in their private than in their public capacity, and will go greater lengths to serve a party, than when their own private interest is alone concerned. Honour is a great check upon mankind: but where a con- siderable body of men act together, this check is in a great measure removed ; since a man is sure to be approved of by his own party, for what promotes the common interest ; and he soons learns to despise the clamours of adversaries. To which we may add, that every court or senate is determined by the greater number of voices ; so that, if self-interest influences only the majority (as it will always do), the whole senate follows the allurements of this separate interest, and acts as if it contained not one member who had any regard to pubHc interest and liberty. When there offers, therefore, to our censure and examination, any plan of government, real or imaginary, where the power is distributed among several courts, and several orders of men, we should always consider the separate interest of each court, and each order ; and, if we find that by the skilful division of power, this interest must neces- sarily, in its operation, concur with the public, we may pronounce that government to be wise and happy. If on the contrary separate interest be not checked, and be not directed to the public, we ought to look for nothing but faction, disorder, and tyranny from such a government. In this opinion I am justified by experience, as well as by the authority of all philosophers and politicians, both ancient and modern. How much, therefore, would it have surprised such a genius as Cicero or Tacitus, to have been told, that, in a future age, there should arise a very regular system of mixed government, where the authority was so distributed, that one rank, whenever it pleased, might swallow up all the rest, and engross the whole power of the constitution. Such a government, they would say, will not be a mixed government. For so great is the natural ambition of men that they are never satisfied with power ; and if one order of men, by pursuing its own interest, can usurp upon every other order, it will certainly do so, and render itself, as far as possible, absolute and uncontroulable. But, in this opinion, experience shews they would have been mis- taken. For this is actually the case with the British constitution. The share of power, allotted by our constitution to the house of com'^'^ns, is so great, that it absolutely commands all the other parts of the go- vernment. The king's legislative power is plainly no proper check to it* For though the king has a negative in framing laws, yet this, in 30 THE INDEPENDENCY OF PARLIAMENT. fact, IS esteemed of so little moment, that whatever is voted by the two houses, is always sure to pass into a law, and the royal assent is Httle better than a form. The principal weight of the crown lies in the exe- cutive power ; but besides that, the executive power in every government is altogether subordinate to the legislative ; besides this, I say, the exercise of this power requires an immense ex- pense, and the commons have assumed to themselves the sole right of granting money. How, easy, therefore, would it be for that house to wrest from the crown all these powers, one after another ; by making every grant conditional, and choosing their time so well, that their refusal of supply should only distress the government, with- out giving foreign powers any advantage over us ? Did the house of commons depend in the same manner upon the king, and had none of the members any property but from his gift, would not he command all their resolutions, and be from that moment absolute ? As to the house of lords, they are a very powerful support to the crown, so long as they are, in their turn, supported by it ; but both experience and reason shew, that they have no force or authority sufficient to maintain themselves alone, without such support. How, therefore, shall we solve this paradox ? And by what means is this member of our constitution confined within the proper limits ; since, from our very constitution, it must necessarily have as much power as it demands, and can only be confined by itself? How is this consistent with our experience of human nature ? I answer, that the interest of the body is here restrained by that of the individuals, and that the house of commons stretches not its power, because such an Msurpation would be contrary to the interest of the majority of its mem- bers. The crown has so many offices at its disposal, that, when as- sisted by the honest and disinterested part of the house, it will always command the resolutions of the whole, so far, at least, as to preserve the ancient constitution from danger. We may, therefore, give to this influence what name we please : we may call it by the invidious ap- pellations of corruption and dependence ; but some degree and some kind of it are inseparable from the very nature of the constitution, and necessary to the preser/ation of our mixed government. Instead, then, of asserting"^ absolutely, that the dependence of par- liament, in every degree, is an infringement of British liberty, the country-party should have made some concessions to their adversaries, and have only examined what was the proper degree of this depen- dence, beyond which it became dangerous to liberty. But such a moderation is not to be expected in party-men of any kind. After a concession of this nature, all declamation must be abandoned ; and a calm inquiry into the proper degree of court-influence and pariis^- * See " Dissertation on Parties.** ESSAY VII. BY DAVID HUME. 31 mentary dependence would have been expected by the readers. And though the advantage, in such a controversy, might possibly remain to the country -p arty ; yet the victory would not be so complete as they wish for, nor would a true patriot have given an entire loose to his zeal, for fear of running matters into a contrary extreme, by diminish- ing too* far the influence of the crown. It was, therefore, thought best to deny, that this extreme could ever be dangerous to the consti- tution, or that the crown could ever have too little influence over mem- bers of parliament. All questions concerning the proper medium between extremes are difficult to be decided ; both because it is not easy to find words pro- per to fix this medium, and because the good and ill, in such cases, run so gradually into each other, as even to render our sentiments doubtful and uncertain. But there is a peculiar difficulty in the present case, which would embarrass the most knowing and most impartial examiner. The power of the crown is always lodged in a single person, either king or minister ; and as this person may have either a greater or less degree of ambition, capacity, courage, popu- larity, or fortune, the power, which is too great in one hand, may be- come too little in another. In pure republics, where the authority is distributed among several assemblies or senates, the checks and con- trouls are more regular in their operation ; because the members of such numerous assemblies may be presumed to be always nearly equal in capacity and virtue ; and it is only their number, riches, or authority, which enter into consideration. But a limited monarchy admits not of any such stability : nor is it possible to assign to the crown such a determinate degree of power, as will, in every hand, form a proper counterbalance to the other parts of the constitution. This is an un- avoidable disadvantage, among the many advantages, attending that species of government VII.— WHETHER THE BRITISH GOVERNMENT INCLINES MORE TO ABSOLUTE MONARCHY, OR TO A REPUBLIC? It affords a violent prejudice against almost every science, that no prudent man, however sure of his principles, dares prophesy concern- ing any event, or foretel the remote consequences of things. A physician will not venture to pronounce concerning the condition of * By that htfluence of the crown^ which I would justify, I mean only that which arises from the offices and honours that are at the disposal of the crown. As to private bribery ^ it may be considered in the same light as the practice of employing spies, which is scarcely justifiable in a good minister, and is infamous in a bad one : But to be £ Apy, or to be corrupted, is al- ways infamous under all ministers, and is to be regarded as a shameless prostitution. Poly- bius justly esteems the pecuniary influence of the senate and censors to be one of the regular and constitutional weights which preserved the balance of the Roman government. Lib. vi 32 ON THE BRITISH GOVERNMENT. his patient a fortnight or a month after : and still less dares a politican foretel the situation of public affairs a few years hence. Harrington thought himself so sure of his general principle, that the balaftce oj power depends 071 that of property^ \h.2X he ventured to pronounce it impossible ever to re-establish monarchy in England : but his book was scarcely pubhshed when the king was restored ; and we see, that monarchy has ever since subsisted upon the same footing as before, Notwithstanding this unlucky example, I will venture to examine an important question, to wit, whether the British govern?nent inclines ^tore to absolute monarchy^ or to a republic; and in which of these two species of government it will most probably ter?ninate? As there seems not to be any great danger of a sudden revolution either way, I shall at least escape the shame attending my temerity, if I should be found to have been mistaken. Those who assert, that the balance of our government inclines to- wards absolute monarchy, may support their opinion by the following reasons : that property has a great influence on power cannot possibly be denied ; but yet the general maxim, thai the balance of one depends on the balance of the other^ must be received with several limitations. It is evident, that much less property in a single hand will be able to counterbalance a greater property in several ; not only because it is difficult to make many persons combine in the same views and measures; but because property, when united, causes much greater dependence, than the same property, when dispersed. A hundred persons, of £\poo a-year a-piece, can consume all their income, and nobody shall ever be the better for them, except their servants and tradesmen, who justly regard their profits as the product of their own labour. But a man possessed of 100,000 a-year, if he has either any generosity, or any cunning, may create a great dependence by obligations, and still a greater by expectations. Hence we may observe, that, in all free governments, any subject exorbitantly rich has always created jealousy, even though his riches bore no proportion to those of the state. Crassus's fortune, if I remember well, amounted only to about two millions and a half of our money ; yet we find, that though his genius was nothing extraordinary, he was able, by means of his riches alone, to counterbalance, during his lifetime, the power of Pompey as well as that of Caesar, who afterwards became master of the world. The wealth of the Medici made them masters of Florence ; though, it is probable, it was not considerable, compared to the united property of that opulent republic. These considerations are apt to make one entertain a magnificent idea of the British spirit and love of liberty ; since we could maintain our free government, during so many centuries, against our sovereigns, who, besides the power, and dignity, and majesty of the crown, have silways been possessed of much more property, than any subject has ESSAY VII. BY DAVID HUME. 33 ever enjoyed in any commonwealth. But it may be said, that this spirit, however great, will never be able to support itself against that immense property, which is now lodged in the king, and which is still increasing. Upon a moderate computation, there are near three millions a year at the disposal of the crown. The civil list amounts to near a million ; the collection of all taxes to another ; and the em- ployments in the army and navy, together with ecclesiastical prefer- ments, to above a third million : an enormous sum, and what may fairly be computed to be more than a thirtieth part of the whole in- come and labour of the kingdom. When we add to this great pro- perty, the increasing luxury of the nation, our proneness to corruption, together with the great power and prerogatives of the crown, and the command of miHtary force, there is no one but must despair of being able, without extraordinary efforts, to support our free government much longer under these disadvantages. On the other hand, those who maintain, that the bias of the British government leans towards a republic, may support their opinion by specious arguments. It may be said, that, though this immense pro- perty in the crown be joined to the dignity of first magistrate, and to many other legal powers and prerogatives, which should naturally giv^e it greater influence ; yet it really becomes less dangerous to libertv upon that very account. Were England a republic, and were any private man possessed of a revenue, a third, or even a tenth part as large as that of the crown, he would very justly excite jealousy ; be- cause he would infallibly have great authority in the government. And such an irregular authority, not avowed by the laws, is always more dangerous than a much greater authority, derived from them. A man possessed of usurped power, can set no bounds to his pretensions : his par- tizans have liberty to hope for every thing in his favour : his enemies provoke his ambition with his fears, by the violence of their opposition : and the government being thrown into a ferment, every corrupted humour in the state naturally gathers to him. On the contrary, a legal au- thority, though great, has always some bounds, which terminate both the hopes and pretensions of the person possessed of it : the laws must have provided a remedy against its excesses : such an eminent magis- trate has much to fear, and little to hope from his usurpations : and as his legal authority is quietly submitted to, he has small temptation and small opportunity of extending it farther. Besides, it happens, with regard to ambitious aims and projects, what may be observed with /egard to sects of philosophy and religion. A new sect excites such a ferment, and is both opposed and defended with such vehemence, that > always spreads faster, and multiplies its partizans with greater ra- pidity, than any old established opinion, recommended by the sanction of the laws and of antiquity. Such is the nature of novelty, that, /here any thing pleases, it becomes doubly agreeable, if new ; but if 3 34 THE BRITISH GOVERNMENT. it displeases, it is doubly displeasing, upon that very account. And, in most cases, the violence of enemies is favourable to ambitious pro- jects, as well as the zeal of partizans. It may farther be said, that, though men be much governed by interest ; yet even interest itself, and all human affairs, are entirely governed by opinion. Now, there has been a sudden sensible chan-e in the opinions of men within these last LXy years, by the progress of learning and of liberty. Most people, in this island, have divested •hemselves of all superstitious reverence to names and authority : the clergy have much lost their credit : Their doctrines have been ridiculed ; and even religion can scarcely support itself in the world. The mere name of king commands little respect ; and to talk of a ^'ing as God's vicegerent on earth, or to give him any of those ma^aificent titles, which formerly dazzled mankind, would but excite laughter in every one. Though the crown, by means of its large revenue, ma> maintains its authority, in times of tranquility, upon private interest and influence : yet, as the least shock or convulsion must break all these interests to pieces, the royal power, being no longer supported by the settled principles and opinions of men, will immediately dissolve. Had men been in the disposition at the revolution^ as they are at present, monarchy would have run a great risk of being entirely lost in this island. Durst I venture to deliver my own sentiments amidst these opposite arguments, I would assert, that, unless there happen some extraordi- nary convulsion ; the power of the crown, by means of its large revenue, is rather upon the increase ; though at the same time I own, that its progress seems very slow, and almost insensible. The tide which has run long and with some rapidity, to the side of popular government, is just beginning to turn towards monarchy. It is well known, that every government must come to a period, and that death is unavoidable to the political as well as to the animal body. But, as one kind of death may be preferable to Another, it may be inquired, whether it be more desirable for the British constitution to terminate in a popular government, or in an absolute monarchy? Here I would frankly declare, that, though liberty be preferable to slavery, in almost every case ; yet I should rather wish to see an absolute monarch than a republic in this island. For let us consider what kind of republic we have reason to expect. The question is not concerning any fine imaginary republic, of which a man may form a plan in his closet. There is no doubt, but a popular government may be imagined more perfect than absolute monarchy, or even than our present constitution. But what reason have we to expect that any such government will ever be established in Great Britain, upon the dissolution of our monarchy If any single person at:quire power enough to take our constitution to pieces, and put it ESSAY VIII. BY DAVID HUME. 35 upa-new, he is really an absolute monarch; and we have already had a instance of this kind, sufficient to convince us, that such a person will never resign his power, or establish any free government. Matters, therefore, must be trusted to their natural progress and operation ; and the house of commons, according to its present constitution, must be the only legislature in such a popular government. The inconve- niences attending such a situation of affairs, present themselves by thousands. If the house of commons, in such a case, ever dissolve Itself, which is not to be expected, we may look for a civil war every election. If it continue itself, we shall suffer all the tyranny of a fac tion subdivided into new factions. And, as such a violent government cannot long subsist, we shall, at last, after many convulsions and civil wars, find repose in absolute monarchy, which it would have been happier for us to have established peaceably from the beginning. Absolute monarchy, therefore, is the easiest death, the true Euthanasia of the British constitution. Thus, if we have reason to be more jealous of monarchy, because the danger is imminent from that quarter ; we have also reason to be more jealous of popular government, because that danger is more terrible. This may teach us lessons of moderation in all our political controversies. VIII.~OF PARTIES IN GENERAL. Of all men, that distinguish themselves by memorable achievements, *.he first place of honour seems due to LEGISLATORS and founders of states, who transmit a system of laws and institutions to secure the peace, happiness, and liberty of future generations. The influence ot useful inventions in the arts and sciences may, perhaps, extend farther than that of wise laws, whose effects are limited both in time and place ; but the benefit arising from the former, is not so sensible as that which results from the latter. Speculative sciences do, indeed, improve the mind ; but this advantage reaches only to a few persons, who have leisure to apply themselves to them. And as to practical arts, which increase the commodities and enjoyments of life, it is well known, that men's happiness consists not so much in an abundence of these, as in the peace and security with which they possess them ; and those blessings can only be derived from good government. Not to mention, that general virtue and good morals in a state, which are so requisite to happiness, can never arise from the most refined precepts of philosophy, or even the severest injunctions of religion ; but must proceed entirely from the virtuous education of youth, the effect of wise ^ws and institutions. I must, therefore, presume to differ from Lord 36 OF PARTIES IN GENERAL. Bacon in this particular, and must regard antiquity as somewhat un- just in its distribution of honour, when it made gods of all the inventors of useful arts, such as Ceres, Bacchus, -^sculapius : and dignify legislators, such as Romulus and Theseus, only with the appellation of demigods and heroes. As much as legislators and founders of states ought to be honoured and respected among men, as much ought the founders of sects and factions to be detested and hated ; because the influence of faction is directly contrary to that of laws. Factions subvert government, render laws impotent, and beget the fiercest animosities among men of the same nation, who ought to give mutual assistance and protection to each other. And what should render the founder of parties more odious, is the difficulty of extirpating these weeds, when once they have taken root in any state. They naturally propagate themselves for many centuries, and seldom end but by the total dissolution of that government, in which they are sown. They are, besides, plants which grow most plentifully in the richest soil ; and though absolute govern- ments be not wholly free from them, it must be confessed, that they rise more easily, and propagate themselves faster in free governments, where they always infect the legislature itself, which alone could be able, by the steady application of rewards and punishments, to eradicate them. Factions may be divided into Personal and Real ; that is, into fac- tions, founded on personal friendship or animosity among such as compose the contending parties, and into those founded on some real difference of sentiment or interest. The reason of this distinction is obvious ; though I must acknowledge, that parties are seldom found pure and unmixed, either of the one kind or the other. It is not often seen, that a government divides into factions, where there is no differ- ence in the views of the constituent members, either real or apparent, trivial or material : and in those factions, which are founded on the most real and most material difference, there is always observed a great deal of personal animosity or affection. But notwithstanding this mixture, a party may be denominated either personal or real, according to that principle which is predominated, and is found to have the greatest influence. Personal factions arise most easily in small republics. Every domestic quarrel, there, becomes an affair of state. Love, vanity, emulation, any passion, as well as ambition and resentment, begets public division. The Neri and BiANCHi of Florence, the Fregosi and Adorni of Genoa, the COLONESI and Orsini of modem Rome, were parties of this kind. Men have such a propensity to divide into personal factions, that the smallest appearance of real difference will produce them. What can be imagined more trivial than the difference between one colour oi ESSAY VIII. BY DAVID HUME. 37 livery and another in horse-races ? Yet this difference begat two most inveterate factions in the Greek empire, the Prasini and Veneti, who never suspended their animosities till they ruined that unhappy government. We find in the Roman history a remarkable dissension between two tribes, the POLLIA and Papiria, which continued for the space of near three hundred years, and discovered itself in their suffrages at every election of magistrates"^. This faction was the more remarkable, as it could continue for so long a tract of time ; even though it did not spread itself, nor draw any of the other tribes into a share of the quarrel. If mankind had not a strong propensity to such divisions, the indifference of the rest of the community must have suppressed this foolish animosity, that had not any aliment of new benefits and injuries, of general sympathy and antipathy, which never fail to take place, when the whole state is rent into two equal factions. Nothing is more usual than to see parties, which have begun upon a real difference, continue even after that difference is lost. When men are once enlisted on opposite sides, they contract an affection to the persons with whom they are united, and an animosity against their antagonists : and these passions they often transmit to their posterity. The real difference between Guelf and Ghibbelline was long lost in Italy, before these factions were extinguished. The Guelfs adhered to the Pope, the Ghibbellines to the emperor ; yet the family of Sforza, who were in alliance with the emperor, though they were Guelfs, being expelled Milan by the king [Lewis XII.] of France, assisted by Jacomo Trivulzio and the Ghibbellines, the pope concurred with the latter, and they formed leagues with the pope against the emperor. The civil wars which arose some few years ago in Morocco, between the blacks and whites^ merely on account of their complexion, are founded on a pleasant difference. We laugh at them ; but I believe, were things rightly examined, we afford much more occasion of ridicule to the Moors. For, what are all the wars of religion, which have pre- vailed in this polite and knowing part of the world t They are certainly more absurd than the Moorish civil wars. The difference of com- plexion is a sensible and a real difference : but the controversy about an article of faith, which is unintelligible, is not a difference in senti- ment, but in a few phrases and expressions, which one party accepts * As this fact has not been much observed by antiquaries or politicians, I shall deliver it in the words of the Roman historian. * Populus Tusculanus cum conjugibus ac liberis Romam venit : Ea multitudo, veste mutata, at specie reorum, tribus circuit, genibus se omnium ad- volvens. Plus itaque misericordia ad poenae veniam impetrandam, quam causa ad crimen purgandum valuit. Tribus omnes, praeter Polliam, antiquarunt legem. Polliae sententia iuit, puberes verberatos necari ; liberos conjugesque sub corona lege bell venire : Memoriam- que ejus irae Tusculanis in pcense tarn atrocis auctores mansisse ad patris aetatem constat ; nec quemquam fere ex Pollia tribu candidatum Papiram ferre solitam.' T. Livii, lib. 8. The Castelani and Nicolloti are two mobbish factions in Venice, ivho frequently box together, and then lay aside their quarrels presently. 38 OF PARTIES IN GENERAL. of, without understanding them ; and the other refuses in the same manner. Real factions may be divided into those from interest^ from principle^ and from affection. Of all factions, the first are the most reasonable, and the most excusable. Where two orders of men, such as the nobles and people, have a distinct authority in a government, not very accu- rately balanced and modelled, they naturally follow a distinct interest ; nor can we reasonably expect a different conduct, considering that degree of selfishness implanted in human nature. It requires great skill in a legislator to prevent such parties ; and many philosophers are of opinion, that this secret, like the grand elixir^ or perpetual motion^ may amuse men in theory, but can never possibly be reduced to practice. In despotic governments, indeed, factions often do not appear ; but they are not the less real ; or rather, they are more real and more pernicious, upon that very account. The distinct orders of men, nobles and people, soldiers and merchants, have all a distinct interest ; but the more powerful oppresses the weaker with impunity, and without resistance ; which begets a seeming tranquility in such governments. There has been an attempt in England to divide the landed and trading part of the nation ; but without success. The interests of these two bodies are not really distinct, and never will be so, till our public debts increase to such a degree, as to become altogether op- pressive and intolerable. Parties from principle^ especially abstract speculative principle, are known only to modem times, and are, perhaps, the most extraordinary and unaccountable phenomenon that has yet appeared in human affairs. Where different principles beget a contrariety of conduct, which is the case with all different political principles, the matter may be more easily explained. A man, who esteems the true right of government to lie in one man, or one family, cannot easily agree with his fellow- citizen, who thinks that another man or family is possessed of this right. Each naturally wishes that right may take place, according to his own notions of it But where the difference of principle is attended with no contrariety of action, but every one may follow his own way, without interfering with his neighbour, as happens in all religious con- troversies ; what madness, what fury, can beget such an unhappy and such fatal divisions ? Two men travelling on the highway, the one east, the other west, can easily pass each other, if the way be broad enough ; but two men, reasoning upon opposite principles of religion, cannot so easily pass, without shocking ; though one should think, that the way were also, in that case, sufficiently broad, and that each might proceed, without interruption, in his own course. But such is the nature of the human mind, that it always lays hold on every mind that approaches it ; and ESSAY VIII. BY DAVID HUME. 39 as it is wonderfully fortified by an unanimity of sentiments, so it is shocked and disturbed by any contrariety. Hence the eagerness which most people discover in a dispute ; and hence their impatience of opposition, even in the most speculative and indifferent opinions. This principle, however frivolous it may appear, seems to have been the orif^in of all religious wars and divisions. But as this principle is universal in human nature, its effects would not have been confmed to one age, and to raise one sect of religion, did it not there concur with other more accidental causes, which raise it to such a height, as to produce the greatest misery and devastation. Most religions of the ancient world arose in the unknown ages of government, when men were as yet barbarous and uninstructed, and the prince, as well as peasant, was disposed to receive, with implicit faith, every pious tale or fiction, which was offered him. The magistrate embraced the religion of the people, and, entering cordially into the care of sacred matters naturally acquired an authority inthem and unitedtheecclesiastical with the civil power. But the Christian religion, arising while the principles directly opposite to it were firmly established in the pohtepartof the world, who depised the nation that first broached this novelty ; no wonder, that, in such circumstances, it was but little countenanced by the civil magistrate, and that the priesthood was allowed to engross all the authority in the new sect. So bad a use did they make of this power, even in those early times, that the primitive persecution may, perhaps, i7t part^^ be ascribed to the violence instilled by the priests into their followers. And the same principles of priestly government continuing, after Christianity became the established religion ; they have engendered a spirit of persecution, which has ever since been the poison of human society, and the source of the most inveteratefactions in every government. Such divisions, therefore, on the part of the people, may justly be esteemed factions of principle; but, on the part of the priests, who are the prime movers, they are really factions of interest. There is another cause (beside the authority of the priests, and the separation of the ecclesiastical and civil powers) which has contributed * I say, m part ; for it is a vulgar error to imagine, that the ancients were as great frlenas tc toleration as the English or Dutch are at present. The laws against external superstition, among the Romans, were as ancient as the time ot the twelve tables ; and the Jews, as well as Christians, were sometimes punished by them ; though, in general, these laws were not rigorously executed- Immediately after the conquest of Gaul, they forbade all but the natives to be initiated into the religion of the Druids ; and this was a kind of persecution. In about a cejitury after this conquest, the emperor Claudius quite abolished that superstition by penal laws ; which would have been a very grievous persecution, if the imitation of the Roman manners had not, before-hand, weaned the Gauls from their ancient prejudices. Suetonius in vita Claudii. Pliny ascribes the abolition of the Druicidal superstitions to Tiberius, pro- bably because that emperor had taken some steps towards restraining them (lib. xxx. cap. i.) This is an instance of the usual caution and moderation of the Romans in such cases ; and very different from their violent and sanguinary method of treating the Christians. Hence we may entertain a suspicion, that those furious persecutions of Christianity were in some measure owing to the imprudent zeal and bigotry of the first propagators of that sect; and Eccleoiasti* cal history affords us many reasons to confirr* this suspicioa. 40 OF THE PARTIES OF GREAT BRITAIN. to render Christendom the scene of religious wars and divisions Religions, that arise in ages totally ignorant and barbarous, consist mostly of traditional tales and fictions, which may be different in every sect, without being contrary to each other : and even when they are contrary, every one adheres to the tradition of his own sect, without much reasoning or disputation. But as philosophy was widely spread over the world, at the time when Christianity arose, the teachers of the new sect were obliged to form a system of speculative opinions ; to divide, with some accuracy, their articles of faith ; and to explain, comment, confute, and defend with all the subtlety of argu- ment and science. Hence naturally arose keenness in dispute, when the Christian religion came to be split into divisions and heresies : Sects of philosophy, in the ancient world, were more zealous than par- ties of religion ; but, in modern times, parties of religion are more furious and enraged than the most cruel factions that ever arose from interest and ambition. I have mentioned parties from affection as a kind of real parties, besides those from interest and principle. By parties from affection, I understand those which are founded on the different attachments of men towards particular families and persons, whom they desire to rule over them. These factions are often very violent ; though I must own, it may seem unaccountable, that men should attach themselves so strongly to persons, with whom they are nowise acquainted, whom per- haps they never saw, and from whom they never received, nor can ever hope for, any favour. Yet this we often find to be the case, and even with men, who, on other occasions, discover no great generosity of spirit, nor are found to be easily transported by friendship beyond their own interest. We are apt to think the relation between us and our sovereign very close and intimate. The splendour of majesty and power bestows an importance on the fortunes even of a single per- son. And when a man's good-nature does not give him this imaginary interest, his ill-nature will, from spite and opposition to persons whose sentiments are different from his own. IX.— OF THE PARTIES OF GREAT BRITAIN, Were the British government proposed as a subject of speculation, one would immediately perceive in it a source of division and party, which it would be almost impossible for it, under any administration to avoid. The just balance between the republican and monarchical part of our constitution is really, in itself, so extremely delicate and uncertain, that, when joined to men's passions and prejudices, it is im- ESSAY IX. BY DAVID HUME. 41 possible but different opinions must arise concerning it, even among persons of the best understanding. Those of mild tempers, who love peace and order, and detest sedition and civil wars, will always enter- tain more favourable sentiments of monarchy than men of bold and generous spirits, who are passionate lovers of liberty, and think no evil comparable to subjection and slavery. And though all reasonable men agree in general to preserve our mixed government ; yet, when they come to particulars, some will incline to trust greater powers to the crown, to bestow on it more influence, and to guard against its en- croachments with less caution, than others who are terrified at the most distant approaches of tyranny and despotic power. Thus are there parties of Principle involved in the very nature of our consti- tution, which may properly enough be denominated those of Court and Country. The strength and violence of each of these parties will much depend upon the particular administration. An adminis- tration may be so bad, as to throw a great majority into the opposi- tion ; as a good administration will reconcile to the court many of the most passionate lovers of liberty. But however the nation may fluc- tuate between them, the parties themselves will always subsist, so long as we are governed by a limited monarchy. But, besides this difference of Principle^ those parties are very much fomented by a difference of Interest, without which they could scarcely ever be dangerous or violent. The crown will naturally be- stow all trust and power upon those, whose principles, real or pretended, are most favourable to monarchical government ; and this temptation will naturally engage them to go greater lengths than their principles would otherwise carry them. Their antagonists, who are disappointed in their ambitious aims, throw themselves into the party whose senti- ments incline them to be most jealous of royal power, and naturally carry those sentiments to a greater height than sound politics will jus- tify. Thus Court and Country^ which are the genuine offspring of the British government, are a kind of mixed parties, and are influenced both by principle and by interest. The heads of the factions are com- monly most governed by the latter motive ; the inferior members of them by the former. In such a constitution as that of Great Britain, the established clergy, while things are in their natural situation, will always be of a 0/^r/-party ; as, on the contrary, dissenters of all kinds will be of the Country -"^"dcxly ; since they can never hope for that tolera- tion, which they stand in need of, but by means of our free govern- ment. All princes, that have aimed at despotic power, have known of what importance it was to gain the established clergy ; As the clergy, on their part, have shewn a great facility in entering into the views of such princes.* Gustavus Vasa was, perhaps, the only ambitious * Judaei sibi ipsi reges imposuere ; qui mobilitate vulgi expulsi, re sumpta, per arma dorai natione : fugas civium, iirbinm eversiones, fratrum, conjugum, parentum neces, aliaque solit 42 THE PARTIES OF GREAT BRITAIN. monarch that ever depressed the church, at the same time that he dis- couraged hberty. But the exorbitant power of the bishops in Sweden, who, at that time, overtopped the crown itself, together with their at- tachment to a foreign family, was the reason of his embracing such an unusual system of politics. This observation, concerning the propensity of priests to the govern- ment of a single person, is not true with regard to one sect only. The Presbyterian and Calvinistic clergy in Holland were professed friends to the family of Orange ; as the Ar77ii7iians^ who were esteemed heretics, were of the Louvestein faction, and zealous for liberty. But if a prince have the choice of both, it is easy to see that he will prefer the episcopal to the presbyterian form of government, both because of the greater affinity between monarchy and episcopacy, and because of the facility which he will find, in such a government, of ruling, the clergy by means of their ecclesiastical superiors'^. If we consider the first rise of parties in England, during the great rebellion, we shall observe that it was conformable to this general theory, and that the species of government gave birth to them by a regular and infallible operation. The English constitution, before that period, had lain in a kind of confusion ; yet so as that the subjects possessed many noble privileges, v/hich, though not exactly bounded and secured by law, were universally deemed, from long possession, to belong to them as their birth-right. An ambitious, or rather a mis- guided, prince arose, who deemed all these privileges to be concessions of his predecessors, revocable at pleasure ; and in prosecution of this principle, he openly acted in violation of liberty during the course of several years. Necessity, at last, constrained him to call a parlia- ment : the spirit of liberty arose and spread itself : the prince, being without any support, was obliged to grant everything required of him : and his enemies, jealous and implacable, set no bounds to their pre- tensions. Here, then, began those contests, in which it was no wonder that men of that age were divided into different parties ; since, even at this day, the impartial are at a loss to decide concerning the justice of the quarrel. The pretensions of the parliament, if yielded to, broke the balance of the constitution, by rendering the government almost entirely republican. If not yielded to, the nation was, perhaps, still in danger of absolute power, from the settled principles and inveterate habits of the King, which had plainly appeared in every concession that he had been constrained to make to his people. In this question, so delicate and uncertain, men naturally fell to the side which was most conformable to their usual principles ; and the more passionate favourers of monarchy declared for the king, as the zealous friends of liberty sided with the parliament. The hopes of success being nearly regibus ausi, superstitionem fovebant ; quia honor sacerdotti firmamentum potentise assume- batur. — Ta'cit. hist. lib. v. , . * Populi iraperium juxta libertatem : pauconim dominatio regiae libidini proprior est.— Taci r. Ann. lib, vl ESSAY IX. BY DAVID HUME. 43 equal on both sides, interest had no general influence in this contest ; so that Roundhead and Cavalier were merely parties of principle ; neither of which disowned either monarchy or liberty ; but the former party inclined most to the republican part of our government, the latter to the monarchical. In this respect, they may be considered as court and country party, inflamed into a civil war, by an unhappy con- currence of circumstances, and by the turbulent spirit of the age. The commonwealth's men, and the partizans of absolute power, lay con- cealed in both parties, and were but an inconsiderable part of them. The clergy had concurred with the king's arbitrary designs : and, in return, were allowed to persecute their adversaries, whom they called heretics and schismatics. The established clergy were episcopal ; the non-conformists presbyterian : so that all things occurred to throw the former, without reserve, into the king's party, and the latter into that of the parliament. Every one knows the event of this quarrel ; fatal to the king first, to the parliament afterwards. After many confusions and revolutions, the royal family was at last restored, and the ancient government re- established. Charles II. was not made wiser by the example of his father, but prosecuted the same measures, though, at first, with more secrecy and caution. New parties arose, under the appellation of Whig and Tory^ which have continued ever since to confound and dis- tract our government. To determine the nature of these parties is perhaps one of the most difficult problems that can be met with, and is a proof that history may contain questions as uncertain as any to be found in the most abstract sciences. We have seen the conduct of the two parties, during the course of seventy years, in a vast variety of circumstances, possessed of power, and deprived of it, during peace, and during war : persons, who profess themselves of one side or other, we meet with every hour, in company, in our pleasures, in our serious occupations : we ourselves are constrained, in a manner, to take party ; and living in a country of the highest liberty, every one may openly declare all his sentiments and opinions : yet are we at a loss to tell the nature, pretensions, and principles, of the different factions. When we compare the parties of Whig and TORY with those of Round-head and Cavalier, the most obvious difference that appears between them consists in the principles of passive obedience, and inde- feasible right, which were but little heard of among the Cavaliers, but became the universal doctrine, and were esteemed the true character- istic of a Tory. Were these principles pushed into their most obvious consequences, they imply a formal renunciation of all our liberties, and an avowal of absolute monarchy ; since nothing can be a greater absurdity than a limited power, which must not be resisted, even when it exceeds its limitations. But, as the most rational principles are often but a weak counterpoise to passion, it is no wonder that these 44 THE PARTIES OF GREAT BRITAIN. absurd principles were found too weak for that effect. The Tories, as men, were enemies to oppression ; and also as Englishmen, they were enemies to arbitrary power. Their zeal for liberty was, perhaps, less fervent than that of their antagonists, but was sufficient to make them forget all their general principles, when they saw themselves openly threatened with a subversion of the ancient government. From these sentiments arose the revohttionj an event of mighty consequence, and the firmest foundation of British liberty. The conduct of the Tories, during that event, and after it, will afford us a true insight into the nature of that party. I. They appear to have had the genuine sentiments of Britons in their affection for liberty, and in their determined resolution not to sac- rifice it to any abstract principle whatsoever, or to any imaginary rights of princes. This part of their character might justly have been doubted of before the revolution^ from the obvious tendency of their avowed principles, and from their compliances with the court, which seemed to make little secret of its arbitrary design. The revolution shewed them to have been, in this respect, nothing but a genuine court-party^ such as might be expected in a British government ; that is, Lovers of liberty^ but greater lovers of7no7iarchy. It must, however, be confessed, that t?iey carried their monarchical principles farther even in practice, but more so in theory, than was, in any degree, con- sistent with a limited government. II. Neither their principles nor affections concurred, entirely or heartily, with the settlement made at the Revolution^ or with that which has since taken place. This part of their character may seem opposite to the former ; since any other settlement, in those circum- stances of the nation, must probably have been dangerous, if not fatal to liberty. But the heart of man is made to reconcile contradictions ; and this contradiction is not greater than that between passive obe- dience^ and the resistance employed at the revolution. A Tory, there- fore, since the revolution, may be defined in a few words, to be a lover of monarchy, though withotit abandoriing liberty; and a partisan of the family of Stuart, As a Whig may be defined to be a lover of liberty, though without renouncing monarchy : and a friend to the settlement in the Protestant line. These different views, with regard to the settlement of the crown, were accidental, but natural additions to the principles of the court ^xi^ country parties, which are the genuine divisions in the British govern- ment. A passionate lover of monarchy is apt to be displeased at any change of the succession ; as savouring too much of a commonwealth ; a passionate lover of liberty is apt to think that every part of the government ought to be subordinate to the interests of liberty. Some, who will not venture to assert, that the real difference between Whig and Tory was lost at the revolution, seem inclined to think, that ESSAY X, BY toAViD HUME. 45 the difference is now abolished, and that affairs are so far returned to their natural state, that there are at present no other parties among us but court and country; that is, men who, by interest or principle, are attached either to monarchy or liberty. The Tories have been so long obliged to talk in the republican style, that they seem to have made converts of themselves by their hypocrisy, and to have embraced the sentiments, as well as language, of their adversaries. There are, however, very considerable remains of that party in England, with all their old prejudices ; and a proof that court and coimtry are not our only parties, is, that almost all the dissenters side with the court, and the lower clergy, at least of the church of England, with the opposition. This may convince us, that some bias still hangs upon our constitu- tion, some extrinsic weight, which turns it from its natural course, and causes a confusion in our parties'^. X.— OF THE DIGNITY OR MEANNESS OF HUMAN NATURE. There are certain sects, which secretly form themselves in the learned world, as well as factions in the political ; and though sometimes, they come not to an open rupture, they give a different turn to the ways ot thinking of those who have taken part on either side. The most re- markable of this kind are the sects founded on the different sentiments with regard to the dignity of human nature; which is a point that seems to have divided philosophers and poets, as well as divines, from the beginning of the world to this day. Some exalt our species to the skies, and represent man as a kind of human demigod, who derives his origin from heaven, and retains evident marks of his lineage and descent. Others insist upon the blind sides of human nature, and can discover nothing, except vanity, in which man surpasses the other animals, whom he affects so much to despise. If an author possess the talent of rhetoric and declamation, he commonly takes part with the former : if his turn lie towards irony and ridicule, he naturally throws himself into the other extreme. I am far from thinking, that all those, who have depreciated our species, have been enemies to virtue, and have exposed the frailties of \heir fellow-creatures with any bad intention. On the contrary, I am *Some of the opinions delivered in these Essays, with regard to the pubHc transactions in the last century, the Author, on more accurate examination, found reason to retract in his History of Great Britain. And as he would not enslave himself to the systems of either party, neither would he fetter his judgment by his own preconceived opinions and principles ; nor is he ashamed to acknowledge his mistakes. These mistakes were indeed, at that time, almost universal in this kingdom. 46 DIGNITY OR MEANNESS OF HUMAN NATURE sensible that a delicate sense of morals, especially when attended with a splenetic temper, is apt to give a man a disgust of the world, and to make him consider the common course of human affairs with too much indignation. I must, however, be of opinion, that the sentiments of those, who are inclined to think favourably of mankind, are more advantageous to virtue, than the contrary principles, which give us a mean opinion of our nature. When a man is prepossessed with a high notion of his rank and character in the creation, he will naturally en- deavour to act up to it, and will scorn to do a base or vicious action, which might sink him below that figure which he makes in his own imagination. Accordingly we find, that all our polite and fashionable moralists insist upon this topic, and endeavour to represent vice as un- worthy of man, as well as odious in itself. We find few disputes, that are not founded on some ambiguity in the expression ; and I am persuaded, that the present dispute, concerning the dignity or meanness of human nature, is not more exempt from it than any other. It may, therefore, be worth while to consider, what is real, and what is only verbal, in this controversy. That there is a natural difference between merit and demerit, virtue and vice, wisdom and folly, no reasonable man will deny : yet it is evident, that in affixing the term, which denotes either our approbation or blame, we are commonly more influenced by comparison than by any fixed unalterable standard in the nature of things. In like manner, quantity, and extension, and bulk, are by every one acknowledged to be real things : but when we call any animal great or little^ we always form a secret comparison between that animal and others of the same species ; and it is that comparison which regulates our judgment con- cerning its greatness. A dog and a horse may be of the very same size, while the one is admired for the greatness of its bulk, and the other for the smallness. When I am present, therefore, at any dispute, I always consider with myselt, whether it be a question of comparison or not that is the subject of the controversy ; and i be not natural, they never can have any 102 THE SCEPTIC. influence on the affections. These are of a very delicate nature, and cannot be forced or constrained by the utmost art or industry. A consideration which we seek for on purpose, which we enter into with difficulty, which we cannot attain without care and attention, will never produce those genuine and durable movements of passion, which are the result of nature, and the constitution of the mind. A man may as well pretend to cure himself of love, by viewing his mistress through the artificial medium of a microscope or prospect, and beholding there the coarseness of her skin, and monstrous disproportion of her fea- tures, as hope to excite or moderate any passion by the artificial argu- ments of a Seneca or an Epictetus. The remembrance of the natural aspect and situation of the object, will, in both cases, still recur upon him. The reflections of philosophy are too subtle and distant to take place in common life, or to eradicate any affection. The air is too fine to breathe in, where it is above the winds and the clouds of the atmosphere. Another defect of those refined reflections, which philosophy suggests to us, is, that commonly they cannot diminish or extinguish our vicious passions, without diminishing or extinguishing such as are virtuous, and rendering the mind totally indifferent and inactive. They are, for the most part, general, and are applicable to all our affections. In vain do we hope to direct their influence only to one side. If by incessant study and meditation we have rendered them intimate and present to us, they will operate throughout, and spread an universal insensibility over the mind. When we destroy the nerves, we extin- guish the sense of pleasure, together with that of pain, in the humun body. It will be easy, by one glance of the eye, to find one or other ol these defects in most of those philosophical reflections, so much cele- brated both in ancient and modern times. Let not the injuries or violence of inen^ say the philosophers SJDe Ira cohibenda, Plut] everdis- coinpose you by anger or hatred. Would you be angry at the ape for its malice^ or the tiger for its ferocity ? This reflection leads us into a bad opinion of human nature, and must extinguish the social affections. Its tends also to prevent all remorse for a man's own crimes ; when he considers, that vice is as natural to mankind, as the particular instincts are to brute creatures. All ills arise from the order of the universe^ which is absolutely per- fect. Would you wish to disturb so divine an order for the sake of your own particular interest? What if the ills I suffer arise from malice or oppression ? But the vices and imperfections of men an also comprehended in the order of the universe : Jf plagues and earthquakes break not heai/n^s design^ Why then a Borgia or a Catiline ? ESSAY XVII. BY DAVID HUME. Let this be allowed ; and my own vices will also be a part of the same order. To one who said, that none were happy, who were not above opinion, a Spartan replied, Then none are happy hut knaves and robbers, [Plut. Lacon, Apophtheg.} Man is born to be ntiserable; and is he surprised at any particular misfortune ? And can he give way to sorrow ajtd lamentation upon account of any disaster ? Yes : he very reasonably laments, that he should be born to be miserable. Your consolation presents a hun- dred ills for one, of which you pretend to ease him. You should always have before your eyes deaths disease^ poverty^ blindness^ exile, calumny, and infamy, as ills which are incide7tt lo hicman nature. If any of these ills fall to yoitr lot, you will bear it the better, when you have recko7ted tipon it, I answer, if we confine our- selves to a general and distant reflection on the ills of human life, that can have no effect to prepare us for them. If by close and in- tense meditation we render them present and intimate to us, that is the true secret for poisoning all our pleasures, and rendering us per- petually miserable. Your sorrow is fruitless, and will not change the course of destiny. Very true : and for that very reason I am sorry. Cicero's consolation for deafness is somewhat curious. How many languages are there, says he, which you do not understand? The Punic, Spanish, Gallic, Egyptiaii, &-^c. With regard to all these, you are as if you were deaf, yet you a7'e indifferejit about the matter. Is it then so great a misfortune to be deaf to one language more? [Tusc. Quest, lib. v.] I like better the repartee of Antipater the Cyrenaic, when some women were condoling with him for his blindness : What I says he, Do you think there are no pleasures in the dark ? Nothing can be more destructive, says Fontenelle, to ambition, and the passioji for conquest, than the true system of astronomy. What a poor thing is even the whole globe in comparison with the infinite exte7it of Natit7'e f This consideration is evidently too distant ever to have any effect. Or, if it had any, would it not destroy patriotism as well as ambition ? The same gallant author adds, with some reason, that the bright eyes of the ladies are the only objects, which lose nothing of their lustre or value iiC^ the most extensive views of as- tronomy, but stand proof against even/? /stem. Would philosophers advise us to limit our affections to them ? ExilCy says Plutarch to a friend in banishment, is no evil: mathe- maticians tell us, that the whole earth is but a pointy compared to the heavens. To change 07te's country, then^ is little more than to remove from one street to another. Mail is not a plant, rooted i7t a certain spot of earth : all soils and all climates are alike suited THE SCEPTIC. to him, \De exilio!\ These topics are admirable, could they fall only into the hands of banished persons. But what if they come also to the knowledge of those who are employed in public affairs, and destroy all their attachment to their native country ? Or will they operate like the quack's medicine, which is equally good for a diabetes and for a dropsy? It is certain, were a superior being thrust into a human body, that the whole of life would to him appear so mean, contemptible, and puerile, that he never could be induced to take part in any thing, and would scarcely give attention to what passes around him. To engage him to such a condescension as to play even the part of a Philip with zeal and alacrity, would be much more difficult, than to constrain the same Philip, after having been a king and a conqueror during fifty years, to mend old shoes with proper care and attention ; the occu- pation which Lucian assigns him in the infernal regions. Now all the same topics of disdain towards human affairs, which could operate on this supposed being, occur also to a philosopher ; but being, in some measure, disproportioned to human capacity, and not being for- tified by the experience of any thing better, they make not a full im- pression on him. He sees, but he feels not sufficiently their truth : and is always a sublime philosopher, when he needs not ; that is, as long as nothing disturbs him, or rouses his affections. While others play, he wonders at their keenness and ardour ; but he no sooner puts in his own stake, than he is commonly transported with the same passions, that he had so much condemned, while he remained a simple spectator. There are two considerations, chiefly, to be met with in books of phi- losophy, from which any important effect is to be expected, and that because these considerations are drawn from common life, and occur upon the most superficial view of human affairs. When we reflect on the shortness and uncertainty of life, how despicable seem all our pur- suits of happiness ? And even, if we would extend our concern be- yond our own life, how frivolous appear our most enlarged and most generous projects ; when we consider the incessant changes and re- volutions of human affairs, by which laws and learning, books and government, are hurried away by time, as by a rapid stream, and arc lost in the immense ocean of matter ? Such a reflection certainly tends to mortify all our passions : but does it not thereby counterwork the artifice of nature, who has happily deceived us into an opinion that human life is of some importance ? And may not such a reflection be employed with success by voluptuous reasoners, in order to lead us, from the paths of action and virtue, into the flowery fields of indolence and of pleasure. We are informed by Thucydides, that, during the famous plague of Athens, wben death seemed present tQ every onp, a dissolute mirth ESSAY XVIL BY DAVID IIUMF. 105 and gaiety prevailed among the people, who exhorted one another to make the most of life as long as it endured. The same observation is made by Boccace, with regard to the plague of Florence. A like prin- ciple makes soldiers, during war, be more addicted to riot and expence, than any other race of men. Present pleasure is always of importance ; and whatever diminishes the importance of all other objects mus bestow on it an additional influence and value. The second philosophical consideration, which may often have an influence on the affections, is derived from a comparison of our own condition with the condition of others. This comparison we are con- tinually making even in common life ; but the misfortune is, that we are rather apt to compare our situation with that of our superiors, than with that of our inferiors. A philosopher corrects this natural in- firmity, by turning his view to the other side, in order to render him- self easy in the situation to which fortune has confined him. There are few people who are not susceptible of some consolation from this reflection, though, to a very good-natured man, the view of human miseries should rather produce sorrow than comfort, and add, to his lamentations for his own misfortunes, a deep compassion for those of others. Such is the imperfection, even of the best of these philosophical topics of consolation"^. * The Sceptic, perhaps, carries the matter too far, when he limits all philosophical topics and reflections to these two. There seem to be others, whose truth is undeniable, and whose natural tendency is to tranquilise and soften all the passions. Philosophy greedily seizes these ; studies them, weighs them, commits them to the memory, and familiarises them to the mind : and their influence on tempers, which are thcughtful, gentle, and moderate, may be considerable. But what is their influence, you will say, it tlie temper be antecedently disposed after the same manner as that^ to which they pretend to form it? They may, at least fortify that temper, and furnish it with views, by which it may entertain and nourish itself Here are a few examples of such philosophical reflections. I. Is it not certain, that every condition has concealed ills ? Then why envy any body ? a. Every one has known ills ; and there is a compensation throughout. Why not be con- tented with the present 3. Custom deadens the sense both of the good and the ill, and levels every thing. 4. Health and humour all. The rest of little consequence, except these be affected. 5. How many other good things have I ? Then why be vexed for one ill ? 6. How many are happy in the condition of which I complain ? How many envy me ? 7. Every good must be paid for : Fortune by labour, favour by flattery. Would I keep the price, yet have the commodity ? 8. Expect not too great happiness in life. Human nature admits it not. 9. Propose not a happiness too complicated. But does that depend on me ? Yes ; the first choice does. Life is like a game : one may chuse the game : and passion, by degr-^es, seizes the proper object. 10. Anticipate by your hopes and fancy future consola- tion, which time infallibly brings to every affliction. 11. I desire to be rich. Why? That I may possess many fine objects ; houses, gardens, equipage, &c. How many fine objects does nature offer to every one without expence? If enjoyed, sufilcient. If not: see the effect of custom or of temper, which would soon take off the relish of the riches. 12. I desire fame. Let this occur : if I act well, I shall have the esteem of all my acquaintance. And what is all the rest to me ? _ ^ These reflections are so obvious, that it is a wonder they occur not to every man : so convinc ing, that it a wonder they persuade not every man. But perhaps they do not occur to and persuade most men ; when they consider human life by a general and calm survey : but where any real, affecting incident happens ; when passion is awakened, fancy agitated, example draws, and counsel urges ; the philosopher is lost in the man, and he seeks in vain for that per- suasion which before seemed so firm and unshaken. What remedy for this inconvenience. Assist yourself by a frequent perusal of the entertaining moralists ; have recourse to the learn- ing of Plutarch, the imagination of Lucian, the eloquence of Cicero, the wit of Seneca, the gaiety of Montaigne, the sublimity of Shaftesbury. Moral precepts, so couched, strike deep, and fortify the mind against the illusions of passion. But trust not altogether to external aid; by habit ^nd study acquire that philosophical temper which both gives force to reflection, and io6 THE SCEPTIC. I shall conclude this subject with observing, that, though virtue be undoubtedly the best choice, when it is attainable ; yet such is the disorder and confusion of human affairs, that no perfect or regular dis- tribution of happiness and misery is ever, in this life? to be expected, Not only the goods of fortune, and the endowments of the body (both of which are important), not only these advantages, I say, are un- equally divided between the virtuous and vicious, but even the mind itself partakes, in some degree, of this disorder ; and the most worthy character, by the very constitution of the passions, enjoys not always the highest felicity. It is observable, that though every bodily pain proceeds from some disorder in the part or organ, yet the pain is not always proportioned to the disorder, but is greater or less, according to the greater or less sensibility of the part, upon which the noxious humours exert their in- fluence. A tooth-ache produces more violent convulsions of pain than 2, phthisis or a dropsy. In like manner, with regard to the economy of the mind, we may observe, that all vice is indeed pernicious ; yet the disturbance or pain is not measured out by nature with exact propor- tion to the degrees of vice ; nor is the man of highest virtue, even ab- stracting from external accidents, always the most happy. A gloomy and melancholy disposition is certainly, to our sentiiiients^ a vice or imperfection ; but as it may be accompanied with great sense of honour and great integrity, it may be found in very worthy characters, though it is sufficient alone to imbitter life, and render the person affected with it completely miserable. On the other hand, a selfish villain may possess a spring and alacrity of temper, a certain gaiety of hearty which is indeed a good quality, but which is rewarded much beyond its merit, and when attended with good fortune, will compensate for the uneasiness and remorse arising from the other vices. I shall add, as an observation to the same purpose, that, if a man be liable to a vice or imperfection, it may often happen, that a good quality, which he possesses along with it, will render him more miserable, than if he were completely vicious. A person of such imbecility of temper, as to be easily broken by affliction, is more unhappy for being endowed with a generous and friendly disposition, which gives him a lively concern for others, and exposes him the more to fortune and ac- cidents. A sense of shame, in an imperfect character, is certainly a virtue ; but produces great uneasiness and remorse, from which the abandoned villain is entirely free. A very amorous complexion, with a heart incapable of friendship, is happier than the same excess in love, with a generosity of temper, which transports a ma^n beyond himself, and renders him a total slave to the object of his passion. by rendering a great part of your happiness independent, takes off the edge from all disor- derly passions, and tranquilizes the mind. Despise not these helps ; but confide not too much in them neither ; unless nature has been favourable in the temper, with which she has en» dowed you* I07 In a word, human life is more governed by fortune than by reason : is to be regarded more as a dull pastime than a serious occupation; and is more influenced by particular humour, than by general principles. Shall we engage ourselves in it with passion and anxiety ? It is not worthy of so much concern. Shall we be indifferent about what hap pens 1 We lose all the pleasure of the game by our phlegm and care- lessness. While we are reasoning concerning life, life is gone ; and death, though perhaps they receive him differently, yet awaits alike the fool and the philosopher. To reduce life to exact rule and method is commonly a painful, oft a fruitless occupation : and is it not also a proof, that we overvalue the prize for which we contend } Even to reason so carefully concerning it, and to fix with accuracy its just idea, would be overvaluing it, were it not that, to some tempers, this occupation is one of the most amusing in which life could possibly be employed. XVIII.— OF POLYGAMY AND DIVORCES. As marriage is an engagement entered into by mutual consent, and has for its end the propagation of the species, it is evident, that it must be susceptible of all the variety of conditions which consent establishes, provided they be not contrary to this end. A man, in conjoining himself to a woman, is bound to her according to the terms of his engagement : in begetting children, he is bound, by all the ties of nature and humanity, to provide for their subsistence and education. When he has performed these two parts of duty, no one can reproach him with injustice or injury. And as the terms of his engagement, as well as the methods of subsisting his offspring, may be various, it is mere superstition to imagine, that marriage can be entirely uniform, and will admit only of one mode or form. Did not human laws restrain the natural liberty of men, every particular marriage would be as different as contracts or bargains of any other kind or species. As circumstances vary, and the laws propose different advantages, we find, that, in different times and places, they impose different con- ditions on this important contract. In Tonquin, it is usual for sailors, when the ship comes into harbour, to marry for the season ; and, notwithstanding this precarious engagement, they are assured, it is said, of the strictest fidelity to their bed, as well as in the whole management of their affairs, from those temporary spouses. I caanoty at present, recollect my authorities ; but I have some io8 OF POLYGAMY AND DIVORCES. where read, that the republic of Athens, having lost many of its citizens by war and pestilence, allowed every man to marry two wives, in order the sooner to repair the waste which had been made by these calamities. The poet Euripides happened to be coupled to two noisy Vixens, who so plagued him with their jealousies and quarrels, that he became ever after a professed woman-hater ; and is the only theatrical writer, perhaps the only poet, that ever entertained an aversion to the sex. In that agreeable romance, called the History of the Sevaravihians^ Adhere a great many men and a few women are supposed to be ship- jvrecked on a desert coast ; the captain of the troop, in order to obviate those endless quarrels which arose, regulates their marriages after the following manner : he takes a handsome female to himself alone ; assigns one to every couple of inferior officers, and to five of the lowest rank he gave one wife in common. The ancient Britons had a singular kind of marriage, to be met with among no other people. Any number of them, as ten or a dozen, joined in a society together, which was perhaps requisite for mutual defence in those barbarous times. In order to link this society the closer, they took an equal number of wives in common ; and whatever children were born, were reputed to belong to all of them, and were accordingly provided for by the whole community. Among the inferior creatures, nature herself, being the supreme legislator, prescribes all the laws which regulate their marriages, and varies those laws according to the different circumstances of the creature. Where she furnishes, with ease, food and defence to the newborn animal, the present embrace terminates the marriage ; and the care of the offspring is committed entirely to the female. Where the food is of more difficult purchase, the marriage continues for one season, till the common progeny can provide for itself ; and then the union immediately dissolves, and leaves each of the parties free to enter into a new engagement at the ensuing season. But nature, having endowed man with reason, has not so exactly regulated every article of his marriage contract, but has left him to adjust them^ by his own prudence, according to his particular circumstances and situation. Municipal laws are a supply to the wisdom of each individual ; and, at the same time, by restraining the natural liberty of men, make pri- vate interest submit to the interest of the public. All regulations, therefore, on this head, are equally lawful, and equally conformable to the principles of nature ; though they are not all equally convenient, or equally useful to society. The laws may allow of polygamy, as among the Eastern nations ; or of voluntary divorces, as among the Greeks and Romans ; or they may confine one man to one woman, during the whole course of their lives, as among the modern Europeans. It may not be disagreeable to consider the I ESSAY XVIII. BY DAVID HUME. advantages and disadvantages which result from each of tiese institutions. The advocates for polygamy may recommend it as the only effectual remedy for the disorders of love, and the only expedient for freeing men from that slavery to the females, which the natural violence of our passions has imposed upon us. By this means alone can we regain our right of sovereignity ; and, sating our appetite, re-establish the authority of reason in our minds, and, of consequence, our own authority in our families. Man, like a weak sovereign, being unable to support himself against the wiles and intrigues of his subjects, must play one faction against another, and become absolute by the mutual jealousy of the females. To divide and io govern is aij universal maxim ; and by neglecting It, the Europeans undergo a more grevious and a more ignominious slavery than the Turks or Persians, who are subjected indeed to a sovereign, that lies at a distance from them, but in their domestic affairs they rule with an uncontrol- able sway. On the other hand, it may be urged with better reason, than this sovereignty of the male is a real usurpation, and destroys that near- ness of rank, not to say equality, which nature has established be- tween the sexes. We are, by nature, their lovers, their friends, their patrons : would we willingly exchange such endearing appellations for the barbarous title of master and tyrant ? In what capacity shall we gain by this inhuman proceeding 1 As lovers, or as husbands? The /6>z/^r is totally annihilated ; and court- ship, the most agreeable scene in life, can no longer have place where women have not the free disposal of themselves, but are bought and sold, like the meanest animal. The Jmsband is as little a gainer, having found the admirable secret of extinguishing every part of love, except its jealousy. No rose without its thorn ; but he must be a foolish wretch indeed, that throws away the rose and preserves only the thorn. But the Asiatic manners are as destructive to friendship as to love. Jealousy excludes men from all intimacies and familiarities with each other. No one dares bring his friend to his house or table, lest he bring a lover to his numerous wives. Hence, all over the east, each family is as much separate from another as if they were so many distinct kingdoms. No wonder then that Solomon, living like an eastern prince, with his seven hundred wives, and three hundred con- cubines, without one friend, could write so pathetically concerning the vanity of the world. Had he tried the secret of one wife or mis- tress, a few friends, and a great many companions, he might have found life somewhat more agreeable. Destroy love and friendship, what remains in the world worth accepting? The bad education of children, especially children of condition, it no OF POLYGAMY AND DIVORCES* another unavoidable consequence of these eastern institutions. Those who pass the early part of life among slaves, are only qualified to be, themselves, slaves and tyrants ; and in every future intercourse, either with their inferiors or superiors, are to forget the natural quality of mankind. What attention, too, can it be supposed a parent, whose seraglio affords him fifty sons, will give to instilling principles of mo- rality or science into a progeny, with whom he himself is scarcely acquainted, and whom he loves with so divided an affection ? Bar- barism, therefore, appears, from reason as well as experience, to be the inseparable attendant of polygamy. To render polygamy more odious, I need not recount the frightful effects of jealousy, and the constraint in which it holds the fair-sex all over the east. In those countries men are not allowed to have any commerce with the females, not even physicians, when sickness may be supposed to have extinguished all wanton passions in the bosoms of the fair, and, at the same time, has rendered them unfit objects of desire. Tournefort tells us, that when he was brought into the Grand Signior's seraglio as a physician, he was not a little surprised, in look- ing along a gallery, to see a great number of naked arms standing out from the sides of the room. He could not imagine what this could mean ; till he was told that those arms belonged to bodies, which he must cure, without knowing any more about them than what he could learn from the arms. He was not allowed to ask a question of the patient, or even of her attendants, lest he might find it necessary to inquire concerning circumstances which the delicacy of the Seraglio allows not to be revealed. Hence physicians in the east pretend to know all diseases from the pulse, as our quacks in Europe undertake to cure a person merely from seeing his water. I suppose, had Monsieur Tournefort, been of this latter kind, he would not, in Constantinople, have been allowed by the jealous Turks, to be fur- nished with materials requisite for exercising his art. In another country, where polygamy is also allowed, they render their wives cripples, and make their feet of no use to them, in order to confine them to their own houses. But it will, perhaps, appear strange, that, in a European country, jealousy can yet be carried to such a height, that it is indecent so much as to suppose that a woman of rank can have feet or legs. Witness the following story, which we have from very good authority"^. When the mother of the late king of Spain was on her road towards Madrid, she passed through a little town in Spain famous for its manufactory of gloves and stock- ings. The magistrates of the place thought they could not better express their joy for the reception of their new queen, than by pre- senting her with a sample of those commodities, for which alone their town was remarkable. The major donio^ who conducted the * Memoires (U la ccur d'Esj^agne, par Madame d*Auncf, ESSAY XVin. BV DAVit) MUME. Ill princess, received the gloves very graciously ; but, when the stockings were presented, he flung them away with great indignation, and severely reprimanded the magistrates for this egregious piece of in- decency. K710W, says he, that a queen of Spain hath no legs. The young queen, who at that time understood the language but im- perfectly, and had often been frightened with stories of Spanish jealousy, imagined that they were to cut off her legs. Upon which she fell a crying, and begged Xh^m to conduct her back to Germany, for that she never could endure the operation ; and it was with some difficulty they could appease her. Philip IV. is said never in his hfe to have laughed heartily but at the recital of this story. Having rejected polygamy, and matched one man with one woman, let us now consider what duration we shall assign to their union, and whether we shall admit of those voluntary divorces which were customary among the Greeks and Romans. Those who would defend this practice, may employ the following reasons. How often does disgust and aversion arise, after marriage, from the most trivial accidents, or from an incompatibility of humour ; where time, instead of curing the wounds, proceeding from mutual injuries, festers them every day the more, by new quarrels and reproaches ? Let us separate hearts which were not made to associate together. Each of them may, perhaps, find another for which it is better fitted. At least, nothing can be more cruel than to preserve, by violence, an union, which, at first was made by mutual love, and is now, in effect, dissolved by mutual hatred. But the liberty of divorces is not only a cure to hatred and domestic quarrels : it is also an admirable preservation against them, and the only secret for keeping alive that love which first united the married couple. The heart of man delights in liberty : the very image of con- straint is grievous to it : when you would confine it by violence, to what would otherwise have been its choice, the inclination immediately changes, and desire is turned into aversion. If the public interest will not allow us to enjoy in polygamy that variety which is so agree- able in love ; at least, deprive us not of that liberty which is so essentially requisite. In vain you tell me, that I had my choice of the Derson with whom I would conjoin myself. I had my choice, it is true, of my prison ; but this is but a small comfort, since it must still be to me a prison. Such are the arguments which may be urged in favour of divorces: but there seems to be these three unanswerable objections against them. I. What must become of the children upon the separation of Ihe parents 1 Must they be committed to the care of a stepmother ; and, instead of the fond attention and concern of a parent, feel all the indifference or hatred of a stranger, or an enemy? These incon- veniences are sufficiently felt, where nature has mada (^e divorce by 112 Ot POLYGAMY AND DIYORCES. the doom inevitable to all mortals : and shall we seek to multiply those inconveniencies by multiplying divorces, and putting it in the power of parents, upon every caprice, to render their posterity miserable? II. — If it be true, on the one hand, that the heart of man naturally delights in liberty, and hates every thing to which it is confined ; it is^ also true, on the other, that the heart of man naturally submits to necessity, and soon loses an inclination, when there appears an abso- lute impossibility of gratifying it. These principles of human nature, you'll say, are contradictory : but what is man but a heap of contra- dictions ! Though it is remarkable, that where principles are, after this manner, contrary in their operation, they do not always destroy each other ; but the one or the other may predominate on any par- ticular occasion, according as circumstances are more or less favoura- ble to it. For instance, love is a restless and impatient passion, full of caprices and variations : arising in a moment from a feature, from an air, from nothing, and suddenly extinguishing after the same manner. Such a passion requires liberty above all things ; and there- fore Eloisa had reason, when, in order to preserve this passion, she refused to marry her beloved Abelard. How o/fy when pr est to marriage ^ have I said, Curse on all laws but those which love has made : Love^free as air, at sight of huinan ties. Spreads his light wi7tgs, and in a moment files. But friendship is a calm and sedate affection, conducted by reason and cemented by habit ; springing from long acquaintance and mutual obligations ; without jealousies or fears, and without those feverish fits of heat and cold, which cause such an agreeable torment in the amo- rous passion. So sober an affection, therefore, as friendship, rather thrives under constraint, and never rises to such a height, as when any strong interest or necessity binds two persons together, and gives them some common object of pursuit. We need not, therefore, be afraid of drawing the marriage-knot, which chiefly subsists by friendship, the closest possible. The amity between the persons, where it is solid and sincere, will rather gain by it : and where it is wavering and uncer- tain, this is the best expedient for fixing it. How many friyolous quarrels and disguts are there, which people of common prudence endeavour to forget, when they lie under a necessity of passing their lives together ; but which would soon be inflamed into the most deadly hatred, were they pursued to the utmost, under the prospect of an easy separation ? III. — We must consider, that nothing is more dangerous than to unite two persons so closely in all their interests and concerns, as man and wife, without rendering the union entire and total. The least pos- sibility of a separate interest must be the source of endless quarrels and suspicions. The wife, not secure of her establishment, will still ESSAY XIX. BY DAVID HUJ^IE. "3 be driving some separate end or project ; and the husband's selfish- ness, being accompanied with more power, may be still more dan- gerous. Should these reasons against voluntary divorces be deemed insuffi- cient, I hope nobody will pretend to refuse the testimony of expe- rience. At the time when divorces were most frequent among the Romans, marriages were most rare ; and Augustus was obliged, by penal laws, to force men of fashion into the married state : a circum« stance which is scarcely to be found in any other age or nation. The more ancient laws of Rome, which prohibited divorces, are extremely praised by Dionysius Halycarnassasus. [Lib. ii.] Wonderful was the harmony, says the historian, which this inseparable union of interests produced between married persons ; while each of them considered the inevitable necessity by which they were linked together, and aban- doned all prospect of any other choice or establishment. The exclusion of polygamy and divorces sufficiently recommends our present European practice with regard to marriage. y XIX.--OF SIMPLICITY AND REFINEMENT IN WRITING. Fine writing, according to Addison, consists of sentiments, which are natural, without being obvious. There cannot be a juster and more concise definition of fine writing. Sentiments which are merely natural, affect not the mind with any pleasure, and seem not worthy of our attention. The pleasantries of a waterman, the observations of a peasant, the ribaldry of a porter or hackney coachman, all of these are natural aud disagreeable. What an insipid comedy should we make of the chit-chat of the tea-table, copied faithfully and at full length ? Nothing can please persons of taste, but nature drawn with all her graces and ornaments, la belle nature J or if we copy low life, the strokes must be strong and remark- able, and must convey a lively image to the mind. The absurd iiaivetA ofSaitco Pancho is represented in such inimitable colours by Cervantes, that it entertains as much as the picture of the most magnanimous hero or the softest lover. The case is the same with orators, philosophers, critics, or any author who speaks in his own person, without introducing other speakers or actors. If his language be not elegant, his observations uncommon, his sense strong and masculine, he will in vain boast his nature and simplicity. He may be correct ; but he never will be agreeable. It is the unhappiness of such authors, that they are never 6 114 OF SIMPLICITY AND REFINEMENT. blamed or censured. The good fortune of a book, and that of a man, are not the same. The secret deceiving path of hfe, which Horace talks of, fallentis semita vitce^ may be the happiest lot of the one ; but it is the greatest misfortune which the other can possibly fall into. On the other hand, productions which are merely surprising, without being natural, can never give any lasting entertainment to the mind. To draw chimeras, is not, properly speaking, to copy or imitate. The justness of representation is lost, and the mind is displeased to find a picture which bears no resemblance to any original. Nor are such excessive refinements more agreeable in the epistolary or philosophic style, than in the epic or tragic. Too much ornament is a fault in every kind of production. Uncommon expressions, strong flashes of wit, pointed similes, and epigrammatic turns, especially when they recur too frequently, are a disfigurement rather than any embellishment of discourse. As the eye, in surveying a Gothic building, is distracted by the multiplicity of ornaments, and loses the whole by its minute attention to the parts ; so the mind, in perusing a work overstocked with wit, is fatigued and disgusted with the constant endeavour to shine and surprise. This is the case where a writer overabounds in wit, even though that wit, in itself, should be just and agreeable. But it commonly happens to such writers, that they seek for their favourite ornaments, even where the subject does not afford them ; and by that means have twenty insipid conceits for one thought which is really beautiful. There is no object in critical learning more copious, than this of the just mixture of simplicity and refinement in writing ; and therefore, not to wander in too large a field, I shall confine myself to a few general observations on that head. L I observe. That tJiough excesses of both kinds are to he avoided^ and tho7igh a proper inediiim ought to he studied in all productions; yet this niediitm lies not in a pointy but admits of a considerable latitude. Consider the wide distance, in this respect, between Pope and Lucretius. These seem to lie in the two greatest extremes of refinement and sim- plicity in which a poet can indulge himself, without being guilty of any blameable excess. All this interval may be filled with poets, who may differ from each other, but may be equally admirable, each in his peculiar style and manner. Corneille and Congreve, who carry their wit and refinement somewhat farther than Pope, (if poets of so different a kind can be compared together), and Sophocles and Terence, who are more simple than Lucretius, seem to have gone out of that medium, in which the most perfect productions are found, and to be guilty of some ex- cess in these opposite characters. Of all the great poets, Virgil and Racine, in my opinion, lie nearest the centre, and are the farthest removed from both the extremities. ESSAY XIX. BY DAVID HUME. II. My observation on this head is, that it is very difficulty if not i^npossible^ to explain by words, where the just medium lies between the excesses of simplicity and refinement ^ or to give any rule by which we can know precisely the bounds between the fault and the beauty, A critic may not only discourse very judiciously on this head without instructing his readers, but even without understanding the matter perfectly himself. There is not a finer piece of criticism than the Dis* sertation on Pastorals by P'ontenelle ; in which, by a number of reflec- tions and philosophical reasonings, he endeavours to fix the just medium which is suitable to that species of writing, But let any one read the pastorals of that author, and he will be convinced that this judicious critic, notwithstanding his fine reasonings, had a false taste, and fixed the point of perfection much nearer the extreme of refinement than pastoral poetry will admit of. The sentiments of his shepherds are better suited to the toilettes of Paris than to the forests of Arcadia. But this it is impossible to discover from his critical reasonings. He blames all excessive painting and ornament as much as Virgil could have done, had that great poet writ a dissertation on this species of poetry. However different the tastes of men, their general discourse on these subjects is commonly the same. No criticism can be instruc- tive which descends not to particulars, and is not full of examples and illustrations. It is allowed on all hands, that beauty, as well as virtue, always lies in a medium ; but where this medium is placed is a great question, and can never be sufficiently explained by general rea- sonings. III. I shall deliver on this subject, That we ought to be more on our guard against the excess of rcfineme7it than that of simplicity j and that becaicse the former excess is both less beautiful, a7td moj^e dangerous than the latter. It is a certain rule, that wit and passion are entirely incompatible. When the affections are moved, there is no place for the imagination. The mind of man being naturally limited, it is impossible that all its faculties can operate at once : and the more any one predominates, the less room is there for the others to exert their vigour. For this reason, a greater simplicity is required in all compositions, where men, and actions, and passions are painted, than in such as consist o^ reflections and observations. And, as the former species of writing ir the more engaging and beautiful, one may safely, upon this account give the preference to the extreme of simplicity above that of re- 1 finement. We may also observe, that those compositions which we read the oftenest, and which every man of taste has got by heart, have the re- commendation of simplicity, and have nothing surprising in the thought, when divested of that elegance of expression, and harmony of numbers, with which it is clothed. If the merit of the composition lie in a ii6 OF NATIONAL CHARACTERS. point of wit, it may strike at first ; but the mind anticipates the thought in the second perusal, and is no longer affected by it. When I read an epigram of Martial, the first line recals the whole ; and I have no pleasure in repeating to myself what I know already. But each line, each word in Catullus, has its merit ; and I am never tired with the perusal of him. It is sufficient to run over Cowley once ; j but Parnel, after the fiftieth reading, is as fresh as at the first. Besides, it is with books as wilh women, where a certain plainness of manner and of dress is more engaging, than that glare of paint, and airs, and apparel, which may dazzle the eye, but reaches not the affections. * Terence is a modest and bashful beauty, to whom we grant every thing, because he assumes nothing, and whose purity and nature make a durable though not a violent impression on us. But refinement, as it the less beautiful^ so is it the more dangerous extreme, and what we are the aptest to fall into. Simplicity passes for dulness, when it is not accompanied with great elegance and pro- priety. On the contrary, there is something surprising in a blaze of wit and conceit. Ordinary readers are mightily struck with it, and falsely imagine it to be the most difficult, as well as most excellent way of writing. Seneca abounds with agreeable faults, says Quintilian, abimdat didcibiis vitiis; and for that reason is the more dangerous, and the more apt to pervert the taste of the young and the inconsiderate. I shall add, that the excess of refinement is now more to be guarded against than ever ; because it is the extreme, which men are the most apt to fall into, after learning has made some progress, and after eminent writers have appeared in every species of composition. The endeavour to please by novelty leads men wide of sim.plicity and nature, and fills their writings with affectation and conceit. It was thus the Asiatic eloquence degenerated so much from the Attic : It was thus the age of Claudius and Nero become so much inferior to that of Augustus in taste and genius. And perhaps there are, at present, some symptoms of a like degeneracy of taste, in France, as well as in England. XX.— OF NATIONAL CHARACTERS. The vulgar are apt to carry all national characters to extremes ; and, having once established it as a principle, that any people are knavish, or cowardly, or ignorant, they will admit of no exception, but compre- hend every individual under the same censure. Men of sense condemn these undistinguishing judgments ; though, at the same time, they ESSAY XX. BY DAVID HUME. 117 allow that each nation has a peculiar set of manners, and that soiiie particular qualities are more frequently to be met with among one people than among their neighbours. The common people in Switzer* land have probably more honesty than those of the same rank in Ireland ; and every prudent man will, from that circumstance alouc., make a difference in the trust which he reposes in each. We have reason to expect greater wit and gaiety in a Frenchman than ivt a Spaniard ; though Cervantes was born in Spain. An Englishman will naturally be supposed to have more knowledge than a Dane ; though Tycho Brahe was a native of Denmark. Different reasons are assigned for these 7iatio7ial characters; while some account for them from moral, others from physical causes. Y>y moral causes, I mean all circumstances, which are fitted to work on the mind as motives or reasons, and which render a peculiar set of manners habitual to us. Of this kind are, the nature of the govern- ment, the revolutions of public affairs, the plenty or penury in which the people live, the situation of the nation with regard to its neighbours, and such like circumstances. By physical causes, I mean those qualities of the air and climate, which are supposed to work insensibly on the temper, by altering the tone and habit of the body, and giving a particular complexion, which, though reflection and reason may some- times overcome it, will yet prevail among the generality of mankind, and have an influence on their manners. That the character of a nation will much depend on moral causes, must be evident to the most superficial observer ; since a nation is nothing but a collection of individuals, and the manners of individuals are frequently determined by these causes. As poverty and hard labour debase the minds of the common people, and render them unfit for any science and ingenious profession ; so, where any government becomes very oppressive to all its subjects, it must have a proportional effect on their temper and genius, and must banish all the liberal arts from among them. The same principle of moral causes fixes the character of different professions, and alters even that disposition, which the particular members receive from the hand of nature. A soldier and a priest are different characters, in all nations, and all ages ; and this difference 3s founded on circumstances whose operation is eternal and unalter- able. The uncertainty of their life makes soldiers lavish and generous, as well as brave : their idleness, together with the large societies, which they form in camps or garrisons, inclines them to pleasure and gallantry ; by their frequent change of company, they acquire good breeding and an openness of behaviour : being employed only against a public and in open enemy, they become -r^ndid, honest, and undesigning: and ii8 OF NATIONAL CHARACTERS. they use more the labour of the body than that of the mind, they are commonly thoughtless and ignorant.* It is a trite, but not altogether a false maxim, that priests of all re- ligions are the same; and though the character of the profession wiH not, in every instance, prevail over the personal character, yet it is sure always to predominate with the greater number. For as chemists observe, that spirits, when raised to a certain height, are all the same, from whatevel materials they be extracted ; so these men, being elevated above humanity, acquire a uniform character, which is endiely their own, and which, in my opinion, is, generally speaking, not the most amiable that is to be met with in human society. It is, in most points, opposite to that of a soldier ; as is the way of life, from which it is derived.t As to physical causes^ I am inclined to doubt altogether of their operation in this particular ; nor do I think that men owe anything of * Itisasayingof Mennader, Ko/ii|/os (TTpaTrwTTjs ouS' aj^ciTrAaTTei 06os OvQ^i^'y^voir av. Men. apud Stobaeum. It is not in the poiverevenof God to make a polite soldier. The contrary observation with regard to the manners of soldiers takes place in our days. This seems to me a presumption, that the ancients owed all their refinement and civility to books and study; for which, indeed, a soldier's life is not so well calculated. Company and the world is their sphere. And if there be any politeness to be learned from company, they will certainly have a considerable share of it. t Though all mankind have a strong propensity to religion at certain times and in certain dispositions ; yet are there few or none who have it to that degree, and with that constancy, which is requisite to support the character of this profession. It must, therefore, happen, that clergymen, being drawn from the common mass of mankind, as people are to other employ- ments, by the views of profit, the greater part, will maintain the appearance of fervour and seriousness, even when jaded with the exercises of their religion, or when they have their minds engaged in the common occupations of life. They must not, like the rest of the world, give scope to their natural movements and sentiments. They must set a guard over their looks, and words, and actions. Most men are ambitious ; but the ambition of men may commonly be satisfied by excelling in their particular profession, and thereby promoting the interests of society. Most men are apt to bear a particular regard for members of their own profession ; but as a lawyer, or physician, or merchant, does each of them follow out his business apart, the in- terests of men of these professions are not so closely united as the interests of clergymen of the same religion ; where the whole body gains by the veneration paid to their common tenets, and by the suppression of antagonists. Few men can bear contradiction with patience ; but the clergy too often proceed even to a degree of fury on this head. The Odizim Theologictim, or Theological Hatred, is noted even to a proverb, and means that degree of rancour, which is the most furious and im- placable. Revenge is a natural passion to mankind : but seems to reign with the greatest force in priests and women : because, being deprived of the immediate exertion of anger, in violence and combat, they are apt to fancy tnemselves despised on that account ; and their pride supports their vindictive disposition. ^ ^ ^ . The temper of religion is grave and serious ; and this is the character required of priest^, which confines them to strict rules of decency, and commonly prevents irregularity and in- temperance amongst them. The gaiety, much less the excesses of pleasure, is not permitted in that body ; and this virtue is, perhaps, the only one which they owe to their profession. In religions, indeed, founded on speculative principles, and where public discourses make a part of religious service, it may also be supposed that the clergy will have a considerable share m the learning of the times ; though it is certain that their taste in eloquence will always be greater than their proficiency in reasoning and philosophy. But whoever possesses the other noble virtues of humanity, meekness, and moderation, as very many of them, no doubt, do, is beholden for them by nature or reflection, not to the genius of his calling. It was no bad expedient in the old Romans, for preventing the strong effect of the priestly ch;^racter, to make it a law, that no one should be received into the sacerdotal office, till he w**« past fifty years of age. Dion. Hal. lib. i. The living a layman till that age, k »« pre- 8U...:2d, would be able to fix the character. ESSAY XX. BY DAVID HUME. 119 their temper or genius to the air, food or climate. I confess, that the contrary opinion may justly, at first sight, seem probable ; since we find, that these circumstances have an influence over every other animal, and that even those creatures, which are fitted to live in all climates, such as dogs, horses, &c., do not attain the same perfection in all. The courage of bull-dogs and game-cocks seems pecuhar to England. Flanders is remarkable for large and heavy horses: Spain for horses light, and of good mettle. And any breed of these creatures, transplanted from one country to another, will soon lose the qualities, which they derived from their native climate. It may be asked, why not the same with men?"^ There are few questions more curious than this, or which will oflener occur in our inquiries concerning human affairs ; and therefore it may be proper to give it a full examination. The human mind is of a very imitative nature; nor is it possible for any set of men to converse often together, without acquiring a similitude of manners, and communicating to each other their vices as well as virtues. The propensity to company and society is strong in all rational creatures ; and the same disposition, which gives us this propensity, makes us enter deeply into each other's sentiments, and causes like passions and inclinations to run, as it were, by contagion, through the whole club or knot of companions. Where a number of men are united into one political body, the occasions of their inter- course must be so frequent, for defence, commerce, and government, that, together with the same speech or language, they must acquire a resemblance in their manners, and have a common or rational charac- ter, as well as a personal one, peculiar to each individual. Now though nature produces all kinds of temper and understanding in great abundance, it does not follow, that she always produces them in like proportions, and that in every society the ingredients of industry and mdolence, valour and cowardice, humanity and brutality, wisdom and tlly, will be mixed after the same manner. In the infancy of society, f any of these dispositions be found in greater abundance than the fcst, it will naturally prevail in the composition, and give a tincture to Jie national character. Or should it be asserted, that no species of jemper can reasonably be presumed to predominate, even in those * CyESAR (de Bello Galileo, lib. i.^says, that the Gallic horses were very good., the Ger- tiaM very bad. We find in lib. vii. that he was obliged to mount some German cavalry with Gallic horses. At present no part of Europe has so bad horses of all kinds as France : but Germany abounds with excellent war horses. This may beget a little suspicion, that even animals depend not on the climate ; but on the different breeds, and on the skill and care in rearing them. The north of England abounds in the best horses of all kinds which are per- haps in the world. In the neighbouring counties, north side of the Tweed, no good horses of any kind are to be met with. Strabo, lib. ii. rejects, in a great measure, the influence of climates upon men- All is custom and education, says he. It is not from nature, that the Athenians are learned, the Lacedemonians ignorant, and the Thebans too, who are still nearer neighbours to the former. Even the difference of animals, he adda. 'lenends not on climate. I20 OF NATIONAL CHARACTERS. contracted societies, and that the same proportions will always be pre- served in the mixture ; yet surely the persons in credit and authority, being a still more contracted body, cannot always be presumed to be of the same character ; and their influence on the manners of the people, must, at all times, be very considerable. If on the first estab- lishment of a republic, a Brutus should be placed in authority, and be transported with such an enthusiasm for liberty and public good, as to overlook all the ties of nature, as well as private interest, such an illustrious example will naturally have an effect on the whole society, and kindle the same passion in every bosom. Whatever it be that forms the manners of one generation, the next must imbibe a deeper tincture of the same dye ; men being more susceptible of all impressions during infancy, and retaining these impressions as long as they remain in the world. I assert, then, that all national characters, where they depend not on fixed moral causes, proceed from such accidents as these, and that physical causes have no discernible operation on the human mind. It is a maxim in all philosophy, that causes which do not appear, are to be considered as not existing. If we run over the globe, or revolve the annals of history, we shall discover everywhere signs of a sympathy or contagion of manners, none of the influence of air or climate. I. We may observe, that where a very extensive government has been established for many centuries, it spreads a national character over the whole empire, and communicates to every part a similarity of manners. Thus the Chinese have the greatest uniformity of character imaginable : though the air and climate, in different parts of those vast dominions, admit of very considerable variations. II. In small governments, which are contiguous, the people have notwithstanding a different character, and are often as distinguishable in their manners as the most distant nations. Athens and Thebes were but a short days journey from each other ; though the Athenians were as remarkable for ingenuity, politeness, and gaiety, as the Thebans for dulness, rusticity, and a phlegmatic temper. Plutarch, discoursing of the effects of air on the minds of men, observes, that the inhabitants of the Piraeum possessed very different tempers from those of the higher town in Athens, which was distant about four miles from the former : but I beheve no one attributes the difference of manners in Wapping and St. James', to a difference of air or climate. III. The same national character commonly follows the authority of government to a precise boundary ; and upon crossing a river or passing a mountain, one finds a new set of manners, with a new government. The Languedocians and Gascons are the gayest people in France ; but whenever you pass the Pyrenees, you are among Spaniards. Is it conceivable, that the qualities of the air should ESSAY XX. BY DAVID HUME. change exactly with the limits of an empire, which depend so much on the accidents of battles, negociations, and marriages ? IV. Where any set of men, scattered over distant nations, maintain a close society or communication together, they acquire a simihtude of manners, and have but little in common with the nations amongst whom they live. Thus the Jews in Europe, and the Armenians in the east, have a peculiar character ; and the former are as much noted for fraud, as the latter for probity*. The Jesuits in all Roinan Ca- tholic cotcntriesj are also observed to have a character peculiar to themselves. V. Where an accident, as a difference in language or religion, keeps two nations, inhabiting the same country, from mixing with each other, they will preserve, during several centuries, a distinct and even op- posite set of manners. The integrity, gravity, and bravery of the Turks, form an exact contrast to the deceit, levity, and cowardice of the modern Greeks. VI. The same set of manners will follow a nation, and adhere to them over the whole globe, as well as the same laws and language. The Spanish, English, French and Dutch colonies, are all distinguish- able even between the tropics. VII. The manners of a people change very considerably from one age to another ; either by great alterations in their government, by the mixtures of new people, or by that inconstancy, to which all human affairs are subject. The ingenuity, industry, and activity of the ancient Greeks, have nothing in common with the stupidity and indolence of the present inhabitants of those regions. Candour, bravery, and love of liberty, formed the character of the ancient Romans ; as subtlety, cowardice, and a slavish disposition do that of the modern. The old Spaniards were restless, turbulent, and so addicted to war, that many of them killed themselves, when deprived of their arms by the Romans. [Tit. Livii, lib. xxxiv. cap 17.] One would find an equal difficulty at present (at least one would have found it fifty years ago), to rouse up the modern Spaniards to arms. The Batavians were all soldiers of fortune, and hired themselves into the Roman armies. Their pos- terity make use of foreigners for the same purpose that the Romans did their ancestors. Though some few strokes of the French character be the same with that which Csesar has ascribed to the Gauls ; yet what comparison between the civility, humanity, and knowledge of the modern inhabitants of that country, and the ignorance, barbarity, and grossness of the ancient ? Not to insist upon the great difference be- • A small sect or society amidst a greater, are commonly most regular in their morals ; be- cause they are more remarked, and the faults of individuals draw dishonour on the whole. The only exception to this rule is, when the superstition and prejudices of the large society are so strong as to throw an infamy on the smaller society, independent of their morals. For in that case, having no character either to save or gain, tney become careless of their be- hi.viciir, except among themselves. 122 OF NATIONAL CHARACTERS. tweeri the present possessors of Britain, and those before the Roman conquest : we may observe that our ancestors, a few centuries ago, were sunk into the most abject superstition ; last century they were inflamed with the most furious enthusiasm, and are now settled into the most cool indifference with regard to religious matters, that is to be found in any nation of the world. VIII. Where several neighbouring nations have a very close com- munication together, either by policy, commerce, or travelling, they acquire a similitude of manners, proportioned to the communication. Thus all the Franks appear to have a uniform character to the eastern nations. The differences among them are like the peculiar accents of different provinces, which are not distinguishable except by an ear accustomed to them, and which commonly escape a foreigner. IX. We may often remark a wonderful mixture of manners and cha- racters in the same nation, speaking the same language, and subject to the same government ; and in this particular the English are the most remarkable of any people that perhaps ever were in the world. Nor is this to be ascribed to the mutability and uncertainty of their climate, or to any other physical causes ; since all these causes take place in the neighbouring country of Scotland, without having the same effect. Where the government of a nation is altogether republican, it is apt to beget a peculiar set of manners. Where it is altogether monarchical, it is more apt to have the same effect ; the imitation of superiors spreading the national manners faster among the people. If the go- verning part of a state consist altogether of merchants, as in Holland, their uniform way of life will fix their character. If it consists chiefly of nobles and landed gentry, like Germany. France, and Spain, the same effect follows. The genius of a particular sect or religion is also apt to mould the manners of a people. But the English government is a mixture of monarchy, aristocracy, and democracy. The people in authority are composed of gentry and merchants. All sects of religion are to be found among them. And the great liberty and independency, which every man enjoys, allows him to display the manners peculiar to him. Hence the English, of any people in the universe, have the least of a national character ; unless this very singularity may appear to pass for such. If the characters of men depended on the air and climate, the degrees of heat and cold should naturally be expected to have a mighty in- fluence ; since nothing has a greater effect on all plants and irrational animals. And indeed there is some reason to think, that all the nations, which live beyond the polar circles or between the tropics, are inferior to the rest of the species, and are incapable of all the higher attain- ments of the human mind. The poverty and misery of the northern inhabitants of the globe, and the indolence of the southern, from their few necessities, may, perhaps, account for this remarkable difference. ESSAY XX. BY DAVID HUMft. 123 without our having recourse to physical causes. This, however, is certain, that the characters of nations are very promiscuous in the temperate cHmates, and that almost all the general observations, which have been formed of the more southern or more northern people in these climates, are found to be uncertain and fallacious"^. Shall we say, that the neighbourhood of the sun inflames the ima- gination of men, and gives it a peculiar spirit and vivacity .^^ The French, Greeks, Egyptians, and Persians, are remarkable for gaiety. The Spaniards, Turks, and Chinese, are noted for gravity and a serious de- portment, without any such difference of climate as to produce this difference of temper. The Greeks and Romans, who called all other nations barbarians, confined genius and a fine understanding to the more southern climates, and pronounced the northern nations incapable of all knowledge and civility. But our island has produced as great men, either for action or learning, as Greece or Italy has to boast of It is pretended, that the sentiments of men become more delicate as the country approaches nearer to the sun ; and that the taste of beauty and elegance receives proportionable improvements in every latitude ; as we particularly observe of the languages, of which the more southern are smooth and melodious, the northern harsh and un- tuneable. But this observation holds not universally. The Arabic is uncouth and disagreeable : the Muscovite soft and musical. Energy, strength, and harshness, form the character of the Latin tongue : the Italian is the most liquid, smooth, and effeminate language that can possibly be imagined. Every language will depend somewhat on the manners of the people ; but much more on that original stock of words and sounds, which they received from their ancestors, and which remain unchangeable, even while their manners admit of the greatest alterations. Who can doubt, but the English are at present a more polite and knowing people than the Greeks were for several ages after the siege of Troy ? Yet is there no comparison between the language of Milton and that of Homer. Nay, the greater are the alterations and improvements, which happen in the manners of a people, the less can be expected in their language. A few eminent and refined geniuses communicate their taste and knowledge to a whole people, and pro- * I am apt to suspect the Negroes to be naturally inferior to the Whites. There scarcely ever was a civilized nation of that complexion, nor even any individual, eminent either in ac- tion or speculation. No ingenious manufactures amongst them, no arts, no sciences. On the other hand, the most rude and barbarous of the Whites, such as the ancient Germans, the present Tartars, have still something eminent about them, in their valour, form of govern- ment, or some other particular. Such a uniform and constant difference could not happen, in so many countries and ages, if nature had not made an original distinction between these breeds of men. Not to mention our colonies, there are Negro slaves dispersed all over Europe, of whom non^ ever discovered any symptoms of ingenuity, though low people, with- out education, will start up amongst us, and distinguish themselves in every profession. In Jamaica, indeed, they talk of one Negro as a man of parts and learning ; but it is hkely he is Admired for slender accomplishments, like a parrot who speaks a few words plainly. 124 OP NATIONAL CHARACTERS. duce the greatest improvements; but they fix the tongue by their writings, and prevent, in some degree, its farther changes. Lord Bacon has observed, that the inhabitants of the south are, in general, more ingenious than those of the north ; but that, where the native of a cold climate has genius, he rises to a higher pitch than can be reached by the southern wits. This observation a late^ writer confirms, by comparing the southern wits to cucumbers, which are commonly all good in their kind ; but at best are an insipid fruit : while the northern geniuses are like melons, of which not one in fifty is good ; but when it is so, it has an exquisite relish. I believe this remark may be allowed just, when confined to the Euroj>ean nations, and to the present age, or rather to the preceding one : but I think it may be accounted for from moral causes. All the sciences and liberal arts have been imported to us from the south ; and it is easy to miagine, that, in the first order of application, when excited by emula- tion and by glory, the few, who were addicted to them, would carry them to the greatest height, and stretch every nerve, and every faculty, to reach the pinnacle of perfection. Such illustrious examples spread knowledge every where, and begot an universal esteem for the sciences : after which, it is no wonder that industry relaxes ; while men meet not with suitable encouragement, nor arrive at such distinction by their attainments. The universal diffusion of learning among a people, and the entire banishment of gross ignorance and rusticity, is, therefore, seldom attended with any remarkable perfection in particular persons. It seems to be taken for granted in the dialogue de Oratoribus that knowledge was much more common in Vespasian's age than in that of Cicero and Augustus. Quintilian also complains of the pro- fanation of learning, by its becoming too common. * Formerly,* says Juvenal, ' science was confined to Greece and Italy. Now the whole world emulates Athens and Rome. Eloquent Gaul has taught Britain, knowing in the laws. Even Thule entertains thoughts of hiring rhe- toricians for its instruction.'t This state of learning is remarkable ; because Juvenal is himself the last of the Roman writers that possessed any degree of genius. Those, who succeeded, are valued for nothing but the matters of fact, of which they give us information. I hope the late conversion of Muscovy to the study of the sciences will not prove a like prognostic to the present period of learning. Cardinal Bentivoglio gives the preference to the northern nations above the southern with regard to candour and sincerity ; and men- tions, on the one hand, the Spaniards and Italians, and on the other, * Dr. Berkeley : Minute Philosopher. t * Sed Cantaber unde Stoicus? Antiqui praesertim aetate Metelli. Nunc totus Graias, nostrasque habet orbis Athenas. Gallia causidicos docuit facunda Britannos : De conducendo loquitur jam rhetore Thule.* — Sat. ESSAY XX. BY DAVID HUME. the Flemings and Germans. But I am apt to think, that this has hap- pened by accident. The ancient Romans seem to have been a candid, sincere people, as are the modern Turks. But if we must needs sup- pose, that this event has arisen from fixed causes, we may only con- clude from it, that all extremes are apt to concur, and are commonly attended with the same consequences. Treachery is the usual con- comitant of ignorance and barbarism ; and if civihzed nations ever embrace subtle and crooked politics, it is from an excess of refine- ment, which makes them disdain the plain and direct path to power and to glory. Most conquests have gone from north to south ; and it has hence been inferred, that the northern nations possess a superior degree of courage and ferocity : but it would have been juster to have said, that most conquests are made by poverty and want, upon plenty and riches. The Saracens, leaving the deserts of Arabia, carried their conquests northwards upon all the fertile provinces of the Roman empire ; and met the Turks half way, who were coming southwards from the sterile deserts of Tartary. An eminent writer"^ has remarked, that all courageous animals are also carnivorous, and that greater courage is to be expected in a people, such as the English, whose food is strong and hearty, than in the half-starved commonalty of other countries. But the Swedes, not- withstanding their disadvantages in this particular, are not inferior, in martial courage, to any nation that ever was in the world. In general, we may observe, that courage, of all national qualities, is the most precarious ; because it is exerted only at intervals, and by a few in every nation ; whereas industry, knowledge, civility, may be of constant and universal use, and for several ages, may become habitual to the whole people. If courage be preserved, it must be by discipline, example, and opinion. The tenth legion of Caesar, and the regiment of Picardy in France, were formed promiscuously from among the citizens ; but having once entertained a notion, that they were the best troops in the service, this very opinion really made them such. As a proof how much courage depends on opinion, we may observe, that, of the two chief tribes of the Greeks, the Dorians and lonians, the former were always esteemed, and always appeared more brave and manly than the latter ; though the colonies of both the tribes were interspersed and intermingled throughout all the extent of Gree^^e, the Lesser Asia, Sicily, Italy, and the islands of the -^gean sea. The Athenians were the only lonians that ever had any reputation for valour or military achievements ; though even these were deemed in- ferior to the Lacedemonians, the bravest of the Dorians. * Sir William Temple's account of the Netherlands. 126 OF NATIONAL CHARACTERS. The only observation, with regard to the difference of men in dif- rerent climates, on which we can rest any weight, is the vulgar one, that people in the northern regions have a greater inclination to strong liquors, and those in the southern to love and women. One can as- sign a veiy probable physical cause for this difference. Wine and distilled waters warm the frozen blood in the colder climates, and fortify men against the injuries of the weather : as the genial heat of the sun, in the countries exposed to his beams, inflames the blood and exalts the passion between the sexes. Perhaps, too, the matter may be accounted for by moral causes. All strong liquors are rarer in the north, and consequently are more coveted. Diodorus Siculus* tells us, that the Gauls in his time were great drunkards, and much addicted to wine ; chiefly, I suppose, from its rarity and novelty. On the other hand, the heat in the southern climates, obliging men and women to go half naked, thereby renders their frequent commerce more dangerous, and inflames their mutual passion. This makes parents and husbands more jealous and reserved ; which still farther inflames the passion. Not to mention, that as women ripen sooner in the southern regions, it is necessary to observe greater jealousy and care in their education ; it being evident, that a girl of twelve cannot possess equal discretion to govern this passion, with one that feels not its violence till she be seventeen or eighteen. Nothing so much encourages the passion of love as ease and leisure, or is more destructive to it than industry and hard labour; and as the necessities of men are evidently fewer in the warm climates than in the cold ones, this circumstance alone may make a consider- able difference between them. But perhaps the fact is doubtful, that nature has, either from moral or physical causes, disturbed their respective inclination to the diffe- rent climates. The ancient Greeks, though born in a warm climate, seem to have been much addicted to the bottle ; nor were their par- ties of pleasure any thing but matches of drinking among men, who passed their time altogether apart from the fair. Yet when Alexander led the Greeks into Persia, a still more southern climate, they multi- plied their debauches of this kind, in imitation of the Persian man- ners.f So honourable was the character of a drunkard among the Persians, that Cyrus the younger, soliciting the sober Lacedemonians for succour against his brother Artaxerxes, claims it chiefly on account of his superior endowments, as more valorous, more bountiful, and a better drinker. [Plut. Symp. lib. i. quaest. 4.] Darius Hystaspes made * Lib. V. The same author ascribes taciturnity to that people ; a new proof that national characters may alter very much. Taciturnity, as a national character, implies unsociable- ness. Aristotle, in his Politics, book ii. cap, 2. says, that the Gauls are the only warlike nation, who are negligent of women. t Bahylonii maxima *tvinumy ei quoe ehrietatem sequuntur, effusi sunt. Quint. Cur. lib. V cap. 1. ESSAY XXI. BY DAVID HUME. 127 it be inscribed on his tomb- stone, among his other virtues and princely quahties, that no one could bear a greater quantity of liquor. You may obtain any thing of the Negroes by offering them strong drink , and may easily prevail with them to sell, not only their children, but their wives and mistresses, for a cask of brandy. In France and Italy few drink pure wine, except in the greatest heats of summer ; and, indeed, it is then almost as necessary, in order to recruit the spirits, evaporated by heat, as it is in Sweden, during the winter, in order to warm the bodies congealed by the rigour of the season. If jealously be regarded as a proof of an amorous disposition, no people were more jealous than the Muscovites, before their communi- cation with Europe had somewhat altered their manners in this particular. But supposing the fact true, that nature, by physical principles, has regularly distributed these two passions, the one to the northern, the other to the southern regions ; we can only infer, that the chmate may affect the grosser and more bodily organs of our frame ; not that it can work on those finer organs, on which the operations of the mind and understanding depend. And this is agreeable to the analogy of nature. The races of animals never degenerate when carefully attended ; and horses, in particular, always show their blood in their shape, spirit, and swiftness : but a coxcomb may beget a philosopher ; as a man of virtue may leave a worthless progeny. I shall conclude this subject with observing, that though the passion for liquor be more brutal and debasing than love, which, when pro- perly managed, is the source of all politeness and refinement ; yet this gives not so great an advantage to the southern climates, as we may be apt, at first sight, to imagine. When love goes beyond a certain pitch, it renders men jealous, and cuts off the free intercourse between the sexes, on which the politeness of a nation will commonly much depend. And if we would subtilize and refine upon this point, we might observe, that the people in very temperate climates, are the most likely to attain all sorts of improvemeni ; their blood not beinf so inflamed as to render them jealous, and yet being warm enough to make them set a due value on the charms and endowments of th< fair sex. XXL— OF TRAGEDY, It seems an unaccountable pleasure, which the spectators of a well written tragedy receive from sorrow, terror, anxiety, and other passions that are in themselves disagreeable and uneasy. The more they 128 OF TRAGEDY. are tcuched and affected, the more are they delighted with th^ spectacle ; and as soon as the uneasy passions cease to operate, the piece is at an end. One scene of full joy and contentment and security, is the utmost that any composition of this kind can bear ; and it is sure always to be the concluding one. If in the texture ot the piece, there be interwoven any scenes of satisfaction, they afford only faint gleams of pleasure, which are thrown in by way of variety, and in order to plunge the actors into deeper distress by means of that contrast and disappointment. The whole art of the poet is employed, in rousing and supporting the compassion and indignation, the anxiety and resentment, of his audience. They are pleased in proportion as they are afflicted, and never are so happy as w^hen they employ tears, sobs, and cries, to give vent to their sorrow, and relieve their heart, swollen with the tenderest sympathy and compassion. The few critics who have had some tincture of philosophy, have remarked this singular phenomenon, and have endeavoured to account for it. UAbbe Dubos, in his reflections on poetry and painting, asserts, that nothing is in general so disagreeable to the mind as the languid, listless state of indolence, into which it falls upon the removal of all passion and occupation. To get rid of this painful situation, it seeks every amusement and pursuit ; business, gaming, shows, executions ; what- ever will rouse the passions and take its attention from itself. No matter what the passion is ; let it be disagreeable, afflicting, melancholy, disordered ; it is still better than that insipid langcur, which arises from perfect tranquillity and repose. It is impossible not to admit this account, as being, at least in part, satisfactory. You may observe, when there are several tables of gaming, that all the company run to those, where the deepest play is, even though they find not there the best players. The view, or, at least imagination of high passions, arising from great loss or gain, affects the spectator by sympathy, gives him some touches of the same passions, and serves him for a momentary entertainment. It makes the time pass the easier with him, and is some relief to that oppres- sion, under which men commonly labour, when left entirely to their own thoughts and meditations. We find that common liars always magnify, in their narration, all kinds of danger, pain, distress, sickness, deaths, murders, and cruel- ties; as well as joy, beauty, mirth, and magnificence. It is an absurd secret, which they have for pleasing their company, fixing their atten- tion, and attaching them to such marvellous relations, by the passions and emotions which they excite. There is, however, a difficulty in applying to the present subject, in its full extent, this solution, however ingenious and satisfactory it may appear. It is certain that the same object of distress, whicli ESSAY XXI. BY DAVID HUME, 129 pleases in a tragedy, were it really set before us, would give the most unfeigned uneasiness ; though it be then the most effectual cure to langour and indolence. Fontenelle seems to have been sensible of this difficulty; and accordingly attempts another solution of the phenomenon ; at least makes some addition to the theory above- mentioned. [Reflections sur la Poetique, § 36.] * Pleasure and pain/ says he, * which are two sentiments so different ' in themselves, differ not so much in their cause. From the instance of * tickling, it appears, that the movement of pleasure, pushed a little too * far, becomes pain ; and that the movement of pain, a little moderate, * becomes pleasure. Hence it proceeds, that there is such a thing as * sorrow, soft and agreeable : it is a pain weakened and diminished. * The heart likes naturally to be moved and affected. Melancholy * objects suit it, and even disastrous and sorrowful, provided they are * softened by some circumstance. It is certain, that, on the theatre, * the representation has always the effect of reality ; yet it has not * altogether that effect. However we may be hurried away by the * spectacle ; whatever dominion the sense and imagination may * usurp over the reason, there still lurks at the bottom a certain idea, * of falsehood in the whole of what we see. This idea, though weak * and disguised, suffices to diminish the pain which we suffer from * the misfortunes of those whom we love, and to reduce that affliction *to such a pitch as converts it into a pleasure. We weep for the * misfortune of a hero, to whom we are attached. In the same instant * we comfort ourselves, by reflecting, that it is nothing but a fiction : ' and it is precisely that mixture of sentiments, which composes an * agreeable sorrow, and tears that delight us. But as that affliction, ^ which is caused by exterior and sensible objects, is stronger than ' the consolation which arises from an internal reflection, they are * the effects and symptoms of sorrow, that ought to predominate in ^ the composition.' This solution seems just and convincing ; but perhaps it wants still some new addition, in order to make it answer fully the phenomenon, which we here examine. All the passions, excited by eloquence, are agreeable in the highest degree, as well as those which are moved by painting and the theatre. The Epilogues of Cicero are, on this account, chiefly, the delight of every reader of taste ; and it is difficult to read some of them without the deepest sympathy and sorrow. His merit as an orator, no doubt, depends much on his success in this particular. When he had raised tears in his judges and all his audi- ence, they where then the most highly delighted, and expressed the greatest satisfaction with the pleader. The pathetic description of the butchery, made by Verres of the Sicilian captains, is a master- piece of this kind ; but I believe none will afflrm, that the being 9resent at a melancholy scene of that nature would afford any entci- Q 130 OF TRAGEDY. tainment Neither is the sorrow here softened by fiction : for the audience were convinced of the reahty of every circumstance. What is it, then, which in this case raises a pleasure from the bosom of uneasiness, so to speak ; and a pleasure, which retains all the features and outward symptoms of distress and sorrow? I answer : this extraordinary effect proceeds from that very eloquence, ivith which the melancholy scene is represented. The genius required to paint objects in a lively manner, the art employed in collecting all the pathetic circumstances, the judgment displayed in disposing them : the exercise, I say, of these noble talents, together with the force of expression, and beauty of oratorial numbers, diffuse the highest satisfaction on the audience, and excite the most delightful move- ments. By this means, the uneasiness of the melancholy passions is not only overpowered and effaced by something stronger of an opposite kind ; but the whole impulse of those passions is converted into pleasure, and swells the delight which the eloquence raises in us, The same force of oratory, employed on an uninteresting subject, would not please half so much, or rather would appear altogether ridiculous; and the mind, being left in absolute calmness and indifference, would relish none of those beauties of imagination or expression, which, if joined to passion, give it such exquisite entertain- ment. The impulse or vehemence, arising from sorrow, compas- sion, indignation, receives a new direction from these sentiments of beauty. The latter, being the predominant motion, seize the whole mind, and convert the former into themselves, at least tincture them so strongly as totally to alter their nature. And the soul, being, at the same time, roused by passion, and charmed by eloquence, feels, on the whole a stong movement, which is altogether delightful. The same principle takes place in tragedy ; with this addition, that tragedy is an imitation ; and imitation is always of itself agreeable. This circumstance serves still farther to smooth the motions of passion, dnd convert the whole feeling into one uniform and strong enjoyment Objects of the greatest terror and distress please in painting, and pleasa more than the most beautiful objects, that appear calm and indifferent.* The affection, rousing the mind, excites a large stock of spirit and vehemence ; which is all transformed into pleasure by the force of the prevailing movement. It is thus the fiction of tragedy softens the passion, by an infusion of a new feeling, not merely by weakening or diminishing the sorrow. You may by degrees weaken a real sorrow, * Painters make no scruple of representing distress and sorrow as well as any other passion : but they seem not to dwell so much on these melancholy affections as the poets, who, though they copy every motion of the human breast, yet pass quickly over the agreeable sentiments. A painter represents only one instant ; and if that be passionate enough, it is sure to affect and delight the spectator ; but nothing can furnish to the poet a variety of scenes and incidents and sentiments, except distress, terror, or anxiety. Coracle te joy and satisfaction is attendee} with security, and leaves no farther room for action. ESSAY XXI. BY DAVID HUME. dll it totally disappears ; yet in none of its gradations will it ever give pleasure; except, perhaps, by accident, to a man sunk under lethargic indolence, whom it rouses from that languid state. To confirm this theory, it will be sufficient to produce other in- stances, where the subordinate movement is converted into the pre- dominant, and gives force ^ it, though of a different, and even some- times though of a contrary nature. Novelty naturally rouses the mind, and attracts our attention ; and the movements, which it causes, are always converted mto any passion belonging to the object, and join their force to it. Whether an event excite joy or sorrow, pride or shame, anger or good- will, it is sure to produce a stronger affection, when new or unusual. And though novelty of itself be agreeable, it fortifies the painful, as well as the agreeable passions. Had you any intention to move a person extremely by the narration of any event, the best method of increasing its effect would be artfully to delay informing him of it, and first to excite his curiosity and im- patience before you let him into the secret. This is the artifice prac- tised by lago in the famous scene of Shakespeare ; and every spectator is sensible, that Othello's jealousy acquires additional force from his preceding impatience, and that the subordinate passion is here readily transformed into the predominant one. Difficulties increase passions of every kind ; and by rousing our attention, and exciting our active powers, they produce an emotion, which nourishes the prevailing affection. Parents commonly love that child most whose sickly, infirm frame of body, has occasioned them the greatest pains, trouble, and anxiety, in rearing him. The agreeable sentiment of affection here acquires force from sentiments of uneasiness. Nothing endears so much a friend as sorrow for his death. The pleasure of his company has not so powerful an influence. Jealousy is a painful passion ; yet without some share of it, the agreeable affection of love has difficulty to subsist in its full force and violence. Absence is also a great source of complaint among lovers, and gives them the greatest uneasiness : yet nothing is more favour- able to their mutual passion than short intervals of that kind. And if long intervals often prove fatal, it is only because, through time, men are accustomed to them, and they cease to give uneasiness. Jealousy and absence in love compose the dolce piccante of the Italians, which they suppose so essential to all pleasure. There is a fine observation of the elder Pliny, which illustrates the principle here insisted on. ' It is very remarkable,' says he, 'that the * last works of celebrated artists, which they left imperfect, are always • the most prized, such as the IRIS of Aristides, the Tyndarides of Nicomachus, the MEDEiV pf Timomachus, and the VENUS of Apelles/ 132 OF TRAGEDY. These are valued even above their finished productions, ITie broken lineaments of the piece, and the half-formed idea of the painter, are carefully studied ; and our very grief for that curious hand, which had been stopped by death, is an additional increase to our pleasure.* These instances (and many more might be collected) are sufficient to afford us some insight into the analogy of nature, and to show us, that the pleasure which poets, orators, and musicians give us, by exciting grief, sorrow, indignation, compassion, is not so extraordinary or paradoxical as it may at first sight appear. The force of imagina- tion, the energy of expression, the power of numbers, the charms of imitation ; all these are naturally, of themselves, delightful to the mind : and when the object presented lays also hold of some affection, the pleasure still rises upon us, by the conversion of this subordinate movement into that which is predominant. The passion, though per- haps naturally, and when excited by the simple appearance of a real object, it may be painful; yet is so smoothed, and softened, and molli- fied, when raised by the finer arts, that it affords to us the highest entertainment. To confirm this reasoning, we may observe, that if the movements of the imagination be not predominant above those of the passion, a contrary effect follows ; and the former, being now subordinate, is converted into the latter, and still farther increases the pain and affliction of the sufferer. Who could ever think of it as a good expedient for comforting an afflicted parent, to exaggerate, with all the force of elocution, the irre- parable loss which he has met with by the death of a favourite child ? The more power of imagination and expression you here employ, the more you increase his despair and affliction. The shame, confusion, and terror of Verres, no doubt, rose in pro- portion to the noble eloquence and vehemence of Cicero : so also did his pain and uneasiness. These former passions were too strong for the pleasure arising from the beauties of elocution ; and operated, though from the same principle, yet in a contrary manner, to the sym- pathy, compassion, and indignation of the audience. Lord Clarendon, when he approaches towards the catastrophe of the royal party, supposes that his narration must then become infi- nitely disagreeable ; and he hurries over the king's death without giving us one circumstance of it. He considers it as too horrid a scene to be contemplated with any satisfaction, or even without the utmost pain and aversion. He himself, as well as the readers of that age, were too deeply concerned in the events, and felt a pain from * Illud vero perquam rarum ac memoria dignum, etiam suprema opera artificum, imper- fectasque tabulas, sicut, Irin Aristidis, Tyndaridas Nicomachi, Medeam Timomachi, et quani diximus Venerem Apellis, in majori admiratione esse quam perfecta. Quippe in iis lineamenta reliqua, ipsaeque cogitationes artificum spectantur, atque in lenocinjo copimen- dationi^ dolor est manus, cum id ageret, extinctap.— Lib. xxxv. cap. ii. ESSAY XXI. BY DAVID HUME. subjects, which an historian and a reader of another age would regard as the most pathetic and the most interesting, and, by consequence, the most agreeable. An action, represented in tragedy, may be too bloody and atrocious. It may excite such movements of horror as will not soften into plea- sure ; and the greatest energy of expression, bestowed on descriptions of that nature, serves only to augment our uneasiness. Such is that action represented in the Ambitioics Stepmother^ where a venerable old man, raised to the height of fury and despair, rushes against a pillar, and, striking his head upon it, besmears it all over with mingled brains and gore. The English theatre abounds too much with such shocking images. Even the common sentiments of compassion require to be softened by some agreeable affection, in order to give a thorough satisfaction to the audience. The mere suffering of plaintive virtue, under the triumphant tyranny and oppression of vice, forms a disagreeable spec- tacle, and is carefully avoided by all masters of the drama. In order to dismiss the audience with entire satisfaction and contentment, the virtue must either convert itself into a noble courageous despair, or the vice receive its proper punishment. Most painters appear in this light to have been very unhappy in their subjects. As they wrought much for churches and convents, they have chiefly represented such horrible subjects as crucifixions and martyrdoms, where nothing appears but tortures, wounds, executions, and passive suffering, without any action or affection. When they turned their pencil from this ghastly mythology, they had commonly recourse to Ovid, whose fictions, though passionate and agreeable, are scarcely natural or probable enough for painting. The same inversion of that principle, which is here insisted on, displays itself in common life, as in the effects of oratory and poetry. Raise so the subordinate passion that it becomes the predominant, it swallows up that affection which it before nourished and increased. Too much jealousy extinguishes love. Too much difficulty renders us indifferent: too much sickness and infirmity disgusts a selfish and unkind parent. What so disagreeable as the dismal, gloomy, disastrous stories, with which melancholy people entertain their companions ? The uneasy passion being there raised alone, unaccompanied with any spirit, genius, or eloquence, conveys a pure uneasiness, and is attended with nothing that can soften it into pleasure or satisfaction. 134 OF THE STANDARD OF TASTE. XXII.— OF THE STANDARD OF TASTE. Tjie great variety of Taste, as well as of opinion, which prevails in the world, is too obvious not to have fallen under every one's observation. Men of the most confined knowledge are able to remark a difference of taste in the narrow circle of their acquaintance, even where the persons have been educated under the same government, and have early imbibed the same prejudices. But those, who can enlarge their view to contemplate distant nations and remote ages, are still more surprised at the great inconsistence and contrariety. We are apt to call babarotis whatever departs widely from our own taste and appre- hension ; but soon find the epithet of reproach retorted on us. And the highest arrogance and self-conceit is at last startled, on observing an equal assurance on all sides, and scruples, amidst such a contest of sentiment, to pronounce positively in its own favour. As this variety of taste is obvious to the most careless inquirer ; so will it be found, on examination, to be still greater in reality than in appearance. The sentiments of men often differ with regard to beauty and deformity of all kinds, even while their general discourse is the same. There are certain terms in every language, which import blame, and others praise ; and all men, who use the same tongue, must agree in their application of them. Every voice is united in applauding ele- gance, propriety, simplicity, spirit in writing ; and in blaming fustian, affectation, coldness, and a false brilliancy : but when critics come to particulars, this seeming unanimity vanishes ; and it is found, that they had affixed a very different meaning to their expressions. In all matters of opinion and science, the case is opposite : the difference among men is there oftener found to lie in generals than in particulars ; and to be less in reality than in appearance. An explanation of the terms com- monly ends the controversy ; and the disputants are surprised to find, that they had been quarrelling, while at bottom they agreed in their judgment. Those who found morality on sentiment, more than on reason, are inclined to comprehend ethics under the former observation, and to maintain, that, in all questions, which regard conduct and manners, the difference among men is really greater than at first sight it appears. It is indeed obvious, that writers of all nations and all ages concur in applauding justice, humanity, magnanimity, prudence, veracity ; and in blaming the opposite qualities. Even poets and other authors, whose compositions are chiefly calculated to please the imagination, are yet found, from Hcmer down to Fenelon, to inculcate the same moral precepts, and to bestow their applause and blame on the same virtues and vices. Thia great unanimity is usually ascribed to ths ESSAY XXII. BY DAVID HUME. influence of plain reason .; which, in all these cases, maintains similar sentiments in all men, and prevents those controversies, to which the abstracts are so much exposed. So far as the unanimity is real, this account may be admitted as satisfactory : but we must also allow, that some part of the seeming harmony in morals may be accounted for from the very nature of language. The word virtue^ with its equi- valent in every tongue, implies praise : as that of vice does blame : and no man, without the most obvious and grossest impropriety, could affix reproach to a term, which in general acceptation is understood in a good sense ; or bestow applause, where the idiom requires disap- probation. Homer's general precepts, where be delivers any such, will never be controverted ; but it is obvious, that, when he draws particular pictures of manners, and represents heroism in Achilles and prudence in Ulysses, he intermixes a much greater degree of ferocity in the former, and of cunning and fraud in the latter, than Fenelon would admit of. The sage Ulysses in the Greek poet seems to delight in lies and fictions, and often employs them without any neces- sity or even advantage : but his more scrupulous son, in the French epic writer, exposes himself to the most imminent perils, rather than depart from the most exact line of truth and veracity. The admirers and followers of the Alcoran insist on the excellenc moral precepts interspersed through that wild and absurd perform- ance. But it is to be supposed, that the Arabic words, which corres« pond to the English, equity, justice, temperance, meekness, charity, were such as, from the constant use of that tongue, must always be taken in a good sense ; and it would have argued the greatest igno- rance, not of morals, but of language, to have mentioned them with any epithets, besides those of applause and approbation. But would we know whether the pretended prophet had really attained a just sentiment of morals Let us attend to his narration : and we shall soon find, that he bestows praise on such instances of treachery, in- humanity, cruelty, revenge, bigotry, as are utterly incompatible with civilized society. No steady rule of right seems there to be attended to ; and every action is blamed or praised, so far only as it is bene' ficial or hurtful to the true believers. The merit of delivering true general precepts in ethics is indeed very small. Whoever recommends any moral virtues, really does no more than is implied in the terms themselves. That people, who in- vented the word charity^ and used it in a good sense, inculcated more clearly and much more efficaciously, the precept, be charitable^ than any pretended legislator or prophet, who should insert such a maxim in his writings. Of all expressions, those, which, together with their other meaning, imply a degree either of blame or approbation, are the least liable to be perverted or mistaken. It is natural for ;»s to seek a Standard of Taste; a rule, by which 136 OF ttlE STANDARD OF TASTE. the various setitiments of men may be reconciled ; at leagt, a dec(?ion affordedj confirming one sentiment, and condemning another. There is a species of philosophy, which cuts off all hopes of success in such an attempt, and represents the impossibility of ever attaining any standard of taste. The difference, it is said, is very wide between judgment and sentiment. All sentiment is right ; because sentiment has a reference to nothing beyond itself, and is always real, wherever a man is conscious of it. But all determinations of the understand- ing are not right; because they have a reference to something be- yond themselves, to wit, real matter of fact ; and are not always conformable to that standard. Among a thousand different opinions which different men may entertain of the same subject, there is one, and but one, that is just and true ; and the only difficulty is to fix and ascertain it. On the contrary, a thousand different senti- ments, excited by the same object, are all right : because no senti- ment represents what is really in the object. It only mxarks a cer- tain conformity or relation between the object and the organs or faculties of the mind ; and if that conformity did not really exist, the sentiment could never possibly have being. Beauty is no quality in things themselves : it exists merely in the mind which contemplates them ; and each mind perceives a different beauty. One person may even perceive deformity, where another is sensible of beauty ; and every individual ought to acquiesce in his own sentiment, without pretending to regulate those of others. To seek the real beauty, or real deformity, is as fruitless an inquiry, as to pretend to ascertain the real sweet or real bitter. According to the disposition of the organs, the same object may be both sweet and bitter : and the proverb has justly determined it to be fruitless to dispute concerning tastes. It is very natural, and even quite neces- sary, to extend this axiom to mental, as well as bodily taste ; and thus common sense, which is so often at variance with philosophy, especially with the sceptical kind, is found, in one instance at least, to agree in pronouncing the same decision. But though this axiom, by passing into a proverb, seems to have attained the sanction of common sense ; there is certainly a species of common sense, which opposes it, at least serves to modify and res- train it. Whoever would assert an equality of genius and elegance between Ogilby and Milton, or Bunyan and Addison, would be thought to defend no less an extravagance, than if he had maintained a mole- hill to be as high as Teneriffe, or a pond as extensive as the ocean, Though there may be found persons, who give the preference to the former authors ; no one pays attention to such a taste ; and we pro- nounce, without scruple, the sentiment of these pretended critics to be absurd and ridiculous. The principle of the natural equality of tastes is then totally forgot, and while we admit it on some occasions, ESSAY XXIT. BY DAVID HUME. ^37 where the objects seem near an equality, it appears an extra^ agant paradox, or rather a palpable absurdity, where objects so dispro- portioned are compared together. It is evident that none of the rules of composition are fixed by reasonings a priori^ or can be esteemed abstract conclusions of the understanding, from comparing those habitudes and relations of ideas, which are eternal and immutable. Their foundation is the same with that of all the practical sciences, experience ; nor are there any thing but general observations, concerning what has been universally found to please in all countries and in all ages. Many of the beauties of poetry, and even of eloquence, are founded on falsehood and fiction, on hyperboles, metaphors, and an abuse or perversion of terms from their natural meaning. To check the sallies of the imagination, and to reduce every expression to geometrical truth and exactness, would be the most contrary to the laws of criticism ; be- cause it would produce a work, which, by universal experience, has been found the most insipid and disagreeable. But though poetry can never submit to exact truth, it must be confined by rules of art, discovered to the author either by genius or observation. If some negligent or irregular writers have pleased, they have not pleased by their trangessions of rule or order, but in spite of these transgres- sions : they have possessed other beauties, which were conformable to just criticism; and the force of these beauties has been able to over- power censure, and give the mind a satisfaction superior to the disgust aiising from the blemishes. Ariosto pleases ; but not by his mon- strous and improbable fictions, by his bizarre mixture of the serious and comic styles, by the want of coherence in his stories, or by the continual interruptions of his narration. He charms by the force and clearness of his expression, by the readiness and variety of his inven- tions, and by his natural pictures of the passions, especially those of the gay and amorous kind : and however his faults may diminish our satisfaction, they are not able entirely to destroy it. Did our pleasure really arise from those parts of his poem, which we denominate faults, this would be no objection to criticism in general : it would only be an objection to those particular rules of criticism, which would es- tablish such circumstances to be faults, and would represent them as universally blameable. If they are found to please, they cannot be faults ; let the pleasure, which they produce, be ever so unex- pected and unaccountable. But though all the general rules of art are founded only on experience, and on the observation of the common sentiments of human nature, we must not imagine, that, on every occasion, the feelings of men will be conformable to these rules. Those finer emotions of the mind are of a very tender and delicate nature, and require the concurrence of man)^ favourable circumstances to make them play with facility and 138 OF THE STANDARD OF TASTE, exactness, according to their general and established principles. The least exterior hindrance to such small springs, or the least internal disorder, disturbs their motion, and confounds the operation of the whole machine. When we would make an experiment of this nature?, and would try the force of any beauty or deformity, we must choose with care a proper time and place, and bring the fancy to a suitable situation and disposition. A perfect serenity of mind, a recollection of thought, a due attention to the object ; if any of these circumstances be wanting, our experiment will be fallacious, and we shall be unable to judge of the catholic and universal beauty. The relation, which nature has placed between the form and the sentiment, will at least be more obscure ; and it will require greater accuracy to trace and discern it. We shall be able to ascertain its influence, not so much from the operation of each particular beauty, as from the durable admiration, which attends those works, that have survived all the caprices of mode and fashion, all the mistakes of ignorance and envy. The same Homer, who pleased at Athens and Rome two thousand years ago, is still admired at Paris and at London. All the changes of climate, government, religion, and language, have not been able to obscure his glory. Authority or prejudice may give a temporary vogue to a bad poet or orator ; but his reputation wall never be durable or general. When his compositions are examined by posterity or by foreigners, the enchantment is dissipated, and his faults appear in their true colours. On the contrary, a real genius, the longer his works endure, and the more wide they are spread, the more sincere is the admiration which he meets with. Envy and jealousy have too much place in a narrow circle ; and even familiar acquaintance with his person may diminish the applause due to his performances : but when these obstructions are removed, the beauties, which are naturally fitted to excite agreeable sentiments, immediately display their energy ; and while the world endures, they maintain their authority over the minds of men. It appears then, that, amidst all the variety and caprice of taste, there are certain general principles of approbation or blame, whose influence a careful eye may trace in all operations of the mind. Som particular forms or qualities, from the original structure ol the intern fabric, are calculated to please, and others to displease ; and if the fail of their effect in any particular instance, it is from some apparer defect or imperfection in the organ. A man in a fever would not insis on his palate as able to decide concerning flavours ; nor would one, effected with the jaundice, pretend to give a verdict with regard to colours. In each creature, there is a sound and a defective state ; and the former alone can be supposed to afford us a true standard of taste and sentiment. If, in the sound state of the organ, there be an entire or a considerable uniformity of sentiment among men, we may thence ESSAY XXII. BY DAVID HUME. derive an idea of the perfect beauty ; in like manner as the appearance of objects in day-light, to the eye of a man in health, is denominated their true and real colour, even while colour is allowed to be merely a phantasm of the senses. Many and frequent are the defects in the internal organs, which prevent or weaken the influence of those general principles, on which depends our sentiment of beauty or deformity. Though some objects, by the structure of the mind, be naturally calculated to give pleasure, it is not to be expected, that in every individual the pleasure will be equally felt. Particular incidents and situations occur, which either throw a false light on the objects, or hinder the true from conveying tc the imagination the proper sentiment and perception. One obvious cause, why many feel not the proper sentiment of beauty, is the want of that delicacy of imagination, which is requisite to convey a sensibility of those finer emotions. This delicacy every one pretends to : every one talks of it ; and would reduce every kind of taste or sentiment to its standard. But as our intention in this essay is to mingle some light of the understanding with the feelings of sentiment, it will be proper to give a more accurate definition of delicacy than has hitherto been attempted. And not to draw our philosophy from too profound a source, we shall have recourse to a noted story in Don Quixote. It is with good reason, says Sancho to the squire with the great nose, that I pretend to have a judgment in wine : this is a quality hereditary in our family. Two of my kinsmen were once called to give their opinion of a hogshead, which was supposed to be excellent, being old and of a good vintage. One of them tastes it ; considers it ; and, after mature reflection, pronounces the wine to be good, were it not for a small taste of leather, which he perceived in it. The other, after using the same precautions, gives also his verdict in favour of the wine ; but with the reserve of a taste of iron, which he could easily distinguish. You cannot imagine how much they were both ridiculed for their judgment. But who laughed in the end.? On emptying the hogshead, there was found at the bottom an old key with a leathern thong tied to it. The great resemblance between mental and bodily taste will easily teach us to apply this story. Though it be certain, that beauty and deformity, more than sweet and bitter, are not qualities in objects, but belong entirely to the sentiment, internal or external ; it must be allowed, that there are certain qualities in objects, which are fitted by nature to produce those particular feelings. Now as these qualities may be found in a small degree, or may be mixed and confounded with each other, it often happens that the taste is not affected with such minute qualities, or is not able to distinguish all the particular flavours, amidst the disorder in which they are presented. Where the 140 OP THE STANDARD OP TASTE. organs are so fine, as to allow nothing to escape them ; and at the same time so exact, as to perceive every ingredient in the composi- tion : this we call delicacy of taste, whether we employ these terms in the literal or metaphorical sense. Here then the general rules of beauty are of use, being drawn from established models, and from the obser- vation of what pleases or displeases, when presented singly and in a high degree : and if the same qualities, in a continued composition, and in a smaller degree, affect not the organs with a sensible delight or uneasiness, we exclude the person from all pretensions to this de- licacy. To produce these general rules or avowed patterns of com- position, is like finding the key with the leathern thong ; which justified the verdict of Sancho's kinsmen, and confounded those pre- tended judges who had condemned them. Though the hogshead had never been emptied, the taste of the one was still equally delicate, and that of the other equally dull and languid : but it would have been more difficult to have proved the superiority of the former, to the con- viction of every bye-stander. In hke manner, though the beauties of writing had never been methodized, or reduced to general principles ; though no excellent models had ever been acknowledged ; the different degrees of taste would still have subsisted, and the judgment of one man been preferable to that of another ; but it would not have been so easy to silence the bad critic, who might always insist upon his particular sentiment, and refuse to submit to his antagonist. But when we show him an avowed principle of art ; when we illustrate this principle by examples, whose operation, from his own particular taste, he acknowledges to be conformable to the principle ; when we prove that the same principle may be applied to the present case, where he did not perceive or feel its influence: he must conclude, upon the whole, that the fault lies in himself, and that he wants the delicacy, which is requisite to make him sensible of every beauty and every blemish, in any composition or discourse. It is acknowledged to be the perfection of every sense or faculty, ta perceive with exactness its most minute objects, and allow nothing to escape its notice and observation. The smaller the objects are, which become sensible to the eye, the finer is that organ, and the more ela- borate its make and composition. A good palate is not tried by strong flavours, but a mixture of small ingredients, where we are still sensible of each part, notwithstanding its minuteness and its confusion with the rest. In like manner, a quick and acute perception of beauty and de- formity must be the perfection of our mental taste ; nor can a man be satisfied with himself while he suspects that any excellence or blemish in a discourse has passed him unobserved. In this case, the perfec- tion of the man, and the perfection of the sense or feeling, are found to be united. A very delicate palate, on many occasions, may be a great inconvenience both to a man himself an'l to his friends : but a ESSAY XXII. BY DAVID HUME. 141 delicivte taslc of wit or beauty must always bo a desirable quality, be- cause it is the source of ali the finest and most innocent enjoyments of which human nature is susceptible. In this decision the senti- ments of all mankind are agreed. Wherever you can ascertain a de- licacy of taste, it is sure to meet with approbation ; and the best way of ascertaining it is to appeal to those models and principles which have been estabhshed by the uniform consent and experience of nations and ages. But though there be naturally a wide difference in point of delicacy between one person and another, nothing tends further to increase and improve this talent, \\\7}C[v practice in a particular art, and the fre- quent survey or contemplation of a particular species of beauty. When objects of any kind are first presented to the eye or imagination, the sentiment which attends them is obscure and confused ; and the mind is, in a great measure, incapable of pronouncing concerning their merits or defects. The taste cannot perceive the several excellencies of the performance, much less distinguish the particular character of each excellency, and ascertain its quality and degree. If it pronounce the whole in general to be beautiful or deformed, it is the utmost that can be expected ; and even this judgment, a person so unpractised will be apt to deliver with great hesitation and reserve. But allow him to acquire experience in those objects, his feeling becomes more exact and nice : he not only perceives the beauties and defects of each part, but marks the distinguishing species of each quality, and assigns it suitable praise or blame. A clear and distinct sentiment attends him through the whole survey of the objects ; and he discerns that very degree and kind of approbation or displeasure which each part is naturally fitted to produce. The mist dissipates which seemed formerly to hang over the object : the organ acquires greater perfection in its operations ; and can pronounce, without danger or mistake, concern- ing the merits of every performance. In a word, the same address and dexterity, which practice gives to the execution of any work, is also acquired by the same means, in the judging of it. So advantageous is practice to the discernment of beauty, that, before we can give judgment on any work of importance, it will even be requisite that that very individual performance be more than once perused by us, and be surveyed in different lights with attention and deliberation. There is a flutter or hurry of thought which attends the first perusal of any piece, and which confounds the genuine sentiment of beauty. The relation of the parts is not discerned: the true cha- racters of style are little distinguished. The several perfections and defects seem wrapped up in a species of confusion, and present them- selves indistinctly to the imagination. Not to mention, that there is a species of beauty, which, as it is florid and superficial, pleases at first ; but being found incompatible with a just expression either of reason 142 OF THE STANDARD OF TASTE. or passion, soon palls upon the taste, and is then rejected with disdain, at least rated at a much lower value. It is impossible to continue in the practice of contemplating any order of beauty, without being frequently obliged to form comparisons between the several species and degrees of excellence, and estimating their proportion to each other. A man, who has had no opportunity of comparing the different kinds of beauty, is indeed totally unqualified to pronounce an opinion with regard to any object presented to him. By comparison alone we fix the epithets of praise or blame, and learn how to assign the due degree of each. The coarsest daubing contains a certain lustre of colours and exactness of imitation, which are so far beauties, and would affect the mind of a peasant or Indian with the highest admiration. The most vulgar ballads are not entirely destitute of harmony or nature ; and none but a person familiarised to superior beauties would pronounce their numbers harsh, or narration uninterest- ing. A great inferiority of beauty gives pain to a person conversant in the highest excellence of the kind, and is for that reason pronounced a deformity : as the most finished object with which we are acquainted is naturally supposed to have reached the pinnacle of perfection, and to be entitled to the highest applause. One accustomed to see, and examine, and weigh the several performances, admired in different ages and nations, can alone rate the merits of a work exhibited to his view, and assign its proper rank among the productions of genius. But to enable a critic the n^iore fully to execute this undertaking, he must preserve his mind free from all prejudice^ and allow nothing to enter into his consideration but the very object which is submitted to his examination. We may observe, that every work of art, in order to produce its due effect on the mind, must be surveyed in a certain point of view, and cannot be fully relished by persons, whose situation, real or imaginary, is not conformable to that which is required by the performance. An orator addresses himself to a particular audience, and must have a regard to their particular genius, interests, opinions, passions, and prejudices ; otherwise he hopes in vain to govern their resolutions, and inflame their affections. Should they even have entertained some prepossessions against him, however unreasonable, he must not overlook this disadvantage ; but, before he enters upon the subject, must endeavour to concihate their affection, and acquire their good graces. A critic of a different age or nation, who should peruse this discourse, must have ail these circumstances in his eye, and must place himself in the same situation as the audience, in order to form a true judgment of the oration. In like manner, when any work is addressed to the public, though I should have a friendship or * enmity with the author, I must depart from this situation ; and con- sidering myself as a man in general, forget, if possible, my individual ESSAY XXII. BY DAVID HUME. being, and my peculiar circumstances. A person influenced by preju- dice, complies not with this condition, but obstinately maintains his natural position, without placing himself in that point of view which the performance supposes. If the work be addressed to persons of a different ageor nation, hemakes no allowance for their peculiar views and prejudices ; but, full of the manners of his own age and country, rashly condemns what seemed admirable in the eyes of those for whom alone the discourse was calculated. If the work be executed for the public, he never sufficiently enlarges his comprehension, or forgets his interest as a friend or enemy, as a rival or commentator. By this means, his sentiments are perverted ; nor have the same beauties and blemishes the same influence upon him, as if he had imposed a proper violence on his imagination, and had forgotten himself for a moment. So far his taste evidently departs from the true standard, and of consequence loses all credit and authority. It is well known, that in all questions submitted to the understanding, prejudice is destructive of sound judgment, and perverts all operations of the intellectual faculties : it is no less contrary to good taste ; nor has it less influence to corrupt our sentiment of beauty. It belongs to good sense to check its influence in both cases ; and in this respect, as well as in many others, reason, if not an essential part of taste, is at least requisite to the operations of this latter faculty. In all the nobler productions of genius, there is a mutual relation and correspondence of parts ; nor can either the beauties or blemishes be perceived by him, whose thought is not capacious enough to comprehend all those parts, and compare them with each other, in order to perceive the consistence and uniformity of the whole. Every work of art has also a certain end or purpose for which it is calculated ; and is to be deemed more or less perfect, as it is more or less fitted to attain this end. The object of eloquence is to persuade, of history to instruct, of poetry to please, by means of the passions and the imagination. These ends we must carry constantly in our view when we peruse any performance ; and we must be able to judge how far the means employed are adapted to their respective purposes. Besides, every kind of composition, even the most poetical, is nothing but a chain of propositions and reasonings ; not always, indeed, the justest and most exact, but still plausible and specious, however disguised by the colouring of the imagination. The persons introduced in tragedy and epic poetry, must be represented as reasoning, and thinking, and concluding, and acting, suitably to their character and circumstances ; and without judgment, as well as taste and invention, a poet can never hope to succeed in so delicate an undertaking. Not to mention, that the same excellence of faculties which contributes to the improvement of reason, the same clearness of conception, the same exactness of distinction, the same vivacity of apprehension^ are essential to the operations of true taste, and are its 144 OF THE STANDARD OF TASTF. infallible concomitants. It seldom or never happens, that a man oi sense, who has experience in any art, cannot judge of its beauty ; an^^ it is no less rare to meet with a man who has a just taste without a sound understanding. Thus, though the principles of taste be universal, and nearly, if not entirely, the same in all men ; yet few are qualified to give judgment on any work of art, or establish their own sentiment as the standard of beauty. The organs of internal sensation are seldom so perfect as to allow the general principles their full play, and produce a feeling correspondent to those principles. They either labour under some defect, or are vitiated by some disorder ; and by that means, excite a sentiment, which may be pronounced erroneous. When the critic has no delicacy, he judges without any distinction, and is only affected by the grosser and more palpable qualities of the object : the finer touches pass unnoticed and disregarded. Where he is not aided by practice, his verdict is attended with confusion and hesitation. Where no com- parison has been employed, the most frivolous beauties, such as rather merit the name of defects, are the object of his admiration. Where he lies under the influence of prejudice, all his natural sentiments are perverted. Where good sense is wanting, he is not qualified to dis- cern the beauties of design and reasoning, which are the highest and most excellent. Under some or other of these imperfections, the generality of men labour ; and hence a true judge in the finer arts is observed, even during the most polished ages, to be so rare a character : strong sense, united to delicate sentiment, improved by practice, per- fected by comparison, and cleared of all prejudice, can alone entitle critics to this valuable character ; and the joint verdict of such, wherever they are to be found, is the true standard of taste and of beauty. But where are such critics to be found ? By what marks are they to be known ? How distinguish them from pretenders ? These ques- tions are embarrassing ; and seem to throw us back into the same uncertainty, from which, during the course of this essay, we have endeavoured to extricate ourselves. But if we consider the matter aright, these are questions of fact, not of sentiment. Whether any particular person be endowed with good sense and a delicate imagination, free from prejudice, may often be the subject of dispute, and be liable to great discussion and inquiry : But that such a character is valuable and estimable, will be agreed in by all mankind. Where these doubts occur, men can do no more than in other disputable questions which are submitted to the under- standing : they must produce the best arguments, that their invention suggests to them ; they must acknowledge a true and decisive standard to exist somewhere, to wit, real existence and matter of fact ; and they must have indulgence to such as differ from them in their appeals to ESSAY XXn. BV DAVID HUME* tills standard. It is sufficient for our present purpose, if we have proved, that the taste of all individuals is not upon an equal footing, and that some men in general, however difficult to be particularly- pitched upon, will be acknowledged by universal sentiment to have a pi eference above others. But in reality, the difficulty of finding, even in particulars, the standard of taste, is not so great as it is represented. Though in speculation, we may readily avow a certain criterion in science, and deny it in sentiment, the matter is found in practice to be much more hard to ascertain in the former case than in the latter. Theories of abstract philosophy, systems of profound theology, have prevailed during one age : in a successive period, these have been universally exploded : their absurdity has been detected : other theories and systems have supplied their place, which again gave place to their successors : and nothing has been experienced more liable to the revo* lutions of chance and fashion than these pretended decisions of science* The case is not the same with the beauties of eloquence and poetry. Just expressions of passion and nature are sure, after a little time, to gain public applause, which they maintain for ever. Aristotle, and Plato, and Epicurus, and Descartes, may successively yield to each other : but Terence and Virgil maintain an universal, undisputed em- pire over the minds of men. The abstract philosophy of Cicero has lost its credit : the vehemence of his oratory is still the object of our admiration. Though men of delicate taste be rare, they are easily to be dis- tinguished in society by the soundness of their understanding, and the superiority of their faculties above the rest of mankind. The ascendant, which they acquire, gives a prevalence to that hvely appro- bation, with which they receive any productions of genius, and renders it generally predominant. Many men, when left to themselves, have but a faint and dubious perception of beauty, who yet are capable of relishing any fine stroke which is pointed out to them. Every convert to the admiration of the real poet or orator is the cause of some new conversion. And though prejudices may prevail for a time, they never unite in celebrating any rival to the true genius, but yield at last to the force of nature and just sentiment. Thus, though a civilized nation may easily be mistaken in the choice of their admired philosopher, they never have been found long to err, in their affection for a favourite epic or tragic author. But notwithstanding all our endeavours to fix a standard of taste, and reconcile the discordant apprehensions of men, there still remain two sources of variation, which are not sufficient indeed to confound all the boundaries of beauty and deformity, but will often serve to pro- duce a difference in the degrees of our approbation or blame. The one is the different humours of particular men ; the other, the parti* ID OP THE STANDARD OF TASTE. oilar manners and opinions of our age and country. The general principles of taste are uniform in human nature : where men vary in there judgments, some defect or perversions in the faculties may com- monly be remarked ; proceeding either from prejudice, from want Oi practice, or want of delicacy : and there is just reason for approving one taste, and condemning another. But where there is such a diver- sity in the internal frame or external situation as is entirely blameless on both sides, and leaves no room to give one the preference above the other ; in that case a certain degree of diversity in judgment is una- voidable, and we seek in vain for a standard, by which we can recon- cile the contrary sentiments. A young man, whose passions are warm, will be more sensibly touched with amorous and tender images, than a man more advanced in years, who takes pleasure in wise, philosophical reflections, con- cerning the conduct of life and moderation of the passions. At twenty, Ovid may be the favourite author ; Horace at forty ; and perhaps Tacitus at fifty. Vainly would we, in such cases, endeavour to enter into the sentiments of others, and divest ourselves of those propensities which are natural to us. We choose our favourite author as we do our friend, from a conformity of humour and disposition. Mirth or passion, sentiment or reflection ; which ever of these most predominates in our temper, it gives us a peculiar sympathy with the writer who resembles us. One person is more pleased with the sublime ; another with the tender ; a third with raillery. One has a strong sensibility to blemishes, and is extremely studious of correctness : another has a more lively feeling of beauties, and pardons twenty absurdities and defects for one elevated or pathetic stroke. The ear of this man is entirely turned towards conciseness and energy ; that man is dehghted with a copious, rich, and harmonious expression. Simplicity is affected by one ; orna- ment by another. Comedy, tragedy, satire, odes, have each its par- tizans, Vv^ho prefer that particular species of writing to all others. It is plainly an error in a critic, to confine his approbation to one species or style of writing, and condemn all the rest. But it is almost impos- sible not to feel a predilection for that which suits our particular turn and disposition. Such preferences are innocent and unavoidable, and can never reasonably be the object of dispute, because there is no standard by which they can be decided. For a like reason, we are more pleased, in the course of our reading, with pictures and characters that resemble objects which are found in our own age or country, than with those which describe a different set of customs. It is not without some effort, that we reconcile ourselves to the simplicity of ancient manners, and behold princesses carrying water from the spring, and kings and heroes dressing their own victuals. We may allow in general, that the representation of such manners is ^SAY XXII. BY DAVID HUME. no fault in the author, nor deformity in the piece ; but we are not so sensibly touched with them. For this reason, comedy is not easily transferred from one age or nation to another. A Frenchman or Enghshman is not pleased with the Andria of Terence, or Clitia of Machiavel ; where the fine lady, upon whom all the play turns, never once appears to the spectators, but is always kept behind the scenes, suitably to the reserved humour of the ancient Greeks and modern Italians. A man of learning and reflection can make allowance for these peculiarities of manners ; but a common audience can never divest themselves so far of^^their usual ideas and sentiments, as to relish pictures which nowise resemble them. But here there occurs a reflection, which may, perhaps, be useful in examining the celebrated controversy concerning ancient and modern learning; where we often find the one side excusing any seeming absurdity in the ancients from the manners of the age, and the other refusing to admit this excuse, or at least admitting it only as an apology for the author, not for the performance. In my opinion, the proper boundaries in this object have seldom been fixed between the contending parties. Where any innocent peculiarities of manners are represented, such as those above mentioned, they ought certainly to be admitted ; and a man, who is shocked with them, gives an evident proof of false delicacy and refinement. The poet's monuine7it more tlurable than brass, must fall to the ground like common brick or clay, were men to make no allowance for the continual revolutions of manners and customs, and would admit of nothing but what was suitable to the prevailing fashion. Must we throw aside the pictures of our ancestors, because of their ruffs and fardingales 1 But where the ideas of morality and decency alter from one age to another, and where vicious manners are described, without being marked with the proper characters of blame and disapprobation, this must be allowed to disfigure the poem, and to be a real deformity. I cannot, nor is it proper I should, enter into ^such sentiments ; and however I may excuse the poet, on account of the manners of his age, I never can rehsh the composition. The want of humanity and of decency, so conspicuous in the characters drawn by several of the ancient poets, even sometimes by Homer and the Greek tragedians, diminishes considerably the merit of their noble performances, and gives modern authors an advantage over them. We are not interested in the fortunes and sentiments of such rough heroes ; we are displeased to find the limits of vice and virtue so much confounded ; and whatever indulgence we may give to the writer on account of his prejudices, we cannot prevail on ourselves to enter into his sentiments, or bear an affection to characters, which we plainly discover to be blameable. The case is not the same with moral principles as with speculative 148 OF THE STANDARD OF TASTE.. opinions of any kind. These are in continual flux and revolution The son embraces a different system from the father. Nay, there scarcely is any man, who can boast of great constancy and uniformity in this particular. Whatever speculative errors may be found in the polite writings of any age or country, they detract but little from the value of those compositions. There needs but a certain turn of thought or imagination to make us enter into all the opinions, which then prevailed, and relish the seniiments or conclusions derived from them. But a very violent effort is requisite to change our judgment of manners, and excite sentiments of approbation or blame, love or hatred, different from those to which the mind, from long custom, has been familiarized. And where a man is confident of the recitude of that moral standard, by which he judges, he is justly jealous of it, and will not pervert the sentiments of his heart for a moment in com- plaisance to any writer whatsoever. Of all the speculative errors, those which regard religion are the most excusable in composition of genius ; nor it is ever permitted to judge of the civility or wisdom of any people, or even of single persons, by the grossness or refinement of their theological principles. On this account, all the absurdities of the pagan system of theology must be overlooked by every critic, who would pretend to form a just notion of ancient poetry; and our posterity, in their turn, must have the same indulgence to their forefathers. No religious principles can ever be imputed as a fault to any poet, while they remain merely principles, and take not such strong possession of his heart, as to lay him under the imputation of bigotry or superstition. Where that happens, they confound the sentiments of morality, and alter the natural boundaries of vice and virtue. They are therefore eternal blemishes, according to the principles above mentioned ; nor are the prejudices and false opinions of the age sufficient to justify them. It is essential to the Roman Cathohc religion to inspire a violent hatred of every other worship, and to represent all pagans, mahome tans, and heretics, as the objects of Divine wrath and vengeance Such sentiments, though they are in reality very blameable, are con« sidered as virtues by the zealots of that communion, and are repre- sented in their tragedies and epic poems as a kind of divine heroism.. This bigotry has disfigured two very fine tragedies of the French theatre, Polieucte and Athalia ; where an intemperate zeal for particular modes of worship is [set off with all the pomp imaginable, and forms the predominant character of the heroes. * What is this,* says the sublime Joad to Josabet, finding her in discourse with Matham the priest of Baal, ' Does the daughter of Davip speak tc this traitor 1 Are you not afraid, less the earth should open and poui forth flames to devour you both ? Or lest these holy walls should "/ill and crush you together? What is his purpose ? Why comes that i:SSAY XXIII. BY DAVID HUME. 149 enemy of God hither to poison the air, which we breathe, with his horrid presence ? ' Such sentiments are received with great applause on the theatre of Paris ; but at London the spectators would be full as much pleased to hear Achilles tell Agamemnon, that he was a dog in his forehead, and a deer in his heart ; or Jupiter threaten Juno with a sound drubbing, if she will be not quiet. XXIII.— OF COMMERCE. The greater part of mankind may be divided into two classes ; that of shallow thinkers, who fall short of the truth ; and that of abstruse thinkers, who go beyond it. The latter class are by far the most rare ; and, I may add, by far the most useful and valuable. They suggest hints, at least, and start difficulties, which they want, perhaps, skill to pursue : but which may produce fine discoveries, when handled by men who have a more just way of thinking. At worst, what they say is uncommon ; and if it should cost some pains to comprehend it, one has, however the pleasure of hearing something that is new. An author is little to be valued who tells us nothing but what we can learn from every coffee-house conversation. All people of shallow thought are apt to decry even those of solid under- standing, as abstruse thinkers, and metaphysicians, and refiners ; and never will allow any thing to be just which is beyond their own weak conceptions. There are some cases, I own, where an extraordinary refinement affords a strong presumption of falsehood, and where no reasoning is to be trusted but what is natural and easy. When a man deliberates concerning his conduct in any particular affair, and forms schemes in politics, trade, economy, or any business in life, he never ought to draw his arguments too fine, or connect too long a chain of consequences together. Something is sure to happen, that will dis- concert his reasoning, and produce an event different from what he expected, liut when we reason upon general subjects, one may justly affirm, that our speculations can scarcely ever be too fine, provided they be just ; and that the difference between a common man and a man of genius is chiefly seen in the shallowness or depth of the prin- ciples upon which they proceed. General reasonings seem intricate merely because they are general ; nor is it easy for the bulk of man- kind to distinguish, in a great number of particulars, that common cir- cumstance in which they all agree, or to extract it, pure and unmixed, from the gtber §uper(luous circumst4pc^§. gvery judgnipnt grcgn' OF COMMERCE. elusion, with them, is particular. They cannot enlarge their view to those universal propositions, which comprehend under them an infinite number of individuals, and include a whole science in a single theo- rem. Their eye is confounded with such an extensive prospect ; and the conclusions derived from it, even though clearly expressed, seem intricate and obscure. But however intricate they may seem, it is certain, that general principles, if just and sound, must always prevail in the general course of things, though they may fail in particular cases ; and it is the chief business of philosophers to regard the general course of things. I may add, that it is also the chief business of poli- ticians ; especially in the domestic government of the state, where the public good, which is, or ought to be their object, depends on the con- currence of a multitude of causes ; not, as in foreign politics, on acci- dents and chances, and the caprices of a few persons. This therefone makes the difference between particular deliberations and general rea- sonings, and renders subtilty and refinement much more suitable to the latter than to the former. I thought this introduction necessary before the following discourses on comviercey money ^ interest^ balance of trade, &^c, where, perhaps, there will occur some principles which are uncommon, and which may seem too refined and subtile for such vulgar subjects. If false, let them be rejected : but no one ought to entertain a prejudice against them, merely because they are out of the common road. The greatness of a state, and the happiness of its subjects, how in- dependent soever they may be supposed in some respects, are com- monly allowed to be inseparable with regard to commerce ; and as private men receive greater security, in the possession of their trade and riches, from the power of the public, so the public becomes pow- erful in proportion to the opulence and extensive commerce of private men. This maxim is true in general ; though I cannot forbear thinking that it may possibly admit of exceptions, and that we often establish it with too little reserve and limitation. There may be some circumstances, where the commerce, and riches, and luxury of indi- viduals, instead of adding strength to the public, will serve only to thin its armies, and diminish its authority among the neighbouring nations. Man is a very variable being, and susceptible of many different opi- nions, principles, and rules of conduct. What may be true, while he adheres to one way of thinking, will be found false, when he has embraced an opposite set of manners and opinions. The bulk of every state may be divided into husbandme^i and manu- ^acturers. The former are employed in the culture of the land ; the latter works up the materials furnished by the former. Into all the com- modities which are necessary or ornamental to human life. As soon as men quit their savage state, where they live chiefly by hunting and fishing, they must faU into these two classes : though the art§ of agri- ESSAY XXIII. BY DAVID HUME. culture employ at first the most numerous part of the society"^. Time and experience improve so much these arts, that the land may easily maintain a much greater number of men than those who are imme- diately employed in its culture, or who furnish the more necessary manufactures to such as are so employed. If these superfluous hands apply themselves to the finer arts, which are commonly denominated the arts of luxury^ they add to the happi- ness of the state ; since they afford to many the opportunity of receiving; enjoyments, with which they otherwise have been unacquainted. But may not another scheme be proposed for the employment of these superfluous hands ? May not the sovereign lay claim to them, and employ them in fleets and armies, to increase the dominion of the state abroad, and spread its fame over distant nations ? It is certain, that the fewer desires and wants are found in the proprietors and labourers of land, the fewer hands do they employ ; and consequently, the superfluities of the land, instead of maintaining tradesmen and manufacturers, may support fleets and armies to a much greater extent, than where a great many arts are required to minister to the luxury of particular persons. Here therefore seems to be a kind of opposi- tion between the greatness of the state and the happiness of the sub- ject. A state is never greater than when all its superfluous hands are employed in the service of the public. The ease and convenience of private persons require, that these hands should be employed in their service. The one can never be satisfied but at the expense of the other. As the ambition of the sovereign must entrench on the luxury of individuals ; so the luxury of individuals must diminish the force, and check the ambition, of the sovereign. Nor is this reasoning merely chimerical ; but is founded on history and experience. The republic of Sparta was certainly more powerful than any state now in the world, consisting of an equal number of people ; and this was owing entirely to the want of commerce and luxury. The Helotes were the labourers; the Spartans were the soldiers or gentlemen. It is evident, that the labour of the Helotes could not have maintained so great a number of Spartans, had these latter lived in ease and delicacy, and given employment to a great variety of trades and manufactures. The like policy may be remarked in Rome. And, indeed, throughout all ancient history, it is observable, that the smallest republics raised and maintained greater armies, than states, consisting of triple the number of inhabitants, are able to sup- port at present. It is computed, that in all European nations, the pro- * Mons. Melon, in his political essay on commerce, asserts, that even at present, if you /fivide France into twenty parts, sixteen are labourers or peasants ; two only artizans ; one belonging to the law, church, and military ; and one merchants, financiers, and bourgeois. 1 his calculation is certainly very erroneous. In France, England, and indeed most parts of Europe, half of the inhabitants live in cities; and even of those who live in the CCtmliy, a great number are artizans, perhaps above a thirti. 152 OF COMMERCE. portion berween soldiers and people does not exceed one to a hundred. But we read, that the city of Rome alone, with its small territory, raised and maintained, in early times, ten legions against the Latins. Athens, the whole of whose dominions was not larger than Yorkshire, sent to the expedition against Sicily near 40,000 men. [Thucydides, lib. vii.] Dionysius the elder, it is said, maintained a standing army of 100,000 foot, and 10,000 horse, besides a large fleet of 400 sail though his territories extended no farther than the city of Syracuse, about a third of the island of Sicily, and some sea-port towns and garrisons on the coast of Italy and Illyricum. It is true, the ancient armies, in time of war, subsisted much upon plunder : but did not the enemy plunder in their turn ? which was a more ruinous way of levying a tax, than any other that could be devised. In short, no probable reason can be assigned for the great power of the more ancient states above the modern, but their want of commerce and luxury. Fevv^ artizans were maintained by the labour of the farmers, and therefore more soldiers might live upon it. Livy says, that Rome, in his timOj would find it difficult to raise as large an army as that which, in her early days, she sent out against the Gauls and Latins.f Instead of those soldiers who fought for liberty and empire in Camillus's time, there were, in Augustus's days, musicians, painters, cooks, players, and tailors ; and if the land was equally cultivated at both periods, it could certainly maintain equal numbers in the one profession as in the other. They added nothing to the mere necessaries of hfe, in the latter period more than in the former. It is natural on this occasion to ask, whether sovereigns may not return to the maxims of ancient policy, and consult their own interest in this respect, more than the happiness of their subjects ? I answer, that it appears to me almost impossible ; and that because ancient policy was violent, and contrary to the more natural and usual course of things. It is well Known with what peculiar laws Sparta was governed, and what a prodigy that republic is justly esteemed by every one, who has considered human nature, as it has displayed itself in other nations, and other ages. Were the testimony of history less positive and circumstantial, such a government would appear a mere philosophical whim or fiction, and impossible ever to be reduced to practice. And though the Roman and other ancient republics were supported on principles somewhat more natural, yet was there an ex- traordinary concurrence of circumstances to make them submit to such grievous burthens. They were free states ; they were small ones ; and the age being martial, all their neighbours were continually in arms. Freedom naturally begets public spirit, especially in small states ; and * DioD. Sic. lib. vii. This account, I own, is somewhat suspicious, not to say worse ; chiefly because this army was not composed of citizens, but of mercenary forces. t TiTi Livii, lib. vij. cap. 24. *Adeo in quae laboramus,' says he, *5oU crevimu* divitias laxuriamque.* ESSAY XXIII. BY DAVID HUME. 153 this public spirit, this amor patricB^ must increase, when the public is almost in continual alarm, and men are obliged, every moment, to ex- pose themselves to the greatest dangers for its defence. A continual succession of wars makes every citizen a soldier : he takes the field in his turn : and during his service he is chiefly maintained by himself This service is indeed equivalent to a heavy tax ; yet is it less felt by a people addicted to arms, who fight for honour and revenge more than pay, and are unacquainted with gain and industry, as well as pleasure.*^ Not to mention the great equality of fortunes among the inhabitants of the ancient republics, where every field, belonging to a different proprietor, was able to maintain a family, and rendered the number of citizens very considerable, even without trade and without manufactures. But though the want of trade and manufactures, among a free and very martial people, may sometimes have no other effect than to render the public more powerful, it is certain, that, in the common course of human affairs, it will have a quite contrary tendency. Sovereigns must take mankind as they find them, and cannot pretend to introduce any violent change in their principles and ways of thinking. A long course of time, with a variety of accidents and circumstances, are requisite to produce those great revolutions, which so much diversify the face of human affairs. And the less natural any set of principles are, which support a particular society, the more difficulty will a legis- lator meet with in raising and cultivating them. It is his best policy to comply with the common bent of mankind, and give it all the im- provements of which it is susceptible. Now, according to the most natural course of things, industry, and arts, and trade, increase the power of the sovereign, as well as the happiness of the subjects ; and that policy is violent which aggrandizes the public by the poverty of individuals. This will easily appear from a few considerations, which will present to us the consequences of sloth and barbarity. Where manufactures and mechanic arts are not cultivated, the bulk of the people must apply themselves to agriculture ; and if their skill and industry increase, there must arise a great superfluity from their labour, beyond what suffices to maintain them. They have no tempta- tion, therefore, to increase their skill and industry ; since they cannot * The more ancient Romans lived in perpetual war with all their neighbours : and in old Latin, the term hostis, expressed both a stranger and an enemy. This is remarked by Cicero ; but by him is ascribed to the humanity of his ancestors, who softened, as much as possible, the denomination of an enemy, by calling him by the same appellation which signified a stranger. Be Off. lib. it. It is however much more probable, from the manners of the times, that the ferocity of those people was so great as to make them regard all strangers as enemies, and call them by the same name. It is not, besides, consistent with the most common maxims of policy or of nature, that any state should regard its public enemies with a friendly eye, oi preserve any such sentiments for them as the Roman orator would ascribe to his ancestors. Not to mention, that the early Romans really exercised piracy, as we learn from their first treaties with Carth?gc, preserved by Polybius, lib. iii. and consequently, like the Sallce and Algerine rovers, were act lallyat war with mostpationSj arid ^ stranger angl an eii^my wer© 154 OF COMMERCE. exchange that superfluity for any commodities, which mzy serve either to their pleasure or vanity. A habit of indolence naturally prevails. The greater part of the land lies uncultivated. What is cultivated, yields not its utmost for want of skill and assiduity in the farmers, li at any time the public exigencies require that great numbers should be employed in the public service, the labour of the people furnishes low no superfluities, by which these numbc.s can be maintained. fhe labourers cannot increase their skill and industry on a sudden. Lands uncultivated cannot be brought into tillage for some years. The armies, meanwhile, must either make sudden and violent con- quests, or disband for want of subsistence. A regular attack or de- fence, therefore, is not to be expected from such a people, and their soldiers must be as ignorant and unskilful as their farmers and their manufacturers. Every thing in the world is purchased by labour ; and our passions are the only causes of labour. When a nation abounds in manu- factures and mechanic arts, the proprietors of land, as well as the farmers, study agriculture as a science, and redouble their industry and attention. The superfluity, which arises from their labour, is not lost : but is exchanged with manufactures for those commodities which men's luxury now makes them covet. By this means, land furnishes a great deal more of the necessaries of life, than what suffices for those who cultivate it. In times of peace and tranquillity, this superfluity goes to the maintenance of manufactures and the improvers of liberal arts. But it is easy for the public to convert many of these manu- facturers into soldiers, and maintain them by that superfluity which arises from the labour of the farmers. Accordingly we find, that this is the case in all civilized governments. When the sovereign raises an army, what is the consequence ? He imposes a tax. This tax obliges all the people to retrench what is least necessary to their sub- sistence. Those who labour in such commodities must either enlist in the troops, or turn themselves to agriculture, and thereby oblige some labourers to enlist for want of business. And to consider the matter abstractedly, manufactures increase the power of the state only as they store up so much labour, and that of a kind to which the public may lay claim, without depriving any one of the necessaries of life. The more labour, therefore, is employed beyond mere necessaries, the more powerful is any state ; since the persons engaged in that labour may easily be converted to the public service. In a state without manufactures, there may be the same number of hands ; but there is not the same quantity of labour, nor of the same kind. All the labour is there bestowed upon necessaries, which can admit of little or no abatement. Thus the greatness of the sovereign, and the happiness of the state, are in a great measure united, with regard to trade and manufactures. ESSAV XXIII. BY DAVID HUME. 155 It is a violent method, and in most cases impracticable, to oblige the labourer to toil, in order to raise from the land more than what sub- sists himself and family. Furnish him with manufactures and com- modities, and he will do it of himself. Afterwards you will find it easy to seize some part of his superfluous labour, and employ it in the public service, without giving him his wonted return. Being accustomed to industry, he will think this less grievous, than if, at once, you obliged him to an augmentation of labour without any reward. The case is the same with regard to the other members of the state. The greater is the stock of labour of all kinds, the greater quantity may be taken from the heap, without making any sensible alteration in it, A public granary of corn, a storehouse of cloth, a magazine of arms ; all these must be allowed real riches and strength in any state. Trade and industry are really nothing but a stock of labour, which, in times of peace and tranquillity, is employed for the ease and satisfaction of individuals ; but, in the exigencies of state, may in part be turned to public advantage. Could we convert a city into a kind of fortified camp, and infuse into each breast so martial a genius, and such a passion for public good, as to make every one willing to undergo the greatest hardships for the sake of the public ; there affections might now, as in ancient times, prove alone a sufficient spur to industry, and support the community. It would then be advantageous, as in camps, to banish all arts and luxury ; and, by restrictions on equipage and tables, make the provisions and forage last longer than if the army were loaded with a number of superfluous retainers. But as these principles are too disinterested, and too difficult to support, it is re- quisite to govern men by other passions, and animate them with a spirit of avarice and industry, art and luxury. The camp is, in this case, loaded with a superfluous retinue, but the provisions flow in pro- portionably larger. The harmony of the whole is still supported ; and the natural bent of the mind, being more complied with, individuals, as well as the public, find their account in the observance of those maxims. The same method of reasoning will let us see the advantage ot foreigft commerce, in augmenting the power of the state, as well as the riches and happiness of the subject. It increases the stock of labour in the nation ; and the sovereign may convert what share of it he finds necessary to the service of the public. Foreign trade, by its imports, furnishes materials for new manufactures; and, by its ex- ports, it produces labour in particular commodities, which could not be consumed at home. In short, a kingdom that has a large import and export, must abound more with industry, and that employed upon delicacies and luxuries, than a kingdom which rests contented with its native commodities. It is, therefore, more powerful, as well as richer and happier. The individuals reap the benefit of these com- 156 OF COMMERCE. modities, so far as they gratify the senses and appetites. And the public is also a gainer, while a greater stock of labour is, by this means, stored up against any public exigency: that is, a greater number of laborious men are maintained, who may be diverted to the public service, without robbing any one of the necessaries, or even the chief conveniences of life. If we consult history, we shall find, that, in most nations, foreign trade has preceded any refinement in home manufactures, and given birth to luxury. The temptation is stronger to make use of foreign commodities, which are ready for use, and which are entirely new to us, than to make improvements on any domestic commodity, which always advance by slow degrees, and never affect us by their novelty. The profit is also very great, in exporting what is superfluous at home, and what bears no price, to foreign nations, whose soil or climate is not favourable to that commodity. Thus men become acquainted with the pleasures of luxury, and the profits of commerce ; and their delicacy and industry^ being once awakened, carry them on to farther improvements in every branch of domestic as well as foreign trade. And this perhaps is the chief advantage which arises from a commerce with strangers. It rouses men from their indolence ; and presenting the gayer and more opulent part of the nation with objects of luxury which they never before dreamed of, raises in them a desire of a more splendid way of hfe than what their ancestors enjoyed. And, at the same time, the few merchants who possess the secret of this importation and exportation, make great profits ; and, becoming rivals in wealth to the ancient no- bility, tempt other adventurers to become their rivals in commerce. Imitation soon diffuses all those arts ; while domestic manufactures emulate the foreign in their improvements, and work up every home commodity to the utmost perfection of which it is susceptible. Their own steel and iron, in such laborious hands, become equal to the gold and rubies of the Indies. When the affairs of the society are once brought to this situation, a nation may lose most of its foreign trade, and yet continue a great and powerful people. If strangers will not take any particular commodity of ours, we must cease to labour in it. The same hands will turn themselves towards some refinement in other commodities, which may be wanted at home. And there must always be materials for them to work upon, till every person in the state, who possesses riches, enjoys as great plenty of home commodities, and those in as great perfection, as he desires : which can never possibly happen. China is represented as one of the most flourishing empires in the world ; though it has very little commerce beyond its own territories. It will not, I hope, be considered as a superfluous digression, if I here observe; that^ ^§ the multitude of mechanical arts j? a,dvantageous^ ES^AV XXtlL BV DAVID Htl-l£. SO is the great tiUmber of persons to whose share the productions of these arts fall. A too great disproportion among the citizens weakens any state. Every person, if possible, ought to enjoy the fruits of hi? labour, in a full possession of all the necessaries^ and many of the con* veniences of life. No one can doubt but such an equality is most suitable to human nature, and diminishes much less from the happiness of the rich, than it adds to that of the poor. It also augments th(* power of the state, and makes any extraordinary taxes or impositions be paid with more cheerfulness. Where the riches are engrossed by a few, these must contribute very largely to the supplying of the public necessities. But when the riches are dispersed among multitudes, the burthen feels light on every shoulder, and the taxes make not a very sensible difference on any one's way of living. Add to this, that, where the riches are in few hands, these must enjoy all the power, and will readily conspire to lay the whole burthen on the poor, and oppress them still farther, to the discouragement of all industry. In this circumstance consists the great advantage of England above any nation at present in the world, or that appears in the records of any story. It is true, the English feel some disadvantages in foreign trade by the high price of labour, which is in part the effect of the riches of their artizans, as well as of the plenty of money ; but as foreign trade is not the most material circumstance, it is not to be put in competition with the happiness of so many millions. And if there were no more to endear to them that free government under which they live, this alone were sufficient. The poverty of the common people is a natural, if not an infallible effect of absolute monarchy ; though I doubt, whether it be always true, on the other hand, that their riches are an infallible result of liberty. Liberty must be attended with par- ticular accidents, and a certain turn of thinking, in order to produce that effect. Lord Bacon, accounting for the great advantages obtained by the English in their wars with France, ascribes them chiefly to the superior ease and plenty of the common people amongst the former ; yet the government of the two kingdoms was, at that time, pretty much alike. Where the labourers and artizans are accustomed to work for low wages, and to retain but a small part of the fruits of their labour, it is difficult for them, even in a free government, to better their con- dition, or conspire among themselves to heighten their wages. But even where they are accustomed to a more plentiful way of life, it is easy for the rich, in an arbitrary government, to conspire against the7ny and throw the whole burthen of the taxes on their shoulders. It may seem an odd position, that the poverty of the common people in France, Italy, and Spain, is, in some measure, owing to the superior riches of the soil and happiness of the chmate ; yet there want not reisons to justify this paradox. In such a fine mould or soil as that OF COMMERCE. cf those more southern regions, agriculture is an easy art ; and one man, with a couple of sorry horses, will be able, in a season, to culti- vate as much land as will pay a pretty considerable rent to the pro-, prietor. All the art, which the farmer knows, is to leave his ground fallow for a year, as soon as it is exhausted ; and the warmth of the sun alone and temperature of the climate enrich it, and restore its fertility. Such poor peasants, therefore, require only a simple main- tenance for their labour. They have no stock or riches, which claim more ; and at the same time they are for ever dependent on the land< lord, who give no leases, nor fears that his land will be spoiled by the ill methods of cultivation. In England, the land is rich, but coarse ; must be cultivated at a great expense ; and produces slender crops, when not carefully managed, and by a method which gives not the full profit but in a course of several years. A farmer, therefore, in England must have a considerable stock, and a long lease ; which beget pro- portional profits. The vineyards of Champagne and Burgundy, that often yield to the landlord above five pounds per acre, are cultivated by peasants, who have scarcely bread : the reason is, that such peasants need no stock but their own limbs, with instruments of hus- bandry, which they can buy for twenty shillings. The farmers are commonly in some better circumstances in those countries. But the graziers are most at their ease of all those who cultivate the land. The reason is still the same. Men must have profits proportionable to their expense and hazard. Where so considerable a number of the labouring poor, as the peasants and farmers, are in very low circum- stances, all the rest must partake of their poverty, whether the govern- ment of that nation be monarchical or republican. We may form a similar remark with regard to the general history of mankind. What is the reason, why no people, [living between the tropics, could ever yet attain to any art or civility, or reach even any police in their government, and any military discipline ; while few nations in the temperate climates have been altogether deprived of these advantages ? It is probable that one cause of this phenomenon is the warmth and equality of weather in the torrid zone, which render clothes and houses less requisite for the inhabitants, and thereby remove, in part, that necessity, which is the great spur to industry and invention. Curis acuens mo7^talia cor da. Not to mention, that the fewer goods or possessions of this kind any people enjoy, the fewer quarrels are likely to arise amongst them, and the less necessity will there be for a settled police or regular authority, to protect and defend them from foreign enemies, or from each other. ESSAY XXIV. BY DAVID HUME. XXIV.^OF REFINEMENT IN THE ARTS. Luxury is a word of an uncertain signification, and may be taken in a good as \yell as in a bad sense. In general, it means great refine- ment in the gratification of the senses ; and any degree of it may be innocent or blameable, according to the age, or country, or condition of the person. The bounds between the virtue and the vice cannot here be exactly fixed, more than in other moral subjects. To imagine, that the gratifying of any sense, or the indulging of any delicacy in meat, drink, or apparel, is of itself a vice, can never enter into a head, that is not disordered by the frenzies of enthusiasm. I have, indeed, heard of a monk abroad, who, because the windows of his cell opened upon a noble prospect, made a covenant with his eyes never to turn that way, or receive so sensual a gratification. And such is the crime of drinking Champagne or Burgundy, preferable to small beer or porter. These indulgences are only vices, when they are pursued at the expence of some virtue, as liberality or charity ; in like manner as they are follies, when for them a man ruins his fortune, and reduces himself to want and beggary. Where they entrench upon no virtue, but leave ample subject whence to provide for friends, family, and every proper object of generosity or compassion, they are entirely innocent, and have in every age been acknowledged such by almost all moralists. To be entirely occupied with the luxury of the table, for instance, without any relish for the pleasures of ambition, study, or conversation, is a mark of stupidity, and is incompatible with any vigour of temper or genius. To confine one's expense entirely to such a gratification, without regard to friends or family, is an indication of a heart destitute of humanity or benevolence. But if a man reserve time sufficient for all laudable pursuits, and money sufficient for all generous purposes, he is free from every shadow of blame or reproach. Since luxury may be considered either as innocent or blameable, one may be surprised at those preposterous opinions, which have been entertained concerning it ; while men of libertine principles bestow praises even on vicious luxury, and represent it as highly advantageous to society ; and on the other hand, men of severe morals blame even the most innocent luxury, and represent it as the source of all the corruptions, disorders, and factions, incident to civil government. We shall here endeavour to correct both these extremes, by proving, I., that the ages of refinement are both the happiest and most virtuous ; II. that wherever luxury ceases to be innocent, it also ceases to be beneficial ; and when carried a degree too £ir, is a quality pernicious, though perhaps not the most pernicious, to political society^ 160 OF kE^iNSLiENT IN THE AkTS* To prove the first point, we need but consider the efTects of refine rilent both on private and on public life. Human happiness, according to the most received notions, seems to consist in three ingredients ; action, pleasure, and indolence: and though these ingredients ought to be mixed in different proportions, according to the particular dis- position of the person ; yet no one ingredient can be entirely wanting, without destroying, in some measure, the relish of the whole composi tion. Indolence or repose, indeed, seems not of itself to contribute much to our enjoyment ; but, like sleep, is requisite as an indulgence to the weakness of human nature, which cannot support an unin- terrupted course of business or pleasure. That quick march of the spirits, which takes a man from himself, and chiefly gives satisfaction, does in the end exhaust the mind, and requires some intervals of re- pose, which, though agreeable for a m^oment, yet, if prolonged, beget a languor and lethargy, that destroy all enjoyment. Education, custom, and example, have a mighty influence in turning the mind to any of these pursuits ; and it must be owned that, where they promote a relish for action and pleasure, they are so far favourable to human happiness. In times when industry and the arts flourish, men are kept in perpetual occupation, and enjoy, as their reward, the occupa- tion itself, as well as those pleasures which are the fruit of their labour. The mind acquires new vigour ; enlarges its powers and faculties ; and, by an assiduity in honest industry, both satisfies its natural appetites, and prevents the growth of unnatural ones, which commonly spring up, when nourished by ease and idleness. Banish those arts from society, you deprive men both of action and of pJ-^a^ure ; and leaving nothing but indolence in their place, you even destroy the relish of indolence, which never is agreeable, but when it succeeds to labour, and recruits the spirits, exhausted by too much application and fatigue. Another advantage of industry and of refinements in the mechanical arts, is, that they commonly produce some refinements in the liberal ; nor can one be carried to perfection, without being accompanied, in some degree, with the other. The same age which produces great philosophers and politicians, renowned generals and poets, usually abounds with skilful weavers and ship-carpenters. We cannot reason- ably expect, that a piece of v/oollen cloth will be wrought to perfection in a nation which is ignorant of astronomy, or where ethics are neglected. The spirit of the age affects all the arts, and the minds of vnen being once roused from their lethargy, and put into a fermenta /ion, turn themselves on all sides, and carry improvements into every art and science. Profound ignorance is totally banished, and men enjoy the privilege of rational creatures, to think as well as to act, to cultivate the pleasures of the mind as well z& those of the body. The more these refined arts advance- the more sociable men become: ESSAY XXIV. BV DAVID HUME. not is it possible, that when enriched with science, and possessed of a fund of conversation, they should be contented to remain in solitude, or live with their fellow-citizens in that distant manner, which is pecuhar to ignorant and barbarous nations. They flock into cities ; love to receive and communicate knowledge ; to shew their wit or their breeding ; their taste in conversation or living, in clothes or furniture. Curiosity allures the wise ; vanity the foolish ; and pleasure both. Particular clubs and societies are everywhere formed: both sexes meet in an easy and sociable manner ; and the tempers of men, as well as their behaviour, refine apace. So that, besides the improve- ments which they receive from knowledge and the liberal arts, it is impossible but they must feel an increase of humanity, from the very habit of conversing together, and contributing to each other's pleasure and entertainment. Thus indttstry^ knowledge^ and humanity^ are linked together by an indissoluble chain, and are found, from experience as well as reason, to be peculiar to the more pohshed, and, what are commonly denominated, the more luxurious ages. Nor are these advantages attended with disadvantages that bear any proportion to them. The more men refine upon pleasure, the less will they indulge in excesses of any kind ; because nothing is more destructive to true pleasure than such excesses. One may safely affirm, that the Tartars are oftener guilty of beastly gluttony, when they feast on their dead horses, than European courtiers with all their refinements of cookery. And if libertine love, or even infidelity to the marriage-bed, be more frequent in polite ages, when it is often re- garded only as a piece of gallantry ; drunkenness, on the other hand, is much less common : a vice more odious, and more pernicious, both to mind and body. And in this matter I would appeal, not only to an Ovid or a Petronius, but to a Seneca or a Cato. We know, that Csesar, during Catiline's conspiracy, being necessitated to put into Cato's hands a billet-doux^ which discovered an intrigue with Servilia, Cato's own sister, that stern philosopher threw it back to him with in- dignation ; and, in the bitterness of his wrath, gave him the appella- tion of drunkard, as a term more opprobrious than that with which he could more justly have reproached him. But industiy, knowledge, and humanity, are not advantageous in private life alone ; they diffuse their beneficial influence on the public^ and render the government as great and flourishing as they make in- dividuals happy and prosperous. The increase and consumption of all the commodities, which serve to the ornament and pleasure of life, are advantages to society ; because, at the same time that they nuil- tiply those innocent gratifications to individuals, they are a kind of storehouse of labour, which, in the exigencies of the state, may be turned to the public service. In a nation, where there is no demand for such superfluities, men sink into indolence, lose all enjoyment of hfe, and l62 OF REFINEMENT IN THE ARTS^ are useless to the public, which cannot maintain or support its fleets and armies from the industry of such slothful members. The bounds of all the European kingdoms are, at present, nearly the same they were two hundred years ago : but what a difference if there in the power and grandeur of those kingdoms? which can be ascribed to nothing but the increase of art and industry. WJien Charles VIII. of France invaded Italy, he carried with him about 20,000 men ; yet this armament so exhausted the nation, as we learn from Guicciardin, that for some years it was not able to make so great an effort. The late king of France, in time of war, kept in pay above 400,000 men* ; though from Mazarine's death to his own, he was en- gaged in a course of wars that lasted near thirty years. This industry is much promoted by the knowledge inseparable from ages of art and refinement ; as, on the other hand, this knowledge en- ables the public to make the best advantage of the industry of its sub- jects. Laws, order, police, discipline ; these can never be carried to any degree of perfection, before human reason has refined itself by exercise, and by an application to the more vulgar arts, at least, of commerce and manufacture. Can. we expect that a government will be well-modelled by a people, who know not how to make a spinning wheel, or to employ a loom to advantage ? Not to mention, that all ignorant ages are infested with superstition, which throws the govern- ment off its bias, and disturbs men in the pursuit of their interest and happiness. Knowledge in the arts of government naturally begets mildness and moderation, by instructing men in the advantages of humane maxims above rigour and severity, which drive subjects into rebellion, and make the return to submission impracticable, by cutting off all hopes of pardon. When the tempers of men are softened as well as their knowledge improved, this humanity appears still more conspicuous, and is the chief characteristic which distinguishes a civilized age from times of barbarity and ignorance. Factions are then less inveterate, revolutions less tragical, authority less severe, and seditions less fre- quent. Even foreign wars abate of their cruelty ; and after the field of battle, where honour and interest steel men against compassion, as well as fear, the combatants divest themselves of the brute, and resume the man. Nor need we fear, that men, by losing their ferocity, will lose their martial spirit, or become less undaunted and vigorous in defence of their country or their liberty. The arts have no such effect in ener- vating either the mind or body. On the contrary, industry, their in- separable attendant, adds new force to both. And if anger, which is said to be the whetstone of courage, loses somewhat of its asperity, * The inscription on the Place-de-Vendome says 44o,c^ ESSAY XXIV. BY DAVID HUME. 6y politeness and refinement ; a sense of honour, which is a stronger, more constant and more governable principle, acquires fresh vigour fey that elevation of genius which arises from knowledge and a good education. Add to this, that courage can neither have any duration, nor be of any use, when not accompanied with discipline and martial skill, which aue seldom found among a barbarous people. The ancients remarked, that Datames was the only barbarian that ever knew the art of war. And Pyrrhus, seeing the Romans marshal their army with some ait and skill, said with surprise, T/iese barbay-ians nave nothing barbarous in their discipline ! It is observable, that, as the old Romans, by applying themselves solely to war, were almost the only unciviHzed people that ever possessed mihtary discipline ; so the modern Italians are the only civilized people, among Europeans, that ever wanted courage and a martial spirit. Those who would as- cribe this effeminacy of the Italians to their luxury, or politeness, or applications to the arts, need but consider the French and English, whose bravery is as uncontestible, as their love for the arts, and their assiduity in commerce. The Italian historians give us a more satis- factory reason for this degeneracy of their countrymen. They show 4s how the sword was dropped at once by all the Italian sovereigns ; while the Venetian aristocracy was jealous of its subjects, the Floren- tine democracy applied itself entirely to commerce ; Rome was governed by priests, and Naples by women. War then became the business of soldiers of fortune, who spared one another, and, to the astonishment of the world, could engage a whole day in what they called a battle, and return at night to their camp, without the least bloodshed. What has chiefly induced several moralists to declaim against re- finement in the arts, is the example of ancient Rome, which, joining to its poverty and rusticity virtue and public spirit, rose to such a sur- prising height of grandeur and liberty ; but, having learned from its conquered provinces the Asiatic luxury, fell into every kind of cor- ruption ; whence arose sedition and civil wars, attended at last wit the total loss of liberty. All the Latin classics, whom we peruse in our infancy, are full of these sentiments, and universally ascribe the ruin of their state to the arts and riches imported from the East : insomuch that Sallust represents a taste for painting as a vice no less than lewd- ness and drinking. And so popular were these sentiments, during the latter ages of the republic, that this author abounds in praises of the old rigid Roman virtue, though himself the most egregious instance of modern luxury and corruption ; speaks contemptuously of the Grecian eloquence, though the most elegant writer in the world ; nay, employs preposterous digressions and declamations to this purpose, though a model of taste and correctness. But it would be easy to prove, that these writers mistcok the cause 1 64 OP REFlNEMENt IN THE ARTS. of the disotdefs in the Roman state, and ascribed to luxury and the arts, what really proceeded from an ill-modelled government, and the unlimited extent of conquests. Refinement on the pleasures and con- veniences of life has no natural tendency to beget venality and corrup- tion. The value which all men put upon any particular pleasure, depends on comparison and experience ; nor is a porter less greedy of money, which he spends on bacon and brandy, than a courtier, who purchases champagne and ortolans. Riches are valuable at all times, and to all men ; because they always purchase pleasures, such as men arc accustomed to and desire : nor can any thing restrain or regulate the love of money, but a sense of honour and virtue ; which, if it be not nearly equal at all times, will naturally abound most in ages of knowledge and refinement. Of all European kingdoms Poland seems the most defective in the arts of war as well as peace, mechanical as well as liberal ; yet it is there that venality and corruption do most prevail. The nobles seem to have preserved their crown elective for no other purpose, than regu- larly to sell it to the highest bidder. This is almost the only species of commerce with which that people are acquainted. The liberties of England, so far from decaying since the improve- ments in the arts, have never flourished so much as during that period. And though corruption may seem to increase of late years ; this is chiefly to be ascribed to our established liberty, when our princes have found the impossibility of governing without parlia- ments, or of terrifying parliaments by the phantom of prerogative. Not to mention, that this corruption or venality prevails much more among the electors than the elected ; and therefore cannot justly be ascribed to any refinements in luxury. If we consider the matter in a proper light, we shall find, that a progress in the arts is rather favourable to liberty, and has a natural tendency to preserve, if not produce a free government. In rude unpolished nations, where the arts are neglected, all labour is be- stowed on the cultivation of the ground ; and the whole society is divided into two classes, proprietors of and their vassals or tenants. The latter are necessarily dependent, and fitted for slavery and subjection ; especially where they possess no riches, and are not valued for their knowledge in agriculture ; as must always be the case where the arts are neglected. The former naturally erect themselves into petty tyrants ; and must either submit to an absolute master, for the sake of peace and order ; or if they will preserve their hide- pendency, like the ancient barons, they must fall into feuds and contests among themselves, and throw the whole society into such confusion, as is perhaps worse than the most despotic government. But where luxury nourishes commerce and industry, the peasants, by % proper cultivation of the land, become rich and independent: ESSAY XXIV. BY DAVID HUME. while the tradesmen and merchants acquire a share of the property, and draw authority and consideration to that middling rank of men, who are the best and firmest basis of pubHc Hberty. These submit not to slavery, like the peasants, from poverty and meanness of spirit ; and having no hop(?s of tyrannizing over others, like the barons, they are not tempted, for the sake of that gratification, to submit to the tyranny of their sovereign. They covet equal laws, which may secure their property, and preserve them from monarchical, as well as aristo- ciatical tyranny. The lower house is the support of our popular government ; and all the world acknowledges, that it owed its chief influence and con- sideration to the increase of commerce, which threw such a balance of property into the hands of the Commons. How inconsistent, then, is it to blame so violently a refinement in the arts, and to represent it as the bane of Hberty and public spirit ! To declaim against present times, and magnify the virtue of remote ancestors, is a propensity almost inherent in human nature : and as the sentiments and opinions of civilized ages alone are transmitted to posterity, hence it is that we meet with so many severe judgments pro* nounced against luxury, and even science; and hence it is that at present we give so ready an assent to them. But the fallacy is easily perceived, by comparing different nations that are contemporaries ; where we both judge more impartially, and can better set in opposi- tion those manners, with which we are sufficiently acquainted. Trea- chery and cruelty, the most pernicious and most odious of all vices, seem peculiar to uncivilized ages ; and, by the refined Greeks and Romans, were ascribed to all the barbarous nations which surrounded them. They might justly, therefore, have presumed, that their ances- tors, so highly celebrated, possessed no greater virtue, and were as much inferior to their posterity in honour and humanity, as in taste and science. An ancient Frank or Saxon may be highly extolled : but I believe every man would think his life or fortune much less secure in the hands of a Moor or Tartar, than those of a French or English gentleman, the rank of men the most civilized in the most civilized nations. We come now to the second position which we proposed to illus- trate, to wit, that, as innocent luxury, or a refinement in the arts and conveniences of life, is advantageous to the public ; so wherever luxury ceases to be innocent, it also ceases to be beneficial ; and when carried a degree farther, begins to be a quality pernicious, though perhaps, not the most pernicious, to political society. Let us consider what we call vicious luxury. A gratification is only vicious, when it engrosses all a man's expense, and leaves no ability for such acts of duty and generosity as are required by his situation and fortune, Suppose that he correct the vice, and emuloy OF REFINEMENT IN THE ARTS. part of his expense in the education of his children, in the support of his friends, and in reheving the poor ; would any prejudice result to society ? On the contrary, the same consumption would arise ; and that labour, which, at present, is employed only in producing a slender gratification to one man, would relieve the necessitous, and bestow satisfaction on hundreds. The same care and toil that raise a dish of pease at Christmas, would give bread to a whole family during six months. To say, that, without a vicious luxury, the labour would not have been employed at all, is only to say, that there is some other defect in human nature, such as indolence, selfishness, inattention to others, for which luxury, in some measure, provides a remedy ; as one poison may be an antidote to another. But virtue, like wholesome food, is better than poisons, however corrected. Suppose the same number of men, that are at present in Great Britain, with the same soil and climate ; I ask, is it not possible for them to be happier, by the most perfect way of life that can be imagined, and by the greatest reformation that Omnipotence itself could work in their temper and disposition ? To assert, that they cannot, appears evidently ridiculous. As the land is able to maintain more than all its present inhabitants, they could never, in such a Utopian state, feel any other ills than those which arise from bodily sickness : and these are not the half of human miseries. All other ills spring from some vice, either in ourselves or others ; and even many of our diseases proceed from the same origin. Remove the vices, and the ills follow. You must only take care to remove all the vices. If you remove part, you may render the matter worse. By banishing vicious luxury, without curing sloth and an indifference to others, you only diminish industry in the state, and add nothing to men's charity or their generosity. Let us, therefore, rest contented with asserting, that two opposite vices in a state may be more advantageous than either of them alone ; but let us never pronounce vice in itself advantageous. Is it not very inconsistent for an author to assert in one page, that moral distinctions are inventions of politi- cians for public interest ; and in the next page maintain, that vice is advantageous to the public. [ Fable of the Bees.] And indeed it seems, upon any system of morality, little less than a contradiction, in terms, to talk of a vice, which is in general beneficial to society. I thought this reasoning necessary, in order to give some light to a philosophical question, which has been much disputed in England. I call it a philosophical question, not a political one. For whatever may be the consequence of such a miraculous transformation of man- kind, as would endow them with every species of virtue, and free them from every species of vice; this concerns not the magistrate, who aims only at po?sibilitie5. He cannot cure every vice by substituting ESSAY XXV. BY DAVID HUME. 167 a virtue in its place. Very often he can only cure one vice by another ; and in that case, he ought to prefer what is least pernicious to society. Luxury, when excessive, is the source of many ills ; but is in general preferable to sloth and idleness, which would commonly succeed in its place, and are more hurtful both to private persons and to the public. When sloth reigns, a mean uncultivated way of lifa prevails amongst individuals, without society, without enjoyment. And if the sovereign, in such a situation, demands the service of his subjects, the labour of the state suffices only to furnish the necessaries of life to the labourers, and can afford nothing to those who are employed in the public service. XXV.— MONEY. Money is not, properly speaking, one of the subjects of commerce ; but only the instrument which men have agreed upon to facilitate the exchange of one commodity for another. It is none of the wheels of trade : it is the oil which renders the motions of the wheels more smooth and easy. If we consider any one kingdom by itself, it is evident, that the greater or less plenty of money is of no consequence ; since the prices of commodities are always proportioned to the plenty of money, and a crov/n in Harry VI Ts time served the same purpose as a pound does at present. It is only thQ ptiblic which draws any ad- vantage from the greater plenty of money ; and that only in its wars and negociations with foreign states. And this is the reason why all rich and trading countries, from Carthage to Great Britain and Holland, have employed mercenary troops, which they hired from their poorer neigh- bours. Were they to make use of their native subjects, they would find less advantage from their superior riches, and from their great plenty of gold and silver ; since the pay of all their servants must rise in proportion to the public opulence. Our small army of 20,000 men is maintained at as great expense as a French army twice as numerous. The English fleet, during the late war, required as much money to support it as all the Roman legions, which kept the whole world in subjection, during the time of the emperors"^. ^ * A private soldier in the Roman infantry had a denarius a day, somewhat less than very oae to tell out a grsater number of ESSAY XXVI. BY DAVID HUME. 177 those shining bits of metal, for clothes, furniture, or equipage, without increasing any one convenience of life. If a man borrow money to build a house, he then carries home a greater load ; because the stone, timber, lead, glass. &c., with the labour of the masons and carpenters, arc represented by a greater quantity of gold and silver. But as these metals are considered chiefly as representations, there can no altera- tion arise, from their bulk or quantity, their weight or colour, either upon their real value or their interest. The same interest, in all cases, bears the same proportion to the sum. And if you lent me so much labour and so many commodities ; by receiving five per cent, you always receive proportional labour and commodities, however repre- sented, whether by yellow or white coin, whether by a pound or an ounce. It is in vain, therefore, to look for the cause of the fall or rise of interest in the greater or less quantity of gold and silver, which is fixed in any nation. High interest arises from three circumstances: a great demand for borrowing ; little riches to supply that demand ; and great profits arising from commerce : and the circumstances are a clear proof of the small advance of commerce, and industry, not of the scarcity of gold and silver. Low interest, on the other hand, proceeds from the three opposite circumstances : a small demand for borrowing ; great riches to supply that demand ; and small profits arising from commerce : and these circumstances are all connected together, and proceed from the increase of industry and commerce, not of gold and silver. We shall endeavour to prove these points ; and shall begin with the causes and the effects of a great or small demand for borrowing. When a people have emerged ever so little from a savage state, and their numbers have increased beyond the original multitude, there must immediately arise an inequality of property ; and while some possess large tracts of land, others are confined within narrow limits, and some are entirely without any landed property. Those who possess more land than they can labour, employ those who possess none, and agree to receive a determinate part of the product. Thus the landed interest is immediately established ; nor is there any settled government, however rude, in which affairs are not on this footing. Of these proprietors of land, some must presently discover themselves to be of different tempers from others ; and while one would willingly store up the produce of his land for futurity, another desires to con- sume at present what should suffice for many years. But as the spending of a settled revenue is a way of life entirely without occupa- tion ; men have so much need of somewhat to fix and engage them, that pleasures, such as they are, will be the pursuit of the greater part of the landholders, and the prodigals among them will always be more numerous than the misers. In a state, therefore, where there is nothing but a landed interest, as there is little frugality, the borrowers must be 12 178 OF INTEREST. very numerous, and the rate of interest must hold proportion to it. The difference depends not on the quantity of money, but on the habits and manners which prevail. By this alone the demand for borrowing is increased or diminished. Where money is so plentiful as to make an egg be sold for sixpence : so long as there are only landed gentry and peasants in the state, the borrowers must be numerous, and interest high. The rent for the same farm would be heavier and more bulky : but the same idleness of the landlord, with the high price of com- modities, would dissipate it in the same time, and produce the same necessity and demand for borrowing. Nor is the case different with regard to the second circumstance which we proposed to consider, namely, the great or little riches to supply the demand. This effect also depends on the habits and way of living of the people, not on the quantity of gold and silver. In order to have, in any state, a greater number of lenders, it is not sufficient nor requisite, that there be great abundance of the precious metals. It is only requisite, that the property or command of that quantity, which is in ihe state, whether great or small, should be collected in particular hands, so as to form considerable sums, or compose a great monied mterest. This begets a number of lenders, and sinks the race of usury ; and this, I shall venture to affirm, depends not on the quantity of specie, but on particular manners and customs, which make the specie gather into separate sums or masses of considerable value. For suppose that, by miracle, every man in Great Britain should have five pounds slipt into his pocket in one night ; this would much more than double the whole money that is at present in the kingdom ; yet there would not next day, nor for some time, be any more lenders, nor any variation in the interest. And were there nothing but land- lords and peasants in the state, this money, however abundant, could never gather into sums ; and would only serve to increase the prices of everything, without any farther consequence. The prodigal landlord dissipates it, as fast as he receives it ; and the beggarly peasant has no means, nor view, nor ambition of obtaining above a bare livelihood. The overplus of borrowers above that of lemiers continuing still the same, there will follow no reduction of interest. That depends upon another principle ; and must proceed from ac increase of industry and frugality, of arts and commerce. Everything useful to the life of man arises from the ground ; but few things arise in that condition which is requisite to render them useful. There must, therefore, beside the peasants and the proprietors of land, be another rank of men, who, receiving from the former the rude materials, work them into their proper form, and retain part for their own use and subsistence. In the infancy of society, these contracts between the artizans and the peasants, and between one species of artizans and another, are commonly entered into immediately by the ESSAV XXVI. BY DAVID HUME. 179 persons themselves, who being neighbours, are easily acquainted with each other^s necessities, and can lend their mutual assistance to supply ^liem. But when men^s industry increases, and their views enlarge, it is found, that the most remote parts of the state can assist each other as well as the more contiguous, and that this intercourse of good offices may be earned on to the greatest extent and intricacy. Hence the origin of inercJiants^ one of the most useful races of men, who serve as agents between those parts of the state, that are wholly unacquainted, and are ignorant of each other's necessities. Here are in a city fifty workmen in silk and linen, and a thousand customers ; and these two ranks of men, so necessary to each other, can never rightly meet, till one man erects a shop, to which all the workmen and all the customers repair. In this province, grass rises in abundance : the inhabitants abound in cheese, and butter, and cattle ; but want bread and corn, which, in a neighbouring province, are in too great abundance for the use of the inhabitants. One man discovers this. He brings corn from the one province, and returns with cattle ; and, supplying the wants of both, he is, so far, a common benefactor. As the people increase in numbers and industry, the difficulty of their intercourse increases : the business of the agency or merchandize becomes more intricate ; and divides, subdivides, compounds, and mixes to a greater variety. In all these transactions it is necessary, and reasonable, that a con- siderable part of the commodities and labour should belong to the merchant, to whom, in a great measure, they are owing. And these commodities he will sometimes preserve in kind, or more commonly convert into money, which is their common representation. If gold and silver have increased in the state together with the industry, it will require a great quantity of these metals to represent a great quantity of commodities and labour. If industry alone has increased, the prices of everything must sink, and a small quantity of specie will serve as a representation. There is no craving or demand of the human mind more constant and insatiable than that for exercise and employment ; and this desire seems the foundation of most of our passions and pursuits. Deprive a man of all business and serious occupation, he runs restless from one amusement to another ; and the weight and oppression, which he feels from idleness, is so great, that he forgets the ruin which must follow him from his immoderate expenses. Give him a more harmless way of employing his mind or body, he is satisfied, and feels no longer that insatiable thirst after pleasure. But if the employment you give him be lucrative, especially if the profit be attached to every particular exer- tion of industry, he has gain so often in his eye, that he acqaires, by degrees, a passion for it, and knows no such pleasure as that of seeing the daily increase of his fortune. And this is the reason wh y trad^ increases frugality, and why, among merchants, there is the l8o OF INTERKST, same overplus of misers above prodigals, as, among the possessors of land, there is the contrary. Commerce increases industry, by conveying it »-eadily from one member of the state to another, and allowing nOt^c of it to perish or become useless. It increases frugality, by giving occupation to men, and employing them in the arts of gain, which soon engage their affec- tion, and remove all reHsh for pleasure and expense. It is an infallible consequence of all industrious professions to beget frugality, and make the love of gain prevail over the love of pleasure. Among lawyers and physicians who have any practice, there are many more who live within their income, than who exceed it, or even live up to it. But lawyers and physicians beget no industry ; and it is even at the ex- pense of others they acquire their riches ; so that they are sure to diminish the possessions of some of their fellow-citizens, as fast as they increase their own. Merchants, on the contrary, beget industry, by serving as canals to convey it through every corner of the state : and at the same time, by their frugality, they acquire great power over that industry, and collect a large property in the labour and com- modities, which they are the chief instruments in producing. There is no other profession, therefore, except merchandize, which can make the monied interest considerable, or, in other words, can increase in- dustry, and, by also increasing frugality, give a great command of that industry to particular members of the society. Without com- merce, the state must consist chiefly of landed gentry, whose prodi- gality and expense make a continual demand for borrowing ; and of peasants, who have no sums to supply that demand. The money never gathers into large stocks or sums, which can be lent at interest. It is dispersed into numberless hands, who either squander it in idle show and magnificence, or employ it in the purchase of the common necessaries of life. Commerce alone assembles it into con- siderable sums ; and this effect it has merely from the industry which it begets, and the frugality which it inspires, independent of that par- ticular quantity of precious metal which may circulate in the state. Thus an increase of commerce, by a necessary consequence, raises a great number of lenders, and by that means produces lowness of Miterest. We must now consider how far this increase of commerce iminishes the profits arising from that profession, and gives rise to the third circumstance requisite to produce lowness of interest. It may be proper to observe on this head, that low interest and low profits of merchandize, are two events that mutually forward each other, and are both originally derived from that extensive commerce, which produces opulent merchants, and renders the monied interest considerable. Where merchants possess great stocks, whether repre- sented by few or many pieces of metal, it must frequently happen, that, when they either become tired of business, or leave heirs unwilling or eSSAY XXVI. BY t)AVlD HUM^. unfit to engcige in commerce, a great proportion of tliese riches natu- rally seeks an annual and secure revenue. The plenty diminishes the price, and makes the lenders accept of a low interest. This con- sideration obliges many to keep their stock employed in trade, and rather be content with low profits, than dispose of their money at an undervalue. On the other hand, when commerce has become exten- sive, and em])loys large stocks, there must arise rivalships among the merchants, which diminish the profits of trade, at the same time that they increase the trade itself. The low profits of merchandize induce the merchants to accept more willingly of a low interest, when they leave off business, and begin to indulge themselves in ease and in- dolence. It is needless, therefore, to inquire which of these circum- stances, to wit, low vitef^est, or low profits^ is the cause, and which the effect ? They both arise from an extensive commerce, and mutually forward each other. No man will accept of low profits, where he can have high interest ; and no man will accept of low inte- rest, where he can have high profits. An extensive commerce, by producing large stocks, diminishes both interest and profits ; andjs always assisted, in its diminution of the one, by the proportional sink- ing of the other. I may add, that, as low profits arise from the increase of commerce and industry, they serve in their turn to its farther increase, by rendering the commodities cheaper, encouraging the consumption, and heightening the industry. And thus, if we con- sider the whole connection of causes and effects, interest is the barometer of the state, and its lowness is a sign almost infallible of the flourishing condition of a people. It proves the increase of in- dustry, and its prompt circulation, through the whole state, little inferior to a demonstration. And though, perhaps, it may not be im- possible but a sudden and a great check to commerce may have a momentary effect of the same kind, by throwing so many stocks out of trade ; it must be attended with such misery and want of employ- ment to the poor, that, besides its short duration, it will not be pos- sible to mistake the one case for the other. Those who have asserted, that the plenty of money was the cause of low interest, seem to have taken a collateral effect for a cause ; since the same industry, which sinks the interest, commonly acquires great abundance of the precious metals. A variety of fine manu- factures, with vigilant enterprising merchants, will soon draw money to a state, if it be any where to be found in the world. The same cause, by multiplying the conveniences of life, and increasing industry, collects great riches into the hands of persons, who are not proprietors of land, and produces, by that means, a low- ness of interest. But though both these effects, plenty of money and low interest, naturally arise from commerce and industry, they are altogether independent of each other. For suppose a l82 OF INTEREST. nation removed into the Pacific ocean, without any foreign com- merce, or any knowledge of navigation : suppose, that this nation possesses always the same stock of coin, but is continually increasing in its numbers and industry : it is evident, that the price of every commodity must gradually diminish in that kingdom : since it is- the proportion between money and any species of goods which fixes their mutual value : and, upon the present supposition, the conveniences of life become every day more abundant, without any alteration in the current specie. A less quantity of money, therefore, among this people, will make a rich man, during the times of industry, than would suffice to that purpose, in ignorant and slothful ages. Less money will build a house, portion a daughter, buy an estate, support a manufactory, or maintain a family and equipage. These are the uses for which men borrow money ; and therefore," the greater or less quantity of it in a state has no influence on the interest. But it is evident, that the greater or less stock of labour and commodities must have a great influence ; since we really and in effect borrow these, when we take money upon interest. It is true, when commerce is extended all over the globe, the most industrious nations always abound most with the precious metals : so that low interest and plenty of money are in fact almost inseparable. But still it is of consequence to know the prin- ciple whence any phenomenon arises, and to distinguish between a cause and a concomitant effect. Besides that the speculation is curious, it may frequently be of use in the conduct of public affairs. At least, it must be owned, that nothing can be of more use than to improve, by practice, the method of reasoning on these subjects, which of all others are the most important ; though they are commonly treated in the loosest and most careless manner. Another reason of this popular mistake with regard to the cause of low interest, seems to be the instance of some nations ; where, after a sudden acquisition of money, or of the precious metals, by means of foreign conquest, the interest has fallen, not only among them, but in all the neighbouring states, as soon as that money was dispersed, and had insinuated itself into every corner. Thus, intere&t in Spain fell near a half immediately after the discovery of the West Indies, as we are informed by Garcilasso de la Vega : and it has been ever since gradually sinking in every kingdom of Europe. Interest in Rome, after the conquest of Egypt, fell from 6 to 4 per cent, as we learn from Dion. [Lib. ii.] The causes of the sinking of interest, upon such an event, seem different in the conquering country and in the neighbouring states ; but in neither of them can we justly ascribe that effect merely to the increase of gold and silver. In the conquering country, it is natural to imagine, that this new acquisition of money will fall into a few hands, and be gathered into ESSAY XXVI. BY DAVID HUME. 183 large sums, which seek a secure revenue, either by the purchase of land, or by interest ; and consequently the same effect follows, for a little time, as if there had been a great accession of induscry and com- merce. The increase of lenders above the borrowers sinks ihe interest ; and so much the faster, if those, who have acquired those large sums, find no industry or commerce in the state, and no method of em- ploying their money but by lending it at interest. Buc after this new mass of gold and silver has been digested, and has ci.culatcd through the whole state, affairs wdll soon return to their former situation ; while the landlords and new money-holders, living; idly, squander above their income ; and the former daily contract deot, and the latter encroach on their stock till its fmal extinction. The \^hole money may still be in the state, and make itself felt by the increase of prices: but not being now collected into any large masses or stjcks, the dispro- portion between the borrowers and lenders is the jame as formerly, and consequently the high interest returns. Accordingly we find, in Rome, that, so early as Tiberius's time, interest had again mounted to 6 per cent, [Columell.i, lib. iii. cap. 3], though no accident had happened to drain the empire of money. In Trajan's time, money lent on mortgages in Italy, bore 6 per cent. [Plinii Epist. lib. vii. ep. 18]; on common securities in Bithynia, 12. [Id. lib. X. ep. 62.] And if interest in Spain has not risen to its old pitch, this can be ascribed to nothing but the continunncc of the same cause that sunk it, to wit, the large fortunes continually made in the Indies, which come over to Spain from time to time, and supply the demand of the borrowers. By this accidental and extraneous cause, more money is to be lent in Spain, that is, more money is collected into large sums, than would otherwise be found in a state, where there are so little commerce and industry. As to the reduction of interest, which has followed in England, France, and other kingdoms of Europe, that have no mines, it has been gradual ; and has not proceeded from the increase of money, considered merely in itself ; but from that of industry, which is the natural effect of the former increase, in that interval, before it raises the prices of labour and provisions. For to return to the foregoing supposition ; if the industry of England had risen as much from other causes (and that rise might easily have happened, though the stock of money had remained the same), must not all the same consequences have followed, which we observe at present 1 The same people would in that case, be found in the kingdom, the same commodities, the same industry, manufactures, and commerce ; and consequently the same merchants, with the same stocks, that is, with the same com- mand over labour and commodities, only represented by a smaller number of white or yellow pieces ; which, being a circumstance of no moment, would only affect the waggoner, porter, and trunk- maker^ 1B4 OF THE BALANCE OP TRADE. Luxury, therefore, manufactures, arts, industry, frugality, flourishing equally as at present, it is evident, that interest must also have been as low ; since that is the necessary result of all these circumstances, so far as they determine the profits of commerce, and the proportion between the borrowers and lenders in any state. XXVII.— OF THE BALANCE OF TRADE. It is very usual, in nations ignorant of the nature of commerce, to prohibit the exportation of commodities, and to preserve among them- selves whatever they think valuable and useful. They do not con- sider, that, in this prohibition, they act directly contrary to their intention ; and that the more is exported of any commodity, the more will be raised at home, of which they themselves will always have the first offer. It is well known to the learned, that the ancient laws of Athens rendered the exportation of figs criminal ; that being supposed a species of fruit so excellent in Attica, that the Athenians deemed it too delicious for the palate of any foreigner. And in this ridiculous prohibition they were so much in earnest, that informers were thence called sycophants among them, from two Greek words, which signify figs and discoverer, [ Plut. De Cttriositate^ There are proofs in many old acts of parliament of the same ignorance in the nature of commerce, particularly in the reign of Edward III. And to this day, in France, the exportation of corn is almost always prohibited ; in order, as they say, to prevent famines : though it is evident, that nothing contributes more to the frequent famines, which so much distress that fertile country. The same jealous fear, with regard to money, has also prevailed among several nations ; and it required both reason and experience to convince any people, that these prohibitions serve to no other purpose than to raise the exchange against them, and produce a still greater exportation. These errors, one may say, are gross and palpable : but there still prevails, even in nations well acquainted with commerce, a strong jealousy with regard to the balance of trade, and a fear that all their gold and silver may be leaving them. This seems to me, almost in eveiy case, a groundless apprehension ; and I should as soon dread, that all our springs and rivers should be exhausted, as that money should abandon a kingdom where there are people and industry. Let ESSAY XXVII. B\ DAVID HUME. 1B5 US carefully preserve these latter advanges : and we need never be apprehensive of losing the former. It is easy to observe, that all calculations concerning the balance of trade are founded on very uncertain facts and suppositions. The custom-house books are allowed to be an insufficient ground of reason- ing ; nor is the rate of exchange much better ; unless we consider it with all nations, and know also he proportion of the several sums remitted ; which one may safely pronounce impossible. Every man, who has ever reasoned on this subject, has always proved his theory, whatever it was, by facts and calculations, and by an enumeration of all the commodities sent to all foreign kingdoms. The writings of Mr. Gee struck the nation with an universal panic, when they saw it plainly demonstrated, by a detail of particulars, that the balance was against them for so considerable a sum as must leave them without a single shilling in five or six years. But luckily, twenty years have since elapsed, with an expensive foreign war ; yet it is commonly supposed, that money is still more plentiful among us than in any former period. Nothing can be more entertaining on this head than Dr. Swift ; an author so quick in discerning the mistakes and absurdities of others. He says, in his Short View of the State of Ireland^ that the whole cash of that kingdom formerly amounted but to ^500,000 ; that out of this the Irish remitted every year a neat million to England, and had scarcely any other source from which they could compensate themselves, and little other foreign trade than the importation of French wines, for which they paid ready money. The consequence of this situation, which must be owned to be disadvantageous, was, that, in a course of three years, the current money of Ireland, from ;^5oo,ooo, was reduced to less than two. And at present, I suppose, in a course of 30 years, it is absolutely nothing. Yet I know not how that opinion of the advance of riches in Ireland, which gave the Doctor so much indignation, seems still to continue, and gain ground with every body. In short, this apprehension of the wrong balance of trade, appears of such a nature, that it discovers itself, wherever one is out of humour with the ministry, or is in low spirits ; and as it can never be refuted by a particular detail of all the exports which counterbalance the imports, it may here be proper to form a general argument, that may prove the impossibility of this event, so long as we preserve our people and our industry. Suppose four-fifths of all the money in Great Britain to be anni- hilated in one night, and the nation reduced to the same condition, with regard to specie, as in the reigns of the Harrys and Edwards, what would be the consequence ? Must not the price of all labour and commodities sink in proportion, and every thing be sold as cheap OF THE BALANCE OF TRADE. as they were in those ages ? What nation could then dispute with us in any foreign market, or pretend to navigate or to sell manufactures at the same price, which to us would afford sufficient profit? In how little time, therefore mustthis , bring back the money which we had lost and raise us to the level of all the neighbouring nations ? Where, after we have arrived, we immediately lose the advantage of the cheapness of labour and commodities ; and the farther flowing in of money is stopped by our fulness and repletion. Again, suppose, that all the money of Great Britain were multiplied fivefold in a night, must not the contrary effect follow ? Must not all labour and commodities rise to such an exorbitant height, that no neighbouring nations could afford to buy from us ; while their com- modities, on the other hand, became comparatively so cheap, that, in 5pite of all the laws which could be formed, they would be run in upon us, and our money flow out ; till we fall to a level with foreigners, and lose that great superiority of riches, which had laid us under such disadvantages ? Now, it is evident, that the same causes which would correct these exorbitant inequalities, were they to happen miraculously, must prevent their happening in the common course of nature, and must for ever, in all neighbouring nations, preserve money nearly pro- portionable to the art and industry of each nation. All water, where- ever it communicates, remains always at a level. Ask naturalists the reason ; they tell you, that, were it to be raised in any one place, the superior gravity of that part not being balanced, must depress it, till it meets a counterpoise ; and that the same cause, which redresses the inequality when it happens must for ever prevent it, without some violent and external operation.* Can one imagine, that it had ever been possible, by any laws, or even by any art of industry, to have kept all the money in Spain, which the galleons have brought from the Indies 1 Or that all commodities could be sold in France for a tenth of the price which they would yield on the other side of the Pyrenees, without finding their way thither, and draining from that immense treasure ? What other reason, indeed, is there, why all nations, at present, gain in their trade with Spain and Portugal; but because it is impossible to heap up money, more than any fluid, beyond its proper level 1 The sovereigns of these countries have shown, that they wanted not inclination to keep their gold and silver to themselves, had it been in any degree practicable. But as any body of water may be raised above the level of the sur- * There is another cause, though more limited in its operation, which checks the wrong balance of trade, to every particular nation to which the kingdom trades. When we impoit more goods than we export, the exchange turns agair.st us, and this becomes a new en- couragement to export ; as much as the charge of carriage acf! insurance of the money which becomes due would amount to. For the exchange can neve/ rise but a little higher thwi the sum. fiSSAY XXVII. BV DAVID HUME. rounding element, if the former has no communication with the latter ; so in money if the communication be cut off, by any material or physical impediment (for all laws alone are ineffectual), there may, in such a case, be a very great inequality of money. Thus the im- mense distance of China, together with the monopolies of our India companies, obstructing the communication, preserve in Europe the gold and silver, especially the latter, in much greater plenty than they are found in that kingdom. But, notwithstanding this great obstruc- tion, the force of the causes above mentioned is still evident. The skill and ingenuity of Europe in general surpasses perhaps that of China, with regard to manual arts and manufactures, yet are we never able to trade thither without great disadvantage. And were it not for the continued recruits which we receive from America, money would soon sink in Europe, and rise in China, till it came nearly to a level in both places. Nor can any reasonable man doubt, but that industrious nation, were they as near us as Poland or Barbary, would drain us of the overplus of our specie, and draw to themselves a larger share of the West India treasures. We need not have recourse to a physical attraction, in order to explain the necessity of this operation. There is a moral attraction, arising from the interests and passions of men, which is full as potent and infallible. How is the balance kept in the provinces of every kingdom among themselves, but by the force of this principle, which makes it impos- sible for money to lose its level, and either to rise or sink beyond the proportion of the labour and commodities which are in each province ? Did not long experience make people easy on this head, what a fund of gloomy reflections might calculations afford to a melancholy York- shireman, while he computed and magnified the sums drawn to London by taxes, absentees, commodities, and found on comparison the op- posite articles so much inferior ? And no doubt, had the HeptarcJiy subsisted in England, the legislature of each state had been continually alarmed by the fear of a wrong balance ; and as it is probable that the mutual hatred of these states would have been extremely violent on account of their close neighbourhood, they would have loaded and oppressed all commerce, by a jealous and superfluous caution. Since the union has removed the barriers between Scotland and England, which of these nations gains from the other by this free commerce ? Or if the former kingdom has received any increase of riches, can it reasonably be accounted for by any thing but the increase of its art and industry ? It was a common apprehension in England, before the Union, as we learn from UAbbe du Bois, [Les Interest d'Angleterre mal-entendus] that Scotland would soon drain them of their treasure, were an open trade allowed ; and on the other side of the Tweed a contrary apprehension prevailed : with what justice in both time bas shown. OF THE BALANCE OP TRADE. What happens in small portions of mankind must take place in greater. The provinces of the Roman empire, no doubt, kept their balance with each other, and with Italy, independent of the legisla- ture ; as much as the several counties of Great Britain, or the several parishes of each county. And any man who travels over Europe at this day, may see, by the prices of commodities, that money, in spite of the absurd jealousy of princes and states, has brought itself nearly to a level ; and that the difference between one kingdom and another is not greater in this respect, than it is often between different pro- vinces of the same kingdom. Men naturally flock to capital cities, sea-ports, and navigable rivers. There we find more men, more in- dustry, more commodities, and consequently more money ; but still the latter difference holds proportion with the former, and the level is preserved.''^ Our jealousy and our hatred of France are without bounds ; and the former sentiment, at least, must be acknowledged reasonable and well- grounded. These passions have occasioned innumerable barriers and obstructions upon commerce, where we are accused of being commonly the aggressors. But what have we gained by the bargain ! We lost the French market for our woollen manufactures, and transferred the commerce of wine to Spain and Portugal, where we buy worse liquor at a higher price. There are few Englishmen who would not think their country absolutely ruined, were French wines sold in England so cheap and in such abundance as to supplant, in some measure, all ale and home-brewed liquors : but would we lay aside prejudice, it would not be difficult to prove, that nothing could be more innocent, perhaps advantageous. Each new acre of vineyard planted in France, in order to supply England with wine, would make it requisite for the French to take the produce of an English acre, sown in wheat or barley, in order to subsist themselves ; and it is evident that we should thereby get command of the better commodity. There are many edicts of the French king, prohibiting the plant- mg of new vineyards, and ordering all those which are lately planted to be grubbed up : so sensible are they, in that country, of the superior value of corn above every other product. Mareschal Vauban complains often, and with reason, of the absurd duties which load the entry of those wines of Languedoc, Guienne, and * It must carefully be remarked, that throughout this discourse, wherever I speak of the level of money, I mean always its proportional level to the commodities, labour, industry, and skill, which is in the several states. And I assert, that where these advantages are double, triple, quadruple, to what they are in the neighbouring states, the money infallibly will also be double, triple, and quadruple. The only circumstance that can obstruct the ex- actness of these proportions, is the expense of transporting the commodities from one place to another ; and this expense is sometimes unequal. Thus the corn, cattle, cheese, butter of Derbyshire, cannot draw the money of London, so much as the manufacturers of London draw the money of Derbyshire. But this objection is only a seeming one ; for so far as tre transport of commodities is expensive, so far is the communication between the places oh» ftUructed and imoerfect. ESSAY XXVII. BY DAVID HUME. 1 89 Other southern provinces, that are imported into Brittany and Nor- mandy, He entertained no doubt but these latter provinces could preserve their balance, notwithstanding the open commerce which he recommends. And it is evident, that a few leagues more navigation to England would make no difference ; or if it did, that it must operate alike on the commodities of both kingdoms. There is indeed one expedient by which it is possible to sink, and another by which we may raise money beyond its natural level in any kingdom ; but these cases, when examined, will be found to resolve into our general theory, and to bring additional authority to it. I scarcely know any method of sinking money below its level, but those institutions of banks, funds, and paper credit, which are so much practised in this kingdom. These render paper equivalent to money, circulate it throughout the whole state, make it supply the place of gold and silver, raise proportionably the price of labour and com- modities, and by that means either banish a great part of those precious metals, or prevent their farther increase. What can be more short- sighted than our reasonings on this head ? We fancy, because an individual would be much richer, were his stock of money doubled, that the same good effect would follow were the money of every one increased ; not considering that this would raise as much the price of every commodity, and reduce every man in time to the same condition as before. It is only in our public negociations and transactions with foreigners, that a greater stock of money is advantageous ; and as our paper is there absolutely insignificant, we feel, by its means, all the effects arising from a great abundance of money, without reaping any of the advantages."^ Suppose that there are 12 millions of paper, which circulate in the kingdom as money (for we are not to imagine that all our enormous funds are employed in that shape), and suppose the real cash of the kingdom to be 18 millions : here is a state which is found by experience to be able to hold a stock of 30 millions. I say, if it be able to hold it, it must of necessity have acquired it in gold and silver, had we not obstructed the entrance of these metals by this new invention of paper. Whe?ice wotUd it have acquired that stnn ? From all the kingdoms of the world. But why? Because, if you remove these 12 milHons, money in this state is below its level, compared with our neighbours ; and we must immediately draw from all of them, till we be full and saturate, so to speak, and can hold no more. By our present politics, vre are as careful to stuff the nation with this fine commodity of bank- bills and chequer notes, as if we were afraid of being overburthened with the precious metals. * We observed in Essay 25, that money, when increasing, gives encouragement to industry, during the intervals between the increase of money and rise of the prices. A good effect of tnis nature may follow too from paper credit ; but it is dangerous to precipitate matters, at ther isk of losing all by the failing of thaf credit, as mu.st happen upon any violent shock i] public affairs. - I go OF THE BALANCE OF TRADE. It is not to be doubted, but the great plenty of bullion in France in a great measure, owing to the want of paper-credit. The French have no banks : merchant's bills do not there circulate as with us : usury, or lending on interest, is not directly permitted ; so that many have large sums in their coffers : great quantities of plate are used in private houses ; and all the churches are full of it. By this means, provisions and labour still remain cheaper among them, than in nations that are not half so rich in gold and silver. The advantages of this situation, in point of trade, as well as in great public emergencies, are too evident to be disputed. The same fashion a few years ago prevailed in Genoa, which still has place in England and Holland, of using services of China-ware instead of plate ; but the senate, forseeing the consequence, prohibited the use of that brittle commodity beyond a certain extent ; while the use of silver-plate was left unlimited. And I suppose, in their late distresses, they felt the good effect of this ordinance. Our tax on plate is, perhaps, in this view, somewhat impolitic. Before the introduction of paper-money into our colonies, they had gold and silver sufficient for their circulation. Since the introduction of that commodity, the least inconveniency that has followed is the total banishment of the precious metals. And after the abolition of paper, can it be doubted but money will return, while these colonies possess manufactures and commodities, the only thing valuable in commerce, and for whose sake alone all men desire money ? What a pity Lycurgus did not think of paper-credit, when he wanted to banish gold and silver from Sparta! It would have served his purpose better than the lumps of iron he made use of as money ; and would also have prevented more effectually all commerce with strangers, as being of so much less real and intrinsic value. It must, however, be confessed, that, as all these questions of trade and money are extremely complicated, there are certain lights, in which this subject may be placed, so as to represent the advantages of paper- credit and banks to be superior to their disadvantages. That they banish specie and buUion from a state, is undoubtedly true ; and who- ever looks no farther than this circumstance, does well to condemn them ; but specie and bullion are not of so great consequence as not to admit of a compensation, and even an overbalance from the increase of industry and of credit, which may be promoted by the right use of paper-money. It is well known of what advantage it is to a merchant to be able to discount his bills upon occasion : and everything that facilitates this species of traffic is favourable to the general commerce of a state. But private bankers are enabled to give such credit by the credit they receive from the depositing of money in their shops ; and the bank of England in the same manner, from the liberty it has to issue its notes in all payments. There was an invention of this kind, ESi,AY XXVIl. BY DAVID HUME. 191 H'hich was fallen upon some years ago by the banks of Edinburgh ; and which, as it is one of the most ingenious ideas that has been exe- cuted in commerce, has also been thought advantageous to Scotland. It is there called a Bank-Credit ; and is of this nature. A man goes to the bank and finds surety to the amount, we shall suppose, of a thousand pounds. This money, or any part of it, he has the liberty of drawing out whenever he pleases, and he pays only the ordinary interest for it while it is in his hands. He may, when he pleases, repay any sum so small as twenty pounds, and the interest is discounted from the very day of the repaym.ent. The advantages, resulting from this con- trivance, are manifold. As a man may find surety nearly to the amount of his substance, and his bank-credit is equivalent to ready money, a merchant does hereby in a manner coin his houses, his household- furniture, the goods in his warehouse, the foreign debts due to him, his ships at sea ; and can, upon occasion, employ them in all payments, as if they were the current money of the country. If a man borrow a thousand pounds from a pri-vate hand, besides that it is not always to be found when required, he pays interest for it, whether he be using it or not : his bank-credit costs him nothing except during the very moment in which it is of service to him: and this circumstance is of equal advantage as if he had borrowed money at much lower interest. Merchants, likewise, from this invention, acquire a great facility in supporting each other's credit, which is a considerable security against bankruptcies. A man, when his own bank-credit is exhausted, goes to any of his neighbours who is not in the same condition ; and he gets the money, which he replaces at his convenience. After this practice had taken place during some years at Edinburgh, several companies of merchants at Glasgow carried the matter farther. They associated themselves into different banks, and issued notes so low as ten shillings, which they used in all payments for goods, manu- f LCtures, tradesmen's labour of all kinds ; and these notes, from the established credit of the companies, passed as money in all payments throughout the country. By this means, a stock of five thousand pounds was able to perform the same operations as if it were six or seven ; and merchants were thereby enabled to trade to a greater extent, and to require less profit in all their transactions. But what- ever other advantages result from these inventions, it must still be allowed that, besides giving too great facility for credit, which is dan- gerous, they banish the precious metals : and nothing can be a more evident proof of it, than a comparison of the past and present condi- tion of Scotland in that particular. It was found, upon the recoinage made after the union, that there was near a million of specie in that country : but notwithstanding the great increase of riches, commerce, stnd manufactures of all kinds, it is thought that, even where there is 192 OF THE BALANCE OF TRADE. no extraordinary drain made by England, the current specie will not now amount to a third of that sum. But as our projects of paper-credit are almost the only expedient, by which we can sink money below its level ; so, in my opinion, the only expedient, by which we can raise money above it, is a practice which we should all exclaim against, as destructive, namely, the gathering of large sums into a public treasure, locking them up, and absolutely preventing their circulation. The fluid, not communicating with the neighbouring element, may, by such an artifice, be raised to what height we please. To prove this, we need only return to our first supposition, of annihilating the half or any part of our cash ; where we found, that the immediate consequence of such an event would be the attraction of an equal sum from all the neighbouring kingdoms. Nor does there seem to be any necessary bounds set, by the nature of things, to this practice of hoarding. A small city, like Geneva, con- tinuing this policy for ages, might engross nine-tenths of the money in Europe. There seems, indeed, in the nature of man, an invincible obstacle to that immense growth of riches. A weak state, with an enormous treasure, will soon become a prey to some of its poorer, but more powerful neighbours. A great state would dissipate its wealth in dangerous and ill-concerted projects ; and probably destroy, with it, what is much more valuable, the industry, morals, and numbers of its people. The fluid, in this case, raised to too great a height, bursts and destroys the vessel that contains it ; and mixing itself with the surrounding elements, soon falls to its proper level. So little are we commonly acquainted with this principle, that, though all historians a^ree in relating uniformly so recent an event, as the immense treasure amassed by Harry VII. (which they make amount to 2,700,000 pounds), we rather reject their concurring testi- mony, than admit of a fact, which agrees so ill with our inveterate pre- judices. It is indeed probable, that this sum might be three-fourths of all the money in England. But where is the difficulty in conceiving, that such a sum might be amassed in twenty years, by a cunning, rapacious, frugal, and almost absolute monarch ? Nor is it probable, that the diminution of circulating money was ever sensibly felt by the people, or ever did them any prejudice. The sinking of the prices of all commodities would immediately replace it, by giving England the advantage in its commerce with the neighbouring kingdoms. Have we not an instance in the small republic of Athens with its allies, who, in about fifty years, between the Median and Peloponne- sian wars, amassed a su^ not much inferior to that of Harry VII. ? For all the Greek histOxians [Thucydides, lib. ii. and Diod. Sic. lib. xii.] and orators [F'/^^. ^schinis Demosthenis Epist.'] agree, that the Athenians collected in the citadel more than 10,000 talents, which they after.yards dissij ated to their own ruin, in rash and imprudent ESSAY XXVII. BY DAVID HUME. I93 cnterpnzes. But when this money was set a running, and began to communicate with the surrounding fluid ; what was the conse- quence ? Did it remain in the state ? No. For we find, by the memorable census mentioned by Demosthenes [llepi 5/^^€p;as], and Polybius [Lib. ii. cap. 62.], that, in about fifty years afterwards, the whole value of the republic, comprehending lands, houses, commo- dities, slaves, and money, was less than 6000 talents. What an ambitious high-spirited people was this, to collect and keep in their treasury, with a view to conquests, a sum, which it was every day in the power of the citizens, by a single vote, to distri- bute among themselves, and which would have gone near to triple the riches of every individual ! For we must observe, that the num- bers and private riches of the Athenians are said, by ancient writers, to have been no greater at the beginning of the Peloponnesian war, than at the beginning of the Macedonian. Money was little more plentiful in Greece during the age of Philip and Perseus, than in England during that of Harry VII. : yet these two monarchs in thirty years [Titi Livii, lib. xlv. cap. 40.], collected from the small kingdom of Macedon, a larger treasure than that of the English monarch. Paulus ^milius brought to Rome about 1,700,000 pounds Ster, [Vel. Paterc. lib. i. cap. 9.] Pliny says, 2,400,000. [Lib. xxxiii. cap. 3.] And that was but a part of the Macedonian treasure. The rest was dissipated by the resistance and flight of Perseus. [Titi Livii. ibid.'] We may learn from Stanian, that the canton of Berne had 300,000 pounds lent at interest, and had about six times as much in their treasury. Here then is a sum hoarded of 1,800,000 pounds Sterliiig^ which is at least quadruple what should naturally circulate in such a petty state ; and yet no one, who travels in the Pais de Vaux, or any part of that canton, observes any want of money more than could be supposed in a country of that extent, soil, and situation. On the contrary, there are scarce any inland provinces in the conti- nent of France or Germany, where the inhabitants are at this time so opulent, though that canton has vastly increased its treasure since 1 7 14, the time when Stanian wrote his judicious account of Swit- zerland.^ The account given by Appian [Proem.] of the treasure of the Ptolemies, is so prodigious, than one cannot admit of it ; and so much the less, because the historian says, that the other successors of Alex- ander were also frugal, and had many of them treasures not much inferior. For this saving humour of the neighbouring princes must necessarily have checked the frugality of the Egyptian monarchs, * The poverty which Stanian speaks of is only to be seen in the most mountainous cantons »vhere there is no commodity to bring money. And even there the people are not poorer than \\ the dicce^e of Saltsburg 'on the one hand, or Savoy on the othejr. 13 194 OF THE BALANCE OF TRADE. according to the foregoing theory. The sum he mentions is 740,000 talents, or 191,166,666 pounds 13 shillings and 4 pence, according to Dr. Arbuthnot's computation. And yet Appian says, that he extracted his account from the public records ; and he was himself a native of Alexandria. From these principles we may learn what judgment we ought to form of those numberless bars, obstructions, and imposts, which all nations of Europe, and none more than England, have put upon trade ; from an exorbitant desire of amassing money, which never will heap up beyond its level, while it circulates ; or from an ill-grounded appre- hension of losing their specie, which never will sink below it. Could anything scatter our riches, it would be such impolitic contrivances. But this general ill effect, however, results from them, that they deprive neighbouring nations of that free communication and exchange which the Author of the world has intended, by giving them soils, climates, and geniuses, so different from each other. Our modern politics embrace the only method of banishing money, the using of paper-credit ; they reject the only method of amassing it, the practice of hoarding ; and they adopt a hundred contrivances, which serve to no purpose but to check industry, and to rob ourselves and our neighbours of the common benefits of art and nature. All taxes, however, upon foreign commodities, are not to be regarded as prejudicial or useless, but those only which are founded on the jealousy above-mentioned. A tax on German linen encourages home manufactures, and thereby multiplies our people and industry. A tax on brandy increases the sale of rum, and supports our southern colonies. And as it is necessary, that imposts should Idc levied for the support of government, it may be thought more convenient to lay them on foreign commodities, which can easily be intercepted at the port, and sub- jected to the impost. We ought, however, always to remember the maxim of Dr. Swift, that, in the arithmetic of the customs, two and two make not four, but often make only one. It can scarcely be doubted, but if the duties on wine were lowered to a third, they would yield much more to the government than at present : our people might therefore afford to drink commonly a better and more wholesome liquor ; and no prejudice would ensue to the balance of trade, of which we are so jealous. The manufacture of ale beyond the agriculture is but inconsiderable, and gives employment to few hands. The transport of wine and corn would not be much inferior. But are there not fi'equent instances, you will say, of states and kingdoms, which were formerly rich and opulent, and are now poor and beggarly ? Has not the money left them, with which they formerly abounded ? I answer, if they lose their trade, industry, and people, they cannot expect to keep their gold and silver : for these precious metals will hold proportion to the former advantages. When Lisbon ESSAY XXVIII. BY DAVID HUME. I95 and Amsterdam got the East-India trade from Venice and Genoa, they also got the profits and money which arose from it. Where the seat of government is transferred, where expensive armies are maintained at a distance, where great funds are possessed by foreigners ; there naturally follows from these causes a diminution of the specie. But these, we may observe, are violent and forcible methods of carrying away money, and are in time commonly attended with the transport of people and industry. But where these remain, and the drain is not continued, the money always finds its way back again, by a hundred canals, of which we have no notion or suspicion. What immense treasures have been spent, by so many nations, in Flanders, since the revolution, in the course of three long years ? More money perhaps than the half of what is at present in Europe. But what has now become of it Is it in the narrow compass of the Austrian provinces ? No, surely : it has most of it returned to the several countries whence it came, and has followed that art and industry, by which at first it was acquired. For above a thousand years, the money of Europe has been flowing to Rome, by an open and sensible current ; but it has been emptied by many secret and insensible canals : and the want of industry and commerce renders at present the papal dominions the poorest territory in all Italy. In short, a government has great reason to preserve wlih care its people and its manufactures. Its money, it may safely trust to the course of human affairs, without fear or jealousy. Or, if it ever give attention to this latter circumstance, it ought only to be so far as it affects the former. XXV1II.~-0F THE JEALOUSY OF TRADE. Having endeavoured to remove one species of ill-founded jealousy, which is so prevalent among commercial nations, it may not be amiss to mention another, which seems equally groundless. Nothing is more usual, among states which have made some advances in commerce, than to look on the progress of their neighbours with a suspicious eye, to consider all trading states as their rivals, and to suppose that it is impossible for any of them to flourish, but at their expense. In oppo- sition to this narrow and malignant opinion, I will venture to assert, that the increase of riches and commerce in any one nation, instead of hurting, commonly promotes the riches and commerce of all its neighbours ; and that a state can scarcely carry its trade and industry very far, where all the surrounding states are buried in ignorance, sloth, and barbarism. OF THE JEALOUSY OF TRADE. It is obvious, that the domestic industry of a people cannot be hurt by the greatest prosperity of their neighbours ; and as this branch of commerce is undoubtedly the most important in any extensive king- dom, we are so far removed from all reason of jealousy. But I go farther, and observe, that where an open communication is preserved among nations, it is impossible but the domestic industry of every one must receive an increase from the improvements of the others. Com- pare the situation of Great Britain at present, with what it was two centuries ago. All the arts, both of agriculture and manufactures, were extremely rude and imperfect. Every improvement, which we have since made, has arisen from our imitation of foreigners ; and we ought so far to esteem it happy, that they had previously made advances in arts and ingenuity. But this intercourse is still upheld to our advan tage : notwithstanding the advanced state of our manufactures, we daily adopt, in every art, the inventions and improvements of our neighbours. The commodity is first imported from abroad, to our great discontent, while we imagine that it drains us of our money : afterwards, the art itself is gradually imported, to our visible advan- tage : yet we continue still to repine, that our neighbours should possess any art, industry, and invention : forgetting that, had they not first instructed us, we should have been at present barbarians ; and did they not still continue their instructions, the arts must fall into a state of languor, and lose that emulation and novelty which contribute so much to their advancement. The increase of domestic industry lays the foundation of foreign commerce. Where a great number of commodities are raised and perfected for the home market, there will always be found som ^ which can be exported with advantage. But if our neighbours hav( co art or cultivation, they cannot take them ; because they will have au'hing to give in exchange. In this respect, states are in the same r .^n^ ition as individuals. A single man can scarcely be industrious, v ^f.ro all his fellow-citizens are idle. The riches of the several mem^ ^crs of a community contribute to increase my riches, whatever pre 'C^. 3' on I may follow They consume the produce of my industry, and c^fford me the produce of theirs in return. Nor needs any state entertain apprehensions, that their neighbours will improve to such a degree in every art and manufacture, as to have no demand from them. Nature, by giving a diversity of geniuses, climates, and soils to different nations, has secured their mutual inter- course and commerce, as long as they all remain industrious and civi- lized. Nay, the more the arts increase in any state, the more will be its demands from its industrious neighbours. The inhabitants, having become opulent and skilful, desire to have every commodity in the utmost perfection : and as they have plenty of commodities to give in exchange, they make large importations from every foreign countrj^ ESSAY XXVIII. BY DAVID HUME. 1 97 The industry of the nations, from whom they import, receives encou- ragement : their own is also increased, by the sale of the commodi'jcs which they give in exchange. But what if a nation has any staple commodity, such as the wo(/]len maa•i^a^^ure England? Must not the interfering of our neigh- Douj'^ in f^ial manufacture be a loss to us ! I answer, that, when any ninmodity is denominated the staple of a kingdom, it is supposed that this kingdom has some peculiar and natural advantages for raising the commodity ; and if, notwithstanding these advantages, they lose r,iich a manufacture, they ought to blame their owm idleness, or bad govern- ment, not the industry of their neighbours. It ought also to be con- sidered, that, by the increase of industry among the neighbouring nations, the consumption of every particular species of commodity is also increased ; and though foreign manufactures interfere with them in the market, the demand for their product may still continue, or even increase. And should it diminish, ought the consequence to be esteemed so fatal ? If the spirit of industry be preserved, it may easily be diverted from one branch to another ; and the manufacturers of wool, for instance, be employed in linen, silk, iron, or any other commodities for which there appears to be a demand. We need not apprehend, that all the objects of industry will be exhausted, or that our manufacturers, while they remain on an equal footing with those of our neighbours, will be in danger of wanting employment. The emulation among rival nations serves rather to keep industry alive in all of them : and any people is happier who possess a variety of manu- factures, than if they enjoyed one single great manufacture, in which they are all employed. Their situation is less precarious ; and they will feel less sensibly those revolutions and uncertainties, to which every particular branch of commerce will always be exposed. The only commercial state that ought to dread the improvements and industry of their neighbours, is such a one as the Dutch, who, enjoying no extent of land, nor possessing any number of native com- modities, flourish only by their being the brokers, and factors, and carriers of others. Such a people may naturally apprehend, that as soon as the neigiibouring states come to know and pursue their interest, they will take into their own hands the management of their affairs, and deprive their brokers of that profit which they formerly reaped from it. But though this consequence may naturally be dreaded, it is very long before it takes place ; and by art and indus- try it may be warded off for many generations, if not wholly eluded. The advantage of superior stocks and correspondence is so great, that it is not easily overcome ; and as all the transactions increase by the increase of industry in the neighbouring states, even a people whose commerce stands on this precarious basis, may at first reap a consi- derable profit from the flourishing condition of their neighbours. The OF THE BALANCE OF POWER, Dutch, having mortgaged all their revenues, make not such a figure in political transactions as formerly ; but their commerce is surely equal to what it was in the middle of the last century, when they were rec- koned among the great powers of Europe. Were our narrow and malignant pohtics to meet with success, we should reduce all our neighbouring nations to the same state of sloth and ignorance that prevails in Morocco and the coast of Barbary. But what would be the consequence? They could send us no commodities : they could take none from us : our domestic commerce itself would languish for want of emulation, example, and instruction : and we ourselves should soon fall into the same abject con- dition, to which we had reduced them. I shall therefore venture to acknowledge, that, not only as a man, but as a British subject, I pray for the flourishing commerce of Germany, Spain, Italy, and even France itself I am at least certain that Great Britain, and all those nations, would flourish more, did their sovereigns and their ministers adopt such enlarged and benevolent sentiments towards each other. XXIX.— OF THE BALANCE OF POWER. It is a question whether the idea of the balance of power be owing entirely to modern policy, or whether the phrase only has been in- vented in the later ages It is certain that Xenophon [Lib. i.] in his Institution of Cyrus, represents the combination of the Asiatic powers to have arisen from a jealousy of the increasing force of the Medes and Persians : and though that elegant composition should be sup- posed altogether a romance, this sentiment, ascribed by the author to the Eastern princes, is at least a proof of the prevailing notion of ancient times. In all the politics of Greece, the anxiety, with regard to the balance of power, is apparent, and is expressly pointed out to us, even by the ancient historians. Thucydides [Lib. i.] represents the league which was formed against Athens, and which produced the Peloponnesian war, as entirely owing to this principle. And after the decline of Athens, when the Thebans and Lacedemonians disputed for sovereignty, we find that the Athenians (as well as many other republics) always threw themselves into the lighter scale, and en- deavoured to preserve the balance. They supported Thebes against Sparta, till the great victory gained by Epaminondas at Leuctra ; after which they immediately went over to the conquered, from gene- rosity, as they pretended, but in reality from their jealousy of the conquerors. [Xenoph. Hist. Gra^c. lib. vi. and vii.] ESSAY XXIX. BY DAVID HUME. 199 Whoever will read Demosthenes's oration for the Megalopolitans, may see the utmost refinements on this principle, that ever entered into the head of a Venetian or English speculatist. And upon the first rise of the Macedonian power, this orator immediately dis- covered the danger, sounded the alarm throughout all Greece, and at last assembled that confederacy under the banners of Athens, which fought the great and decisive battle of Chaeronea. It is true, the Grecian wars are regarded by historians as wars of emulation rather than of politics ; and each state seems to have had more in view the honour of leading the rest, than any well- grounded hopes of authority and dominion. If we consider, indeed, the small number of inhabitants in any one republic, compared to the whole, the great difficulty of forming sieges in those times, and the extraordinary bravery and discipline of every freeman among that noble people'; we shall conclude, that the balance of power was, of itself, sufficiently secured in Greece, and need not to have been guarded with that caution which may be requisite in other ages. But whether we ascribe the shifting of sides in all the Grecian republics to jealotis emtilation or caittiotis politics^ the effects were alike, and every prevailing power was sure to meet with a confederacy against it, and that often composed of its former friends and allies. The same principle, call it envy or prudence, which produced the Osfrads7n of Athens j and Petalism of Syracuse, and expelled every citizen whose fame or power overtopped the rest ; the same principle, I say, naturally discovered itself to foreign politics, and soon raised enemies to the leading state, however moderate in the exercise of its authority. The Persian monarch was really, in his force, a petty prince com- pared to the Grecian repubhcs ; and therefore it behoved him, from views of safety more than from emulation, to interest himself in their quarrels, and to support the weaker side in every contest. This was the advice given by Alcibiades to Tissaphernes [Thucyd. lib. viii.] and it prolonged, near a century, the date of the Persian empire ; till the neglect of it for a moment, after the first appearance of the aspiring genius of Philip, brought that lofty and frail edifice to the ground, with a rapidity of which there are few instances in the history oif mankind. The successors of Alexander showed great jealousy of the balance of power ; a jealousy founded on true politics and prudence, and which preserved distinct for several ages the partition made after the death of that famous conqueror. The fortune and ambition of Anti- gonus [Diod. Sic. lib. xx.] threatened them anew with a universal monarchy ; but their combination, and their victory at Ipsus, saved them. And in subsequent times, we find, that, as the Eastern princes considered the Greeks and Macedonians as the only real military aoo OF THE BALANCE OF POWER, force with whom they had any intercourse, they kept always a watch- ful eye over that part of the world. The Ptolemies, in particular, sup- ported first Aratus and the Achaeans, and then Cleomenes king of Sparta, from no other view than as a counterbalance to the Mace- donian monarchs. For this is the account which Polybus gives of the Egyptian politics. [Lib. ii. cap. 51.] The reason why it is supposed that the ancients were entirely igno- rant of the balance of power ^ seems to be drawn from the Roman history more than the Grecian ; and as the transactions of the forme are generally more familiar to us, we have thence formed all our con- clusions. It must be owned, that the Romans never met with any such general combination or confederacy against them, as might natu- rally have been expected for their rapid conquests and declared ambi- tion, but were allowed peaceably to subdue their neighbours, one after another, till they extended their dominion over the whole known world. Not to mention the fabulous history of their Italic wars, there was, upon Hannibal's invasion of the Roman state, a remarkable crisis, which ought to have called up the attention of all civilized nations. It appeared afterwards (nor was it difficult to be observed at the time) * that this was a contest for universal empire ; yet no prince or state seems to have been in the least alarmed about the event or issue of the quarrel. Philip of Macedon remained neuter, till he saw the victories of Hannibal ; and then most imprudently formed an alliance with the conqueror, upon terms still more im- prudent. He stipulated, that he was to assist the Carthaginian state in their conquest of Italy ; after which they engaged to send over forces into Greece, to assist him in subduing the Grecian common- wealth. [Tit. Livii, lib. xxiii. cap. 33.] The Rhodian and Achaean republics are much celebrated by ancient historians for their wisdom and sound policy ; yet both of them assisted the Romans in their wars against Philip and Antiochus. And what may be esteemed still a stronger proof, that this maxim was not generally known in those ages, no ancient author has remarked the imprudence of these measures, nor has even blamed that absurd treaty above-mentioned, made by Philip with the Carthaginians. Princes and statesmen, in all ages, may, beforehand, be blinded in their reason- ings with regard to events : but it is somewhat extraordinary, that historians, afterwards, should not form a sounder judgment of them. Massinissa, Attaius, Prusias, in gratifying their private passions, were all of them the instruments of the Roman greatness, and never seem to have suspected, that they were forging their own chains, while they advanced the conquests of their ally. A simple treaty and agreement between Massinissa and the Carthaginians, so much * It was observed by some, as appears by the speech of Agesilaus of Naupactum, in th« general congress of Greece See Polyb. lib. v. cap. 104. ESSAY XXIX. BY DAVID HUME. 201 required by mutual interest, barred the Romans from all entrance nto Africa, and preserved liberty to mankind. The only prince we meet with in the Roman history, who seems to have understood the balance of power, is Hiero, king of Syracuse. Though the ally of Rome, he sent assistance to the Carthaginians during the war of the auxiharies; ^ Esteeming it requisite,' says Poly- bius, [Lib. i. cap. 83.] both in order to retain his dominions in Sicily, * and to preserve the Roman friendship, that Carthage should be safe ; * lest by its fall the remaining power should be able, without contrast * or opposition, to execute every purpose and undertaking. And here 'he acted with great wisdom and prudence: for that is never, on * any account, to be overlooked ; nor ought such a force ever to be * thrown into one hand, as to incapacitate the neighbouring states * from defending their rights against it.' Here is the aim of modern politics pointed out in express terms. In short, the maxim of preserving the balance of power is founded so much on common sense and obvious reasoning, that it is impossible it could altogether have escaped antiquity, where we find, in other par- ticulars, so many marks of deep penetration and discernment. If it was not so generally known and acknowledged as at present, it had at least an influence on all the wiser and more experienced princes and politicians. And indeed, even at present, however generally known and acknowledged among speculative reasoners, it has not, in practice, an authority much more extensive among those who govern the world. After the fall of the Roman empire, the form of government, es- tablished by the northern conquerors, incapacitated them, in a great measure, for farther conquests, and long maintained each state in its proper boundaries. But when vassalage and the feudal mihtia were abolished, mankind were a,new alarmed by the danger of universal monarchy, from the union of so many kingdoms and principalities in the person of the Emperor Charles. But the power of the house of Austria, founded on extensive but divided dominions ; and their riches, derived chiefly from mines of gold and silver, were more likely to decay, of themselves, from internal defects, than to overthrow all the bulwarks raised against them. In less than a century, the force of that violent and haughty race was shattered, their opulence dissipated, their splendor eclipsed. A new power succeeded, more formidable to the liberties of Europe, possessing all the advantages of the former, and labouring under none of its defects, except a share of that spirit of bigotry and persecution, with which the house of Austria was so long, and still is so much infatuated. In the general wars maintained against this ambitious power. Great Britain has stood foremost, and she still maintains her station. Beside her advantages of riches and situation, her people are animated with 202 OF THE BALANCE OF POWER. such a national spirit, and are so fully sensible of the blessings of their government, that we may hope their vigour never will languish in so necessary and so just a cause. On the contrary, if we may judge by the past, their passionate ardour seems rather to require some modera- tion ; and they have more often erred from a laudable excess than from a blameable deficiency. I. We seem to have been more possessed with the ancient Greek spirit of jealous emulation, than actuated by the prudent views of modern politics. Our wars with France have been begun with justice, and even perhaps from necessity, but have always been too far pushed, from obstinacy and passion. The same peace, which was afterwards made at Ryswick in 1697, was offered so early as the year 1692 ; that concluded at Utrecht in 17 12 might have been finished on as good conditions at Gertruytenberg in 1708 ; and we might have given at Frankfort, in 1743, the same terms which we were glad to accept of at Aix-la-Chapelle in the year 1748. Here then we see, that above half of our wars with France, and all our public debts, are owing more to our own imprudent vehemence, than to the ambition of our neighbours. II. We are so declared in our opposition to French power, and so alert in defence of our allies, that they always reckon upon our force as upon their own ; and expecting to carry on war at our expense, refuse all reasona.ble terms of accommodation. Habeiit stibjectos, tan- qitam stios; viles^ ut alienos. All the world knows, that the factious vote of the House of Commons, in the beginning of the last parlia- ment, with the professed humour of the nation, made the Queen of Hungary inflexible in her terms, and prevented that agreement with Prussia, which would immediately have restored the general tranquillity of Europe. III. We are such true combatants, that, when once enga^jed, we lose all concern for ourselves and our posterity, and consider only how we may best annoy the enemy. To mortgage our revenues at so deep a rate in wars where we were only accessories, was surely the most fatal delusion, that a nation, which had any pretensions to politics and prudence, has ever yet been guilty of. That remedy of funding, if it be a remedy, and not rather a poison, ought, in all reason, to be re- served to the last extremity ; and no evil, but the greatest and most urgent, should ever induce us to embrace so dangerous an expedient. These excesses, to which we have been carried, are prejudicial, and may, perhaps, in time, become still more prejudicial another way, by begetting, as is usual, the opposite extreme, and rendering us totally careless and supine with regard to the fate of Europe. The Athenians, from the most bustling, intriguing, warlike, people of Greece, finding their error in thrusting themselves into every quarrel, abandoned all ESSAY XXX. BY DAVID HUME. 203 attention to foreign affairs ; and in no contest ever took part on either side, except by their flatteries and complaisance to the victor. Enormous monarchies are, probably, destructive ^^to human nature ; in their progress, in their continuance"^, and even in their downfall, which never can be very distant from their establishment. The military genius, which aggrandized the monarchy, soon leaves the court, the capital, and the centre of such a government : while the wars are carried on at a great distance, and interest so small a part of the state. The ancient nobility, whose affections attach them to their sovereign, live all at court ; and never will accept of military employments, which would carry them to remote and barbarous fron- tiers, where they are distant both from their pleasures and their fortune. The arms of the state must therefore be entrusted to mercenary stran- gers, without zeal, without attachment, without honour ; ready on every occasion to turn them against the prince, and join each desperate malcontent who offers pay and plunder. This is the necessary pro- gress of human affairs : thus human nature checks itself in its airy elevation ; thus ambition blindly labours for the destruction of the conqueror, of his family, and of every thing near and dear to him. The Bourbons, trusting to the support of their brave, faithful, and affectionate nobility, would push their advantage without reserve or hmitation. These, while fired with glory and emulation, can bear the fatigues and dangers of war ; but never would submit to languish in the garrison of Hungary or Lithuania, forgot at court, and sacri- ficed to the intrigues of every minion or mistress who approaches the prince. The troops are filled with Cravates and Tartars, Hussars and Cossacks, intermingled, perhaps, with a few soldiers of fortune from the better provinces : and the melancholy fate of the Roman emperors, from the same cause, is renewed over and over again, till the final dissolution of the monarchy. XXX.-~OF TAXES. There is a prevailing maxim among some reasoners, that every new tax creates a new ability in the subject to bear it^ aitd that each ina-ease of public burdens increases proportionably the industry of the people. This maxim is of such a nature as is most likely to be abused ; and is so much the more dangerous, as its truth cannot be altogether denied: * If the Roman empire was of advantage, it could only proceed from this, that mankiud w«c generally m a very disorderly, uncivilized condition, before its establishment. 204 OF TAXES. but it must be owned, when kept within certain bounds, to have some foundation in reason and experience. When a tax is laid upon commodities which are consumed by the common people, the necessary consequence may seem to be, either that the poor must retrench something from their way of living, or raise their wages, so as to make the burden of the tax fall entirely upon the rich. But there is a third consequence, which often follows upon taxes, namely, that the poor increase their industry, perform more work, and live as well as before, without demanding more for thei; labour. Where taxes arc moderate, are laid on gradually and affect not the necessaries of life, this consequence naturally follows ; and it is certain, that such difficulties often serve to excite the industry of a people, and render them more opulent and laborious, than others, who enjoy the greatest advantages. For we may observe, as a parallel instance, that the most commercial nations have not always possessed the greatest extent of fertile land ; but, on the contrary, that they have laboured under many natural disadvantages. Tyre, Athens, Carthage, Rhodes, Genoa, Venice, Holland, are strong examples to this purpose. And in all history, we find only three instances of large and fertil-e countries, which have possessed much trade ; the Netherlands, England, and France. The two former seem to have been allured by the advantages of their maritime situation, and the necessity they lay under of frequenting foreign ports, in order to procure what their own climate refused them. And as to France, trade has come late into that kingdom, and seems to have been the effect of reflection and observation in an ingenious and enterprizing people, who remarked the riches acquired by such of the neighbouring nations as cultivated navi- gation and commerce. The places mentioned by Cicero [Epist. ad Att. lib. ix. ep. ii.] as possessed of the greatest commerce in his time, are Alexandria, Colchos, Tyre, Sidon, Andros, Cyprus, Pamphylia, Lycia, Rhodes, Chios, Byzantium, Lesbos, Smyrna, Miletum, Coos. All these, except Alexandria, were either small islands, or narrow territories. And that city owed its trade entirely to the happiness of its situation. Since therefore some natural necessities or disadvantages may be thought favourable to industry, why may not artificial burdens have the same effect ? Sir William Temple"^, we may observe, ascribes the industry of the Dutch entirely to necessity, proceeding from their natural disadvantages ; and illustrates his doctrine by a striking com- parison with Ireland ; * where,' says he, *by the largeness and plenty of the soil, and scarcity of people, all things necessary to life are so cheap, that an industrious man, by two days labour, may gain enough to feed him the rest of the week. Which I take to be a very plain • Account of the Netherlands, chap. 6, ESSAY XXX. BY DAVID HUME. 20$ ground of the laziness attributed to the people. For men naturally prefer ease before labour, and will not take pains if they can live idie ; though when, by necessity, they have been inured to it, they cannot leave it, being grown a custom necessary to their health, and to theii very entertainment. Nor perhaps is the change harder, from constant ease to labour, than from constant labour to ease.* After which the author proceeds to confirm his doctrine, by enumerating, as above, the places where trade has most flourished in ancient and modern times ; and which are commonly observed to be such narrow confined terri- tories, as beget a necessity for industry. The best taxes are such as are levied upon consumptions, especially those of luxury; because such taxes are least felt by the people. They seem, in some measure, voluntary ; since a man may chuse how far he will use the commodity which is taxed : they are paid gradually and insensibly: they naturally produce sobriety and frugality, if judiciously imposed : and being confounded with the natural price of the com- modity, they are scarcely perceived by the consumers. Their only disadvantage is, that they are expensive in the levying. Taxes upon possessions are levied without expense : but have every other disadvantage. Most states, however, are obliged to have re- course to them, in order to supply the deficiencies of the other. But the most pernicious of all taxes are the arbitrary. They are commonly converted, by their management, into punishments on in- dustry ; and also, by their unavoidable inequality, are more grievous, than by the real burden which they impose. It is surprising, therefore to see them have place among any civilized people. In general, all poll-taxes, even when not arbitrary, which they com- monly are, may be esteemed dangerous : because it is so easy for the sovereign to add a little more, and a little more, to the sum demanded, that these taxes are apt to become altogethei oppressive and intolerable. On the other hand, a duty upon commodities checks itself ; and a prince will soon find, that an increase of the impost is no increase of his revenue. It is not easy, therefore, for a people to be altogether ruined by such taxes. Historians inform us, that one of the chief causes of the destrucfici) of the Roman state, was the alteration which Constantino introduced into the finances, by substituting an universal poll tax, in lieu of almost all the tithes, customs, and excises, which formerly composed the revenue of the empire. The people, in all the provinces, were so grinded and oppressed by the publicans^ that they were glad to take refuge under the conquering arms of the barbarians ; whose dominion, as they had fewer necessities and less art, was found preferable to the refined tyranny of the Romans. It is an opinion, zealously promoted by some political writers, that, $ince all taxes, as they pretend, fall ultimately upon land, it wer« better 2o6 OF TAXES. to lay them originally there, and abolish every duty upon consump- tions. But it is denied, that all taxes fall ultimately upon land. If a duty be laid upon any commodity, consumed by an artizan, he has two obvious expedients for paying it ; he may retrench somewhat of his expense, or he may increase his labour. Both these resources are more easy and natural, than that of heightening his wages. We see, that, in years of scarcity, the weaver either consumes less or labours more, or employs both these expedients of frugalitj and industry, by which he is enabled to reach the end of the year. It is but just that he should subject himself to the same hard- ships, if they deserve the name, for the sake of the public which gives him protection. By what contrivance can he raise the price of his labour ? The manufacturer who employs him, will not give him more ; neither can he, because the merchant, who exports the cloth, cannot raise its price, being limited by the price which it yields in foreign markets. Every man, to be sure, is desirous of pushing off from him- self the burden of any tax which is imposed, and of laying it upon others : but as every man has the same inclination, and is upon the defensive ; no set of men can be supposed to prevail altogether in this contest. And why the landed gentleman should be the victim of the whole, and should not be able to defend himself, as well as others are, I cannot readily imagine. All tradesmen, indeed, would willingly prey upon him, and divide him among them, if they could : but this inclination they always have, though no taxes were levied ; and the same methods by which he guards against the imposition of trades- men before taxes, will serve him afterwards, and make them share the burden with him. They must be very heavy taxes, indeed, and very injudiciously levied, which the artizan will not, of himself, be enabled to pay by superior industry and frugality, without raising the price of his labour. I shall conclude this subject with observing, that we have, with regard to taxes, an instance of v/hat frequently happens in political institutions, that the consequences of things are diametrically opposite to what we should expect on the first appearance. It is regarded as a fundamental maxim of the Turkish government, that the Grand Signior, though absolute master of the lives and fortunes of each in- dividual, has no authority to impose a new tax: and every Ottoman prince, who has made such an attempt, either has been obliged to retract, or has found the fatal effects of his perseverance. One would imagine, that this prejudice or established opinion were the firmest barrier in the world against oppression : yet it is certain that its effect is quite contrary. The emperor, having no regular method of increas- ing his revenue, must allow all the bashaws and governors to oppress and abuse the subjects: and these he squeezes after their return from their government. Whereas, if he could impose a ?iew tax, like our ESSAY XXXI. BY DAVID HUME. 207 European princes, his interest would so far be united with that of his people, that he would immediately feel the bad effects of these dis- orderly levies of money, and would fmd, that a pound, raised by a general imposition, would have less pernicious effects than a shilling taken in so unequal and arbitrary a manner. XXXI.— OF PUBLIC CREDIT. It appears to have been the common practice of antiquity, to make provision, during peace, for the necessities of war, and to hoard up treasures before-hand as the instruments either of conquest or defence ; without trusting to extraordinary impositions, much less to borrowing in times of disorder and confusion. Besides the immense sums above men- tioned, [Essay 28.] w^hich were amassed by Athens, and by the Ptolemies, and other successors of Alexander ; we learn from Plato [Alcib.] that the frugal Lacedemonians had also collected a great treasure ; and Arrian [Lib. iii.] and Plutarch"^ take no notice of the riches which Alex- ander got possession of on the possession of Susa and Ecbatana, and which were reserved, some of them, from the time of Cyrus. If I remember right, the Scripture also mentions the treasure of Hezekiah and the Jewish princes ; as profane history does that of Philip and Perseus, kings of Macedon. The ancient republics of Gaul had com- monly large sums in reserve [Strabo, lib. iv.] Every one knows the treasure seized in Rome by Julius Csesar, during the civil wars, and we find afterwards, that the wiser emperors, Augustus, Tiberius, Vespa- sian, Severus, &c., always discovered the prudent foresight, of saving great sums against any public exigency. On the contrary, our modern expedient, which has become very general, is to mortgage the public revenues, and to trust that posterity will pay off the incumbrances contracted by their ancestors : and they, having before their eyes so good an example of their wise friends, their wise fathers, have the same prudent reliance on their posterity ; who, at last, from necessity more than choice, are obliged to place the same confidence in a new posterity. But not to waste tim^e in declaiming against a practice which appears ruinous, beyond all controversy ; it seems pretty apparent, that the ancient maxims arc, in this respect, more prudent than the modern ; even though the latter had been confined within some reasonable bounds, and had ever, in any instance, been attended with such frugality, in time of peace, as to discharge the debts incurred by an expensive war. For why should the case be so different between the public and an individual, as to make us establish different maxims of conduct for ^ * Plut. in vita Alex. He makes these treasures amount to 80,000 talents, or about 15 fl.il- lions Sterling. Q»*mtus Curtius (lib, v. cap. 2.) says, that Alexander found in Susa »bov^ 50,000 talents 2o8 OF PUBLIC CREDIT. each? If the funds of the former be greater, its necessary expenses are proportionably larger ; if its resources be more numerous, they are not infinite ; and as its frame should be calculated for a much longer duration than the date of a single life, or even of a family, it should embrace maxims, large, durable, and generous, agreeably to the sup- posed extent of its existence. To trust to chances and temporary expedients, is, indeed, what the necessity of human affairs frequently renders unavoidable, but whoever voluntarily depend on such resources, have not necessity, but their own folly, to accuse for their misfortunes, when any such befal them. If the abuses of treasures be dangerous, either by engaging the state in rash enterprises, or making it neglect mihtary discipline, in confi- dence of its riches ; the abuses of mortgaging are more certain and inevitable ; poverty, impotence, and subjection to foreign powers. According to modern policy, war is attended with every destructive circumstance ; loss of men, increase of taxes, decay of commerce^ dissipation of money, devastation by sea and land. According to ancient maxims, the opening of the public treasure, as it produced an uncommon affluence of gold and silver, served as a temporary en- couragement to industry, and atoned, in some degree, for the inevitable calamities of war. It is very tempting to a minister to employ such an expedient, as enables him to make a great figure during his administration, without overburthening the people with taxes, or exciting any immediate clamours against himself. The practice, therefore, of contracting debt, will almost infallibly be abused in every government. It would scarcely be more imprudent to give a prodigal son a credit in every banker's shop in London, than to empower a statesman to draw bills, in this manner, upon posterity. What, then, shall we say to the new paradox, that public incum- brances are, of themselves, advantageous, independent of the necessity of contracting them ; and, that any state, even though it were not pressed by a foreign enemy, could not possibly have embraced a wiser expedient for promoting commerce and riches, than to create funds, and debts, and taxes, without Hmitation ? Reasonings, such as rnese, might naturally have passed for trials of wit among rhetoricians Hke the panegyrics on folly and a fever, on Busiris and Nero, had we not seen such absurd maxims patronized by great ministers, and by a whole party among us. Let us examine the consequences of public debts, both in our domestic management, by their influence on commerce and industry ; and in our foreign transactions, by their effect on wars and negotia- tions. Public securities are with us become a kind of money, and pass as icridily at the current price as gold or silver. Wherever any profiL\l»U ESSAY XXXI. BY DAVID HUME. 209 imdenaking ofiers itself, how expensive soever, there are never want ing hands enow to embrace it ; nor need a trader, who has sums in the public stocks, fear to launch out into the most extensive trade ; since he is possessed of funds, which will answer the most sudden de^ mand that can be made upon him. No merchant thinks it necessary to keep by him any considerable cash. Bank-stock, or India-bonds, especially the latter, serve all the same purposes ; because he can dis- pose of them, or pledge them to a banker, in a quarter of an hour ; and at the same time they are not idle, even when in his scrutoire, but bring him in a constant revenue. In short our national debts furnish merchants with a species of money that is continually multiplying in their hands, and produces sure gain, besides the profits of their com- merce. This must enable them to trade upon less profit. The small profit of the merchant renders the commodity cheaper, causes a greater consumption, quickens the labour of the common people, and helps to spread arts and industry throughout the whole society. There are also, we may observe, in England, and in all states which have both commerce and public debts, a set of men, who are half merchants, half stock-holders, and may be supposed willing to trade for small profits ; because commerce is not their principal or sole sup- port, and their revenues in the funds are a sure resource for them- selves and their families. Were there no funds, great merchants would have no expedient for realising or securing any part of their profit, but by making purchases of land ; and land has many disad- vantages in comparison of funds. Requiring more care and inspection, it divides the time and attention of the merchant upon any tempting offer or extraordinary accident in trade, it is not so easily converted into money ; and as it attracts too much, both by the many natural pleasures it affords, and the authority it gives, it soon converts the citizen into the country gentleman. More men, therefore, with large stocks and incomes, may naturally be supposed to continue in trade, where there are public debts ; and this, it must be owned, is of some advantage to commerce, by diminishing its profits, promoting circula- tion, and encouraging industry. But, in opposition to these two favourable circumstances, perhaps of no very great importance, weigh the many disadvantages which attend our public debts, in the whole interior economy of the state : you will find no comparison between the ill and the good which result from them. I. It is certain that national debts cause a mighty confluence of people and riches to the capital, by the great sums levied in the pro- vinces to pay the interest ; and perhaps, too, by the advantages in trade above mentioned, which they give the merchants in the capital above the rest of the kingdom. The question is, whether, in our case, it be for the pubhc interest, that so many privileges should be 14. 210 OP PUBLIC CREDIT. conferred on London, which has already arrived at such an enormous size, and seems still increasing ? Some men are apprehensive of the consequences. For my own part, I cannot forbear thinking, that, though the head is undoubtedly too large for the body, yet that great city is so happily situated, that its excessive bulk causes less incon- venience than even a smaller capital to a greater kingdom. There is more difference between the prices of all provisions in Paris and Languedoc, than between those in London and Yorkshire. The im- mense greatness, indeed, of London, under a government which admits not of discretionary power, renders the people factious, mutinous, se- ditious, and even perhaps rebellious. But to this evil the national debts themselves tend to provide a remedy. The first visible eruption or even immediate danger of public disorders, must alarm all the stockholders, whose property is the most precarious of any ; and will make them fly to the support of government, whether menaced by Jacobitish violence, or democratical frenzy. II. Public stocks, being a kind of paper-credit, have all the disad- vantages attending that species of money. They banish gold and silver from the most considerable commerce of the state, reduce them to common circulation, and by that means render all provisions and labour dearer than otherwise they would be. III. The taxes, which are levied to pay the interests of these debts, are apt either to heighten the price of labour, or be an oppression on the poorer sort. IV. As foreigners possess a great share of our national funds, they render the public, in a manner, tributary to them, and may in time occasion the transport of our people and our industry. V. The greater part of the public stock being always in the hands of idle people, who live on their revenue, our funds, in that view, give great encouragement to an useless and inactive life. But though the injury, that arises to commerce and industry from our public funds, will appear, upon balancing the whole, not incon- siderable, it is trivial, in comparison of the prejudice that results to the state considered as a body politic, which must support itself in the society of nations, and have various transactions with other states in wars and negociations. The ill there, is pure and unmixed, without any favourable circumstance to atone for it ; and it is an ill too of a nature the highest and most important. We have indeed beea told, that the public is no weaker upon ac- count of its debts, since they are mostly due among ourselves, and bring as much property to one as they take from another. It is like transferring money from the right hand to the left ; which leaves tho person neither richer nor poorer than before. Such loose reasonings and specious comparisons will always pass where we judge not upon principles. I ask, is it possible, in the nature of things, to overbur- ESSAY XXXI. BY DAVID HUME, 211 ihcn a nation with taxes, even where the sovemgn resides among them ? The very doubt seems extravagant ; since it is requisite, in every community, that there be a certain proportion observed between the laborious and the idle part of it. But if all our present taxes be mortgaged, must we not invent new ones ? And may not this matter be carried to a length that is ruinous and destructive ? In every nation, there are always some methods of levying money more easy than others, agreeably to the way of living of the people, and the commodities they make use of. In Great Britain, the excises upon malt and beer afford a large revenue ; because the operations of malting and brewing are tedious, and are impossible to be concealed ; and, at the same time, these commodities are not so absolutely neces- sary to life, as that the raising of their price would very much affect the poorer sort. These taxes being all mortgaged, what difficulty to find new ones ! what vexation and ruin of the poor ! Duties upon consumptions are more equal and easy than those upon possessions. What a loss to the public, that the former are all ex- hausted, and that we must have recourse to the most grevious method of levying taxes ! Were all the proprietors of land only stewards to the public, must not necessity force them to practice all the arts of oppression used by stewards ; where the absence or negligence of the proprietor render them secure against inquiry ? It will scarcely be asserted, that no bounds ought ever to be set to national debts, and that the public would be no weaker, were twelve or fifteen shillings in the pound, land-tax, mortgaged, with all the pre- sent customs and excises. There is something, therefore, in the case, beside the mere transferring of property from the one hand to another. In five hundred years, the posterity of those now in the coaches, and of those upon the boxes, will probably have changed places, without affecting the public by these revolutions. Suppose the public once fairly brought to that condition, to which it is hastening with such amazing rapidity ; suppose the land to be taxed eighteen or nineteen shillings in the pound ; for it can never bear the whole twenty ; suppose all the excises and customs to be screwed up to the utmost which the nation can bear, without entirely losing its commerce and industry ; and suppose that all those funds are mortgaged to perpetuity, and that the invention and wit of all our projectors can find no new imposition, which may serve as the foun- dation of a new loan ; and let us consider the necessary consequences of this situation. Though the imperfect state of our political know- ledge, and the narrow capacities of men, make it difficult to fortell the effects which will result from any untried measure, the seeds of ruin are here scattered with such profusion as not to escape the eye of the most careless observer. 212 Of PUBLIC CREt)tt. In this unnatural state of society, the only persons, who passe§§ any revenue beyond the immediate effects of their industry, are the stock- holders, who draw almost all the rent of the land and houses, besides the produce of all the customs and excises. These are men who have no connexions with the state, who can enjoy their revenue in any part of the globe in which they chuse to reside, who will naturally bury them- selves in the capital, or in great cities, and who will sink into the lethargy of a stupid and pampered luxury, without spirit, ambition, or enjoyment. Adieu to all ideas of nobility, gentry, and family. The stocks can be transferred in an instant ; and being in such a fluctuat- ing state, will seldom be transmitted during three generations from father to son. Or were they to remain ever so long in one family, they convey no hereditary authority or credit to the possessor : and by this means the several ranks of men which form a kind of independent magistracy in a state, instituted by the hand of nature, are entirely lost ; and every man in authority derives his influence from the com- mission alone of the sovereign. No expedient remains for preventing or suppressing insurrections but mercenary armies : no expedient at all remains for resisting tyranny : elections are swayed by bribery and corruption alone : and the middle power between king and people being totally removed, a grievous despotism must infallibly prevail. The landholders, despised for their poverty, and hated for their op- pression, will be utterly unable to make any opposition to it. Though a resolution should be formed by the legislature never to impose any tax which hurts commerce and discourages industry, it will be impossible for men, in subjects of such extreme delicacy, to reason so justly as never to be mistaken, or amidst difficulties so urgent, never to be seduced from their resolution. The continual fluc- tuations in commerce require continual alterations in the nature of the taxes ; which exposes the legislature every moment to the danger both of wilful and involuntary error. And any great blow given to trade, ^A'hether by injudicious taxes or by other accidents, throws the whole system of government into confusion. But what expedient can the public now employ, even supposing trade to continue in the most flourishing condition, in order to support its foreign wars and enterprises, and to defend its own honour and in- terest, or those of its allies ? I do not ask how the public is to exert such a prodigious power as it has maintained during our late wars ; where we have so much exceeded, not only our own natural strength, but even that of the greatest empires. This extravagance is the abuse complained of, as the source of all the dangers to which we are at pre- sent exposed. But since we must still suppose great commerce and opulence to remain, even after every fund is mortgaged ; these riches must be defended by proportional power ; and whence is the public to derive the revenue which supports it ? It must plainly be from a ESSAY XXXI. BV DAVID HUME. 213 continual taxation of the annuities, or, which is the same thing, from mortgaging anew, on every exigency, a certain part of their annuities ; and thus making them contribute to their own defence, and to that of the nation. But the difficulties attending this system of pohcy will easily appear, whether we suppose the king to have become absolute master, or to be still controled by national councils, in which the an- nuitants themselves must necessarily bear the principal sway. If the prince has become absolute, as may naturally be expected from this situation of affairs, it is so easy for him to increase his exac- tions upon the annuitants, which amount only to the retaining of money in his own hands, that this species of property would soon lose all its credit, and the whole income of every individual in the state must lie entirely at the mercy of the sovereign : a degree of despotism, which no oriental monarch has ever yet attained. If, on the contrary, the consent of the annuitants be requisite for every taxation, they will never be persuaded to contribute sufficiently even to the support of government ; as the diminution of their revenue must in that case be very sensible, it would not be disguised under the appearance of a branch of excise or customs, and would not be shared by any other order of the state, who are already supposed to be taxed to the utmost. There are instances, in some republics, of a hundredth penny, and sometimes of the fiftieth, being given to the support of the state ; but this is always an extraordinary exertion of power, and can never become the foundation of a constant national defence. We have always found, where a government has mortgaged all its revenues, that it necessarily sinks into a state of languor, inactivity, and impotence. Such are the inconveniences, which may reasonably be foreseen of this situation, to which Great Britain is visibly tending. Not to men- tion the numberless inconveniencies, which cannot be foreseen, and which must result from so monstrous a situation as that of making the public the chief or sole proprietor of land, besides investing it with every branch of customs and excise, which the fertile imagination of ministers and projectors have been able to invent. I must confess, that there is a strange supineness, from long custom, creeped into all ranks of men, with regard to public debts, not unlike what divines so vehemently complain of with regard to their religious doctrines. We all own that the most sanguine imagination cannot hope, either that this or any future ministry will be possessed of such rigid and steady frugality, as to make a considerable progress, in the payment of our debts ; or that the situation of foreign affairs will, for any long time, allow them leisure and tranquility for such an under- taking. What then is to become of us ? Were we ever so good Chris- tians, and ever so resigned to providence; this, methinks, were a curious question, even considered as a speculative one, and what it ipight not be altogether impossiblQ to form some conjectural solution 214 OF PUBLIC CREDIT. of. The events here will depend little upon the contingencies of battles, negociations, intrigues, and factions. There seems to be a natural progress of things, which may guide our reasoning. As it would have required but a moderate share of prudence, when we first began this practice of mortgaging, to have foretold, from the nature of men and of ministers, that things would necessarily be carried to the length we see ; so now, that they have at last happily reached it, it may not be difficult to guess at the consequences. It must, indeed, be Dne of these two events ; either the nation must destroy public credit, or public credit will destroy the nation. It is impossible that they can both subsist, after the manner they have been hitherto managed, in this, as well as in some other countries. There was, indeed, a scheme for the payment of our debts, which was proposed by an excellent citizen, Mr. Hutchinson, above thirty years ago, and which was much approved of by some men of sense, but never was likely to take effect. He asserted that there was a fallacy in imagining that the public owed this debt ; for that really every individual owed a proportional share of it, and paid, in his taxes, a proportional share of the interest, beside the expense of levying these taxes. Had we not better, then, says he, make a distribution of the debt among ourselves, and each of us con- tribute a eum suitable to his property, and by that means discharge at once all our funds and public mortgages ? He seems not to have considered that the laborious poor pay a considerable part of the taxes by their annual consumptions, though they could not advance, at once, a proportional part of the sum required. Not to mention, that property in money and stock in trade might easily be concealed or disguised : and that visible property in lands and houses would really at last answer for the whole : an inequality and oppression, which never would be submitted to. But though this project is not likely to take place ; it is not altogether improbable, that, when the nation becomes heartily sick of their debts, and is cruelly oppressed by them, some daring projector may arise with visionary schemes for their discharge. And as public credit will begin, by that time, to be a little frail, the least touch will destroy it, as happened in France during the regency ; and in this manner it will die of the doctor. But it is more probable, that the breach of national faith will be the necessary effect of wars, defeats, misfortunes, and public calamities, or even perhaps of victories and conquests. I must confess, when I see princes and states fighting and quarrelling, amidst their debts, funds, and public mortgages, it always brings to my mind a match of cudgel-playing fought in a China shop. How can it be expected, that sovereigns will spare a species of property, which is pernicious to themselves and to the public, when they have so little compassion on L* /es and properties, that are useful to both.^ Let the time come (and ESSAY XXXI. BY DAVID HUME. 21$ surely it will come) when the new funds, created for the exigencies of the year, are not subscribed to, and raise not the money projected. Suppose, either that the cash of the nation is exhausted ; or that our faith, which has hitherto been so ample, begin to fail us. SupposCj that, in this distress, the nation is threatened with an invasion ; a rebellion is suspected or broken out at home ; a squadron cannot be equipped for want of pay, victuals, or repairs : or even a foreign sub- sidy cannot be advanced. What must a prince or minister do in such an emergence ? The right of self-preservation is unalienable in every individual, much more in every community. And the folly of our statesmen must then be greater than the folly of those who trusted, or continue to trust this security, if these statesmen have the means ol safety in their hands, and not employ them. The funds, created and mortgaged, will by that time, bring in a large yearly revenue, sufficient for the defence and security of the nation : money is perhaps lying in the exchequer, ready for the discharge of the quarterly interest : necessity calls, fear urges, reason exhorts, compassion alone exclaims : the money will immediately be seized for the current service, under the most solemn protestations, perhaps, of being immediately replaced. But no more is requisite. The whole fabric, already tottering, falls to the ground, and buries thousands in its ruins. And this, I think, maybe called the 7tatu7'al death of pubHc credit : for to this period it tends as naturally as an animal body to its dissolution. So great dupes are the generality of mankind, that, notwithstand- ing such a violent shock to public credit, as a voluntary bankruptcy in England would occasion, it would not probably be long ere credit would again revive in as flourishing a condition as before. The pre- sent king of France, during the late war, borrowed money at a lower interest than ever his grandfather did ; and as low as the British par- liament, comparing the natural rate of interest in both kingdoms. And though men are commonly more governed by what they have seen, than by what they foresee, with whatever certainty ; yet promises, protestations, fair appearances, with the allurements of present interest, have such powerful influence as few are able to resist. Mankind are, in all ages, caught by the same baits : the same tricks, played over and over again, still trepan them. The heights of popularity and patriotism are still the beaten road to power and tyranny ; flattery, to treachery ; standing armies to arbi- trary government ; and the glory of God to the temporal interest of the clergy. The fear of an everlasting destruction of credit, allow- ing it to be an evil, is a needless bugbear. A prudent man, in reality, would rather lend to the public immediately after we had taken a spunge to our debts, than at present ; as much as an opulent knave, even though one could not force him to pay, is a preferable debtor to an honest bankrupt : for the former, in order to carry on business, 2l6 OF PUBLIC CREDIT, may find it his interest to discharge his debts, where they are not exorbitant : the latter has it not in his power. The reasoning of Tacitus [Hist. hb. ii.] as it is eternally true, is very applicable to our present case. Sed vulgus ad magjiitudmein beneficiortim ader at: stultissi- vius qtiisqtie pectmiis mercabatur : apud sapientes cassa habebantur^ qucB neque accipi, salva repitblica^ poterant. The public is a debtor, whom no man can oblige to pay. The only check which the creditors have upon her, is the interest of preserving credit ; an interest, which may easily be overbalanced by a great debt, and by a difficult and ex- traordinary emergence, even supposing that credit irrecoverable. Not to mention, that a present necessity often forces states into measures, which are, strictly speaking, against their interest. These two events supposed above, are calamitous, but not the mos.* calamitous. Thousands are thereby sacrificed to the safety of mil- lions. But we are not without danger, that the contrary event may be sacrificed for ever to the temporary safety of thousands"^. Our popular government, perhaps, will render it difficult or dangerous fol a minister to venture on so desperate an expedient, as that of a volun- tary bankruptcy. And though the house of Lords be altogether com- posed of proprietors of land, and the house of Commons chiefly ; and consequently neither of them can be supposed to have great property in the funds : yet the connections of the members may be so great with the proprietors, as to render them more tenacious of public faith, than prudence, policy, or even justice, strictly speaking, requires. And perhaps, too, our foreign enemies may be so politic as to dis- cover, that our safety lies in despair, and may not, therefore, show the danger, open and barefaced, till it be inevitable. The balance of power in Europe, our grandfathers, our fathers, and we, have all deemed too unequal to be preserved without our attention and assist- ance. But our children, weary of the struggle, and fettered v/ith in- cumbrances, may sit down secure, and see their neighbours oppressed and conquered ; till, at last, they themselves and their creditors lie both at the mercy of the conqueror. And this may properly enough be denominated the violent death of our public credit. These seem to be the events, which are not very remote, and which reason foresees as clearly almost as she can do any thing that hes in the womb of time. And though the ancients maintained, that, in order * I HAVE heard it has been computed, that all the creditors of the public, natives and foreigners, amount only to 17,000. These make a figure at present on their income; but in case of a public bankruptcy, would, in an instant, become the lowest, as well as the most ■wretched of the people. The dignity and authority of the landed gentry and nobility is much Letter rooted ; and would render the contention very unequal, if ever we come to that ex- tremity. One would incline to assign to this event a very near period, such as half a century, had not our fathers' prophecies of this kind been already found fallacious, by the duration of our public credit so much beyond all reasonable expectation. When the astro- logers in France were every year foretelling the deaih of Henry IV. * These fellows,' says he, *must be right at last.' We shall, therefore, be more cautious than to assign any precise date ; and shall consent ourselves with pojuting put the event iti general ESSAY XXXII. BY DAVID HUME. 217 to reach the gift of prophecy, a certain divine fury or madness was requisite, one may safely affirm, that, in order to deliver such pro- phecies as these, no more is necessary than merely to be in one's senses, free from the influence of popular madness and delusion. XXXII.--OF SOME REMARKABLE CUSTOMS. I shall observe three remarkable customs in three celebrated gov^x.!- ments ; and shall conclude from the whole, that all general maxims in politics ought to be established with great caution ; and that irregular and extraordinary appearances are frequently discovered in the moral, as well as in the physical world. The former, perhaps, we can better account for, after they happen, from springs and principles, of which every one has, within himself, or from observation, the strongest as- surance and conviction : but it is often fully as impossible for human prudence, beforehand, to forsee and foretel them. I. One would think it essential to every supreme council Or assembly, which debates, that entire liberty of speech should be granted to every member, and that all motions or reasonings should be received, which can any way tend to illustrate the point under deliberation. One would conclude, with still greater assurance, that, after a motion was made, which was voted and approved by that assembly in which the legislative power is lodged, the member who made the motion must for ever be exempted from future trial or inquiry. But no political maxim can, at first sight, appear more undisputable, than that he must, at least, be secured from all inferior jurisdiction ; and that nothing less than the same supreme legislative assembly, in their subsequent meet' ings, could make him accountable for those motions and harangues, to which they had before given their approbation. But these axioms however irrefragable they may appear, have all failed in the Athenian government, from causes and principles t^o, which appear almost inevitable. By the ypacprj Trapavofxcov or indictment of illegality^ (though it has not been remarked by antiquaries or commentators) any man was tried and punished in a common court of judicature, for any law which had passed upon his motion, in the assembly of the people, if that law ap- pearea to the court unjust, or prejudicial to the public. Thus Demos- thenes, finding that ship-money was levied irregularly, and that the poor bore the same burden as the rich in equipping the gallies, cor- rected this inequahty by a very useful law, which proportioned the expense to the revenue and income of each individual. He moved foi 2l8 OF SOME REMARKABLE CUSTOMS. tliis law in the assembly ; he proved its advantages ;* he convinced the people, the only legislature in Athens ; the law passed, and was carried into execution : yet was he tried in a criminal court for that law, upon the complaint of the rich, who resented the alteration that no had introduced into the finances. [Pro Ctesiphonte.] He was in- deed acquitted, upon proving anew the usefulness of his law. Ctesiphon moved in the assembly of the people, that particular honours should be conferred on Demosthenes, as on a citizen affection- ate and useful to the commonwealth: the people convinced of this truth, voted those honours: yet was Ctesiphon tried by the ypacpr] Trapavoficov. It was asserted, among other topics, that Demosthenes was not a good citizen, nor affectionate to the commonwealth : and the oiator was called upon to defend his friend, and consequently himself ; which he executed by that sublime piece of eloquence, that has ever since been the admiration oi mankind. After the battle of Chaeronea, a law was passed upon the motion cf Hyperides, giving liberty to slaves, and enrolling them in the troops."t On account of this law, the orator was afterwards tried by the indict- ment above mentioned, and defended himself, among other topics, by that stroke celebrated by Plutarch and Longinus. // was not /, said he, that 7iioved for this law : it was the necessities of war; it was the battle of Chceronea, The orations of Demosthenes abound with many instances of trials of this nature, and prove clearly, that nothing was more commonly practised. The Athenian Democracy was such a tumultuous government as we can scarcelv form a notion of in the present age of the world. The whole colicx^dve body of the people voted in every law, without any hmitation of property, without any distinction of rank, without control from any magistracy or senate ; % and consequently without regard to order, justice, or prudence. The Athenians soon became sensible of the mischiefs attending this constitution : but being averse to checking themselves by any rule or restriction, they resolved, at least, to check their demagogues or counsellors, by the fear of future punishment and inquiry. They accordingly instituted this remarkable law ; a law esteemed so essential to their form of government, that ^schines insists on it as a known truth, that, were it abolished or neglected, it were impossible for the Democracy to subsist.§ * His harangue for it is still extant : Ilept ^v}x\xogias. t V\\iX2.xc\ms ill vita deceinoraiormn. Demosthenes gives a different account of this law. Contra Aristogiton. orat. II. He says, that its purport was, to render the clti^ol ciriTifioif or to restore the privilege of bearing offices in those who had been declared incapable. Per- haps these were both clauses of the same law. t The senate of the Bean was only a less numerous mob, chosen by lot from among the people ; and their authority was not great. § In Ctesiphontem. It is remarkable, that the lust siep after the dissolution of the Demo- cracy by Critias and the thirty, was to annul the ypa(pr} irapavofiwu, as we learn from De- mosthenes Kara Tl/jloic, The orator in this oration gives us the words of the law, establisn^ ing the ypacpr) frapavoixai/, page 297, ex dit. Aldi. And he accounts for it from the sxm^ principles we here reason upon. ESSAY XXXII. BY DAVID HUME 219 The people feared not any ill consequence to liberty from the autho- rity of the criminal courts ; because these were nothing but very numerous juries, chosen by lot from among the people. And they justly considered themselves as in a state of perpetual pupilage ; where they had an authority, after they came to the use of reason, not only to retract and control whatever had been determined, but to punish any guardian for measures which they had embraced by his persuasion. The same law had place in Thebes [Plut. in vita Pelop.] and for the same reason. It appears to have been a usual practice in Athens, on the estab- lishment of any law esteemed very useful or popular, to prohibit lor ever its abrogation and repeal. Thus the demagogue, who diverted all the public revenues to the support of shows and spectacles, made it criminal so much as to move for a repeal of this law. [Demost. Olynth. i, 2.] Thus Leptines moved for a law, not only to recal all the immunities formerly granted, but to deprive the people for the future of the power of granting any more. [Demost. contra Lept.] Thus all bills of attainder [Demost. contra Aristocratem] were forbid, or laws that affected one Athenian, without extending to the whole commonwealth. These absurd clauses, by which the legislature vainly attempted to bind itself for ever, pro- ceeded from an universal sense in the people of their own levity and inconstancy. IL A wheel within a wheel, such as we observe in the German empire, is considered by Lord Shaftesbury"^ as an absurdity in politics : but what must we say to two equal wheels, which govern the same po- litical machine, without any mutual check, control, or subordination ; and yet preserve the greatest harmony and concord To establish two distinct legislatures, each of which possess full and absolute authority within itself, and stands in no need of the other's assistance, in order to give validity to its acts ; this may appear, before-hand, altogether impracticable, as long as men are actuated by the passions of ambition, emulation, and avarice, which have hitherto been their governing principles. And should I assert, that the state I have in my eye was divided into two distinct factions, each of which predominated in a distinct legislature, and yet produced no clashing in these inde- pendent powers ; the supposition may appear incredible. And if, to augment the paradox, I should affirm that this disjointed, irregular government, was the most active, triumphant, and illustrious common- wealth that ever appeared ; I should certainly be told, that such a political chimera was as absurd as any vision of priests or poets. But there is no need for seaJrching long, in order to prove the reality of the foregoing suppositions : for this was actually the case with the Roman republic. • £ssay on the freedom of wit and humour, part 3. § «. 220 OF SOME REMARKABLE CUSTOMS. The legislative power was there lodged in the comitia centittiata and comitia tributa. In the former, it is well known, the people voted according to their census; so that when the first class was unanimous, though it contained not, perhaps, the hundreth part of the commonwealth, it determined the whole ; and, with the authority of the senate, established law. In the latter, every vote was equal ; and as the authority of the senate was not there requisite, the lower people entirely prevailed, and gave law to the whole state. In all party- divisions, at first betv/een the Patricians and Plebeians, afterwards between the nobles and the people, the interest of the aristocracy was predominant in the first legislature ; that of the democracy in the second : the one could always destroy what the other had established : nay, the one, by a sudden and unforseen motion, might take the start of the other, and totally annihilate its rival, by a vote, which, from the nature of the constitution, had the full authority of a law* But no such contest is observed in the history of Rome : no instance of a quarrel between these two legislatures : though many between the parties that governed in each. Whence arose this concord, which may seem so extraordinary ? The legislature established in Rome, by the authority of Servius Tullius, was the coinitia centuriata^ which, after the expulsion of the kings, rendered the government for some time very aristocratical. But the people, having numbers and force on their side, and being elated with frequent conquests and victories in their foreign wars, always prevailed when pushed to extremity, and first extorted from the senate the magistracy of the tribunes, and next the legislative power of the comitia tributa. It then behoved the nobles to be more careful than ever not to provoke the people. For beside the force which the latter were always possessed of, they had now got possession of legal authority, and could instantly break in pieces any order or institution which directly opposed them^. By intrigue, by influence, by money, by combination, and by the respect paid to their character, the nobles might often prevail, and direct the whole machine of government : but had they openly set their co7nitia centu7'iata in opposition to the tributa^ they had soon lost the advantage of that institution, togethei with their consuls, praetors, ediles, and all the magistrates elected b> it. But the comitia tributa^ not having the same reason for respecting the centu7'iata^ frequently repealed laws favourable to the aristocracy : they limited the authority of the nobles, protected the people from oppression, and controled the actions of the senate and magistracy. The centuriata found it convenient always to submit ; and though equal in authority, yet being inferior in power, durst never directly give any shock to the other legislature, either by repealing its laws, or establishing laws which it foresaw would soon be repealed by it. No jj^stance is found of any opposition or struggle between these ESSAY 3t5C5tn. BY DAVID HtJMK. 2^1 comilm, except one slight attempt of this kind, mentioned by Appian in the third book of his civil wars. Mark Anthony, resolving to deprive Decimus Brutus of the government of Cisalpine Gaul, railed in the Forum^ and called one of the coinitia^ in order to prevent the meeting of the other, which had been ordered by the senate. But affairs were then fallen into such confusion, and the Roman constitution was so near its final dissolution, that no inference can be drawn from such an expedient. This contest, besides, was founded more on form than party. It was the senate who ordered the comitia tribiita^ that they might obstruct the meeting of the cejitiiriata^ which, by the constitu- tion, or at least forms of the government, could alone dispose of provinces. Cicero was recalled by the comitia ceiituriata^ though banished by the tribtita^ that is, by a plebiscitum. But his banishment, we may observe, never was considered as a legal deed, arising from the free choice and inchnation of the people. It was always ascribed to the violence alone of Clodius, and to the disorders introduced by him into the government. III. The third custom, which we purpose to remark, regards Eng- land ; and though it be not so important as those which we have pointed out in Athens and Rome, is no less singular and unexpected. It is a maxim in politics, which we readily admit as undisputed and universal, that a power, however great, when granted by law to an eminent magistrate, is not so dangerous to liberty, as an authority, however inconsiderable, which he acquires from violence and usurpa- tion. For, besides that the law always limits every power which it bestows, the very receiving it as a concession establishes the authority whence it is derived, and preserves the harmony of the constitution. By the same right that one prerogative is assumed without law, another may also be claimed, and another, with still greater facility ; while the first usurpations both serve as precedents to the following, and give force to maintain them. Hence the heroism of Hampden's conduct, who sustained the whole violence of royal prosecution, rather than pay a tax of 20 shiUings not imposed by parliament ; hence the care of all the P^nglish patriots to guard against the first encroachments of the crown ; and hence alone the existence, at this day, of English liberty. There is, however, one occasion, where the parliament has departed from this maxim; and that is, in \h.^ pressing of seamen. The exercise of an irregular power is here tacitly permitted in the crown; and though it has frequently been under deliberation, how that power might be rendered legal, and granted, under proper restrictions, to the sovereign, no safe expedient could ever be proposed for that purpose ; and the danger to liberty always appeared greater from law than from usurpation. When this power is exercised to no other end, than to man the navy, men willingly submit to it* from a sense of its use and 222 POPULOUSNESS OF ANCIENT NATIONS, necessity ; and the sailors, who are alone affected by it, find no body to support them, in claiming the rights and privileges which the law grants, without distinction, to all English subjects. But were this power, on any occasion, made an instrument of faction or ministerial tyranny, the opposite faction, and indeed all lovers of their country, would immediately take the alarm, and support the injured party; the liberty of Englishmen would be asserted ; juries would be implacable ; and the tools of tyranny, acting both against law and equity, would meet with the severest vengeance. On the other hand, were the par- liament to grant such an authority, they would probably fall into one of these two inconveniences: they would either bestow it under so many restrictions as would make it lose its effect, by cramping the authority of the crown; or they would render it so large and com- prehensive, as might give occasion to great abuses, for which we could, in that case, have no remedy. The very irregularity of the practice of impressment, at present, prevents its abuses, by affording so easy a remedy against them. I pretend not, by this reasoning, to exclude all possibility of con- triving a register for seamen, which might man the navy, without being dangerous to liberty. I only observe, that no satisfactory scheme of that nature has yet been proposed. Rather than adopt any project hitherto invented, we continue a practice seemingly the most absurd and unaccountable. Authority, in times of full internal peace and concord, is armed against law. A continued violence is permitted in t\ie crown, amidst the greatest jealousy and watchfulness in the people ; nay, pro- ceeding from those very principles : liberty, in a country of the highest liberty, is left entirely to its own defence, without any countenance or protection : the wild state of nature is renewed, in one of the most civilized societies of mankind : and great violence and disorder are committed with impunity; while the one party pleads obe- dience to the supreme magistrate, the other the sanction of funda- mental laws. [The practice has long since been abolished, 1869.] XXXIII.-OF THE POPULOUSNESS OF ANCIENT NATIONS. /here is very little ground, either from reason or observation, to con- clude the world eternal or incorruptible. The continual and rapid motion of matter, the violent revolutions with which every part is agitated, the changes remarked in the heavens, the plain traces as ivell as tradition of an universal deluge, or general convulsion of the ESSAY XXXIII. BY DAVID HUMS. 223 elements ; all these prove strongly the mortality of this fabric of tha world, and its passage, by corruption or dissolution, from one state or order to another. It must therefore, as well as each individual form which it contains, have its infancy, youth, manhood, and old age ; and it is probable, that, in all these variations, man, equally with every animal and vegetable, will partake. In the flourishing age of the world, it may be expected, that the human species should possess greater vigour both of mind and body, more prosperous health, higher spirits, longer life, and a stronger inclination and power of generation. But if the general system of things, and human society of course, have any such gradual revolutions, they are too slow to be discernible in that short period which is comprehended by history and tradition. Stature and force of body, length of life, even courage and extent of genius, seem hitherto to have been naturally, in all ages, pretty much the same. The arts and sciences, indeed, have flourished in one period, and have decayed in another : but we may observe, that, at the time when they rose to greatest perfection among one people, they were perhaps totally unknown to all the neighbouring nations ; and though they universally decayed in one age, yet in a succeeding generation they again revived, and diffused themselves over the world. As far, therefore, as observation reaches, there is no universal difference dis- cernible in the human species ; and though it were allowed, that the universe, like an animal body, had a natural progress from infancy to old age ; yet as it must still be uncertain, whether, at present, it be advancing to its point of perfection, or declining from it, we cannot thence presuppose any decay in human nature."^ To prove, therefore, or account for that superior populousness of antiquity, which is com- monly supposed, by the imaginary youth or vigour of the world, will scarcely be admitted by any just reasoner. These general physical causes ought entirely to be excluded from this question. There are indeed some moxt particular physical causes of importance. Diseases are mentioned in antiquity, which are almost unknown to modern medicine ; and new diseases have arisen and propagated them- selves, of which there are no traces in ancient history. In this par- ticular we may observe, upon comparison, that the disadvantage is much on the side of the moderns. Not to mention some others of less T:aoment ; the small-pox commits such ravages, as would almost alone account for the great superiority ascribed to ancient times. The tenth or the twelfth part of mankind, destroyed every generation, should make a vast difference, it may be thought, in the numbers of the ■* Columella says, lib. iii. cap. 8- that in Egypt and Africa the bearing of twins waa frequent, and even customary; geiniiii ^j:>arttis fainiliares, ac pcB7te solennes sunt- If this was true, there is a physical difference both in countries and ages- For travellers make no such remarks on these countries at present. On the contrary, we are apt to suppose the northern nations more prolific. As those two countries were provinces of the Roman em- pire, it is difficult, though not altogeth ;r absurd, to suppose that such a man as Columella might be mistaken with regard to , 324 ?OPULOUSNESS OF ANCIENT NATIONS. people ; dnd when joined to venereal distempers, a new plague diffused everywhere, this disease is perhaps equivalent, by its constant opera- tion, to the three great scourges of mankind, war, pestilence, and famine. Were it certain, therefore, that ancient times were more populous than the present, and could no moral causes be assigned for so great a change ; these physical causes alone, in the opinion of many, would be sufficient to give us satisfaction on that head. But is it certain, that antiquity was so much more populous, as is pretended.^ The extravagancies of Vossius, with regard to this sub- ject, are well known. But an author of much greater genius and discernment has ventured to affirm, that, according to the best com- putations which these subjects will admit of, there are not now, on the face of the earth, the fiftieth part of mankind, which existed in the time of Julius Caesar."^ It may easily be observed, that the comparison, in this case, must be imperfect, even though we confine ourselves to the scene of ancient history ; Europe, and the nations round the Mediterranean. We know not exactly the numbers of any European kingdom, or even city, at present : how can we pretend to calculate those of ancient cities and states, where historians have left us such imperfect traces ? For my part, the matter appears to me so uncertain, that, as I intend to throw together some reflections on that head, I shall intermingle the inquiry concerning catises with that concerning facts; which ought never to be admitted, where the facts can be ascer- tained with any tolerable assurance. We shallj^fri-/, consider whether it be probable, from what we know of the situation of society in both periods, that antiquity must have been more populous ; secondly, whether in reality it was so. If I can make it appear, that the con- clusion is not so certain as is pretended, in favour of antiauity, it is all I aspire to. In general, we may observe, that the question with regard to the comparative populousness of ages or kingdoms, implies important consequences, and commonly determines concerning the preference of their whole poHce, their manners, and the constitution of their government. For as there is in all men, both male and female, a desire and power of generation, more active than is ever universally exerted, the restraints, which they lie under, must proceed from some difficulties in their situation, Avhich it belongs to a wise legislature carefully to observe and remove. Almost every man, who thinks he can maintain a family, will have one ; and the human species, at this rate of propagation, would more than double every generation. How fast do mankind multiply in every colony or new settlement ; where it is an easy matter to provide for a family ; and where men are no wise straitened or confined as in long established governments ? History tells us frequently of plagues, which have swept away the third or * Letters Persanes. See also V Esprit de Loix, liv. xxiii. cap 17, 18, 19 ESSAY XXXIII. BY DAVil) ttUMfi. ^2$ foui'th part of a people : yet in a generation or two, the destruction was not perceived ; and the society had again acquired their former number. The lands which were cultivated, the houses built, the commodities raised, the riches acquired, enabled the people, who escaped, immedi- ately to marry and to rear families, which supplied the place of those who had perished."'^ And, for a like reason, every wise, just, and mild government, by rendering the condition of its subjects easy and secure, will always abound most in people, as well as in commodities and riches. A country, indeed, whose climate and soil are fitted for vines, will naturally be more populous than one which produces corn only, and that more populous than one which is only fitted for pasturage. In general, w^arm climates, as the necessities of the inhabitants are there fewer, and vegetation more powerful, are likely to be most populous : but if everything else be equal, it seems natural to expect that, wherever there are most happiness and virtue, and the wisest institutions, there will also be most people. The question, therefore, concerning the populousness of ancient and modern times, being allowed of great importance, it will be requisite, if we would bring it to some determination, to compare both the domestic ^.ndi political situation of these two periods, in order to judge of the facts by their moral causes ; which is the Jirst view in which we proposed to consider them. The chief difference between the domestic economy of the ancients and that of the moderns, consists in the practice of slavery, which prevailed among the former, and which has been abolished for some centuries throughout the greater part of Europe. Some passionate admirers of the ancients, and zealous partizans of civil liberty (for these sentiments, as they are, both of them, in the main, extremely just, are found to be almost inseparable), cannot forbear regretting the loss of this institution ; and whilst they brand all submission to the government of a single person with the harsh denomination of slavery, they would gladly reduce the greater part of mankind to real slavery and subjection. But to one who considers coolly on the subject, it will appear, that human nature, in general, really enjoys more liberty at present, in the most arbitrary government of Europe, than it ever did during the most flourishing period of ancient times. As much as submission to a petty prince, whose dominions extend not before a single city, is more grevious than obedience to a great monarch ; so much is domestic slavery more cruel and oppressive than any civil subjection whatsoever. The more the master is removed from us iif place and rank, the greater liberty we enjoy ; the less are our actions * This too is a good reason why the small-pox does not depopulate countries so m\ich as may at first sight be imagined. Where there is room for more people, they will always arise, «ven without the assistance of naturalisation bills. It is remarked by Don Geronimo Do U^tariz, that the provinces of Spain, which send most people to the Indies, are most populous : which proceeds f:om their superior rich*-* 226 POPULOUSNESS Ot ANCIENT NATIONS. inspected and controlled ; and the fainter that cruel comparison be- comes between our own subjection; and the freedom, and even dominion of another. The remains which are found of domestic slavery in the American colonies, and among some European nations, would never surely create a desire of rendering it more universal. The little humanity, commonly observed in persons, accustomed, from their infancy, to exercise so great authority over their fellow-creatures, and to ti'ample upon human nature, were sufficient alone to disgust us with that unbounded dominion. Nor can a more probable reason be assigned for the severe, I might say, barbarous manners of ancient times, than the practice of domestic slavery : by which every man of rank was rendered a petty tyrant, and educated amidst the flattery, submission, and low debasement of his slaves. According to ancient practice, all checks were on the inferior, to restrain him to the duty of submission ; none on the superior, to engage him to the reciprocal duties of gentleness and humanity. In modern times, a bad servant finds not easily a good master, nor a bad master a good servant ; the checks are mutual, suitably to the inviolable and external laws of reason and equity. The custom of exposing old, useless, or sick slaves in an island of the Tyber, there to starve, seems to have been pretty common in Rome ; and whoever recovered, after having been so exposed, had his liberty given him by an edict of the emperor Claudius : in which it was likewise forbidden to kill any slave merely for old age or sickness. [Suetonius in vita Claudii.] But supposing that this edict was strictly obeyed, would it better the domestic treatment of slaves, or render their lives much more comfortable ? We may imagine what others would practise, when it was the professed maxim of the elder Cato, to sell his superannuated slaves for any price, rather than maintain what he esteemed a useless burden. [ Plut. in vita Catonis.] The ergastula^ or dungeons, where slaves in chains were forced to woik, were very common all over Italy. Columella [Lib. i. cap. 6.] advises, that they be always built under ground ; and re- commends [Id. lib. xi. cap. i.] it as the duty of a careful overseer, to call over every day the names of these slaves, like the mustering of a regiment or ship's company, in order to know presently when any of them had deserted. A proof of the frequency of these ergastula^ and of the great number of slaves usually confined in them. A chained slave for a porter, was usual in Rome, as appears from Ovid, [Amor. lib. i. eleg. 6.] and other authors."'^ Had not these people shaken off all sense of compassion towards that unhappy part * Suetonius, ds darts rhetor. So also the ancient poet, ^nvifn-rjs tititinnire tmpedi- menta audio. ESSAY XXXIII. BY DAVID HUME. 22? of their species, would they have presented their friends, at the first entrance, with such an image of the severity of the master, and misery of the slave ? Nothing so common in all trials, even of civil causes, as to call for the evidence of slaves ; which was always extorted by the most ex- quisite torments. Demosthenes says, [In Oniterem oratJ] that, where it was possible to produce, for the same fact, either freemen or slaves, as witnesses, the judges always preferred the torturing of slaves, as a more certain evidence.* Seneca draws a picture of that disorderly luxury, which changes day into night, and night into day, and inverts every stated hour of every office in life. Among other circumstances, such as displacing the meals and times of bathing, he mentions, that, regularly about the third hour of the night, the neighbours of one, who indulges this false refinement, hear the noise of whips and lashes ; and, upon inquiry, find that he is then taking an account of the conduct of his servants, and giving them due correction and discipline. This is not remarked as an instance of cruelty, but only of disorder, which, even in actions the most usual and methodical, changes the fixed hours that an estab- lished custom had assigned for them :t But our present business is only to consider the influence of slavery on the populousness of a state. It is pretended, that, in this particu- lar, the ancient practice had infinitely the advantage, and was the chief cause of that extreme populousness, which is supposed in those times. At present, all masters discourage the marrying of their male servants, and admit not by any means the marriage of the female, who are then supposed altogether incapacitated for their service. But where the property of the servants is lodged in the master, their marriage forms his riches, and brings him a succession of slaves, that supply the place of those whom age and infirmity have disabled. He encourages, therefore, their propagation as much as that of his cattle ; rears the young with the same care ; and educates them to some art or calling, which may render them more useful or valuable to him. The opulent are, by thisv policy, interested in the being at least, though not in the well-being of the poor ; and enrich themselves * The same practice was very common fti Rome ; but Cicero seems not to think this evidence so certain as the testimony of free-citizens. — Pro Ca'lio. t Epist 122. The inhuman sports exhibited at Rome, may justly be considered too as an effect of the people's contempt for slaves, and was also a great cause of the general inhu- manity of their princes and rulers. Who can read the accounts of the amphitheatrical en- tertainments without horror? Or who is surprised, that the emperors should treat that people in the same way the people treated their inferiors? One's humanity is apt to renew the barbarous wish of Caligula, that the people had but one neck : a man could almost be pleased, by a single blow, to put an end to such a race of monsters. You may thank God, says the author above cited, {epist. 7.) addressing himself to the Roman people, that you hava a master, (to wit, the mild and merciful Nero) who is incapable of learning cruelty from your example. This was spoke in the beginning of his reign ; but he fitted them very well after- wards ; and, no doubt, was considerably improved by the sight of the barbarous objects, to which he had, from his infancy, been accustomed. 2^8 1>0I*UL0USN£SS Of" ANClKNt NATIONS, by increasing the number and industry of those who are subjected to them. Each man, being a sovereign in his own family, has the same interest with regard to it, as the prince with regard to the state ; and has not, hke the prince, any opposite motives of ambition or vain-glory, which may lead him to depopulate his little sovereignty. All of it is, at all times, under his eye ; and he has leisure to inspect the most minute detail of the marriage and education of his subjects."^ Such are the consequences of domestic slavery, according to the first aspect and appearance cf things : but if we enter more deeply into the subject, we shall perhaps find reason to retract our hasty de- terminations. The comparison is shocking between the management of human creatures and that of cattle ; but being extremely just, when applied to the present subject, it may be proper to trace the conse- quences of it. At the capital, near all great cities, in all populous, rich, industrious provinces, few cattle are bred. Provisions, lodgings, attendance, labour are there dear ; and men find their account better in buying the cattle, after they come to a certain age, from the remoter and cheaper countries. These are consequently the only breeding countries for cattle ; and, by a parity of reason, for men too, when the latter are put on the same footing with the former. To rear a child in London, till he could be serviceable, would cost much dearer, than to buy one of the same age from Scotland or Ireland ; where he had been bred in a cottage, covered with rags, and fed on oatmeal and potatoes. Those who had slaves, therefore, in all the richer and more populous countries, would discourage the pregnancy of the females, and either prevent or destroy the birth. The human species would perish in those places where it ought to increase the fastest : and a perpetual re- cruit be wanted from the poorer and more desert provinces. Such a continued drain would tend mightily to depopulate the state, and render great cities ten times more destructive than with us ; where every man is master of himself, and provides for his children from the powerful instinct of nature, not the calculations of sordid interest. If London, at present, without much increasing, needs a yearly recruit from the country of 5000 people, as is usually computed, what must it require, if the greater part of the tradesmen and common people were slaves, and were hindered from breeding by their avaricious masters ? All ancient authors tell us, that there was a perpetual flux of slaves to Italy, from the remoter provinces, particularly Syria, Cihcia,t Cap- padocia, and the Lesser Asia, Thrace, and Egypt : yet the number of * We may here observe, that if domestic slavery really increased populousness, it would be an exception to the general rule, that the happiness of any society and its populousness are necessary attendants. A master, from humour or interest, may make his slaves very un- happy, yet be careful, from interest, to increase their number. Their marriage is not a matter of choice, to them, more than any other action of their life. t Ten thousand slaves in a day ''iave often been sold for the use of the Romans, at Delui In Cilicia. Strabo, lib. xiv. ESSAY XXXIII. BY DAVID HUME. 229 people did not increase in Italy ; and writers complain of the continual decay of industry and agriculture.* Where then is that extreme fer- tility of the Roman slaves, which is commonly supposed ? So far from multiplying, they could not, it seems, so much as keep up the stock without immense recruits. And though great numbers were con- tinually manumitted and converted into Roman citizens, the numbers even of these did not increase,t till the freedom of the city was com- municated to foreign provinces. The term for a slave, born and bred in the family, was verna ;% and these slaves seem to have been entitled by custom to privileges anc indulgencies beyond others ; a sufficient reason why the masters would not be fond of rearing many of that kind.§ Whoever is acquainted with the maxims of our planters, will ackarwledge the justness of this observation. II Atticus is much praised by his histoiian, for the care which he took in recruiting his family from the slaves born in it \% May we not thence infer, that this practice was not then very common. The names of slaves in the Greek coiiicdies, Syrus, Mysus, Geta, Thrax, Davius. Lydus, Phryx, &c. afford a presumption, that, at * Columella, lib. \. proceyn. et cap. 2. et 7. Varro, lib. iii, cap. i. Horat. lib. ii. od- 15 Tacit, aitnal. lib. iii. cap. 54. Sueton. in vita Aug. cap- xlii. Plin. lib. xviii. cap. 13. t Minore indies plebe hige^uia, says Tacitus, aiui. lib. xxiv. cap. 7. X As servus was the name of the genus, and verna of the species without any correlative, this forms a strong presumption, that the latter were by far the least numerous. It is an universal ob.>ervaiion which we may form upon language, that were two related parts of a whole bear any proportion to each olher, in numbers, rank, or consideration, there are always correlative terms invented, which answer to both the parts, and express their mutual rela- tion. If they bear no proportion to each other, the term is only invented for the less, and marks its distinction from the whole. Thus man and ivojnan, master 2LnfX servant, father and son, priiice and siihject, stra^iger and citizen, are correlative terms. But the words seamen, carpe7iter, smith, tailor, &c., have no correspondent terms, which express those who are no seamen, no carpenters, &c. Languages -differ very much with regard to the par- ticular words where this distinction obtains; and may thence afford veiy strong inferences concerning the manners and customs of different nations. The military government of the Roman emperors had exalted the soldiery so high, that they balanced all the other orders of the state. Hence miles and paganns became relative terms ; a thing, till then, unknown to ancient, and still so to modern languages. Modern superstition exalted the clergy so high, that they overbalanced the whole stale : hence clergy and laity are terms opposed in all modern languages ; and in these alone. And from the same principles I infer, that if the number of slaves bought by the Romans from foreign countries, had not extremely exceeded those which were bred at home, verna would have had a correlative, which would have ex- pressed the former species of slaves. But these, it would seem, composed the main body of the ancient slaves, and the latter were but a few exceptions. § Vertta is used by Roman writers as a word equivalent to scurra, on account of the petulance and impudence of those slaves. Mart. lib. i, ep. 42. Horace also mentions the vernce procaces ; and Petronius, cap. 24. vernula urbanitas. Seneca, de provid. cap. i. vermtlarum licentia. II It is computed in the West Indies, that a stock of slaves grow worse five per cent. every year, unless new slaves be bought to recruit them. They are not able to keep up their number, even in those warm countries, where clothes and provisions are so easily got. How much more must this happen in European countries, and in or near great cities ? I shall add, that, from the experience of our planters, slavery is as little advantageous to the master as to the slave, wherever hired servants can be procured. A man is obliged to clothe and feed his slave ; and he does no more for his servant. The price of the first purchase is, therefore, so mucj;i loss to him : not to mention, that the fear of punishment will never draw so much labour from a slave, as the dread of being turned off, and not getting another service, will from a freeman. ^ Corn. Nepos in vita Attici. We may remark, that Atticus's estate lay chief!}' in Epirus, which being a remote, desolate place, would reader it profit^bls for him to rear slaves ther^ 230 POPULOUSNESS OF ANCIENT NATIONS. Athens at least, most of the slaves were imported from foreign coun- tries. The Athenians, says Strabo, [Lib. vii.] gave to their slaves, either the names of the nations whence they were brought, as Lydus, Syrus ; or the names that were most common among those nations, as Manes, or Midas, to a Phyrgian, Tibias to a Paphlagonian. Demosthenes, having mentioned a law which forbad any man to strike the slave of another, praises the humanity of this law ; and adds, that, if the barbarians, from whom the slaves were bought, had information that their countrymen met with such gentle treatment, they would entertain a great esteem for the Athenians. [In Midiam, p. 221, ex. edit. Aldi.] Isocrates [Panegyr] too insinuates, that the slaves of the Greeks were generally or very commonly barbarians. Aristotle in his politics [Lib. vii. cap. lo, sub. fin.], plainly supposes, th a slave is always a foreigner. The ancient comic writers repre- sented the slaves as speaking a barbarous language.* This was an imitation of nature. It is well known that Demosthenes, in his nonage, had been de- frauded of a large fortune, by his tutors, and that afterwards he re- covered, by a prosecution at law, the value of his patrimony. His orations, on that occasion, still remain, and contain an exact detail of the whole substance left by his father [In AinpJwbinn orat. i.] in money, merchandize, houses, and slaves, together with the value of each particular. Among the rest were 52 slaves, handicraftsmen, namely, 32 sword-cutlers, and 20 cabinet-makers ;t all males ; not a word of any wives, children, or family, which they certainly would have had, had it been a common practice at Athens to breed from the slaves : and the value of the whole must have much depended on that circumstance. No female slaves are even so much as mentioned, except some housemaids, who belonged to his mother. This argu- ment has great force, if it be not altogether conclusive. Consider this passage of Plutarch, [in vita Catonis], speaking of llie Elder Cato. * He had a great number of slaves, whom he took care to buy at the sales of prisoners of war ; and he chose them young, that they might easily be accustomed to any diet or manner of life, and be instructed in any business or labour, as men teach any thing to young dogs or horses. — And esteeming love the chief source of all disorders, he allowed the male slaves to have a commerce with the female in his family, upon paying a certain sum for this privilege . but he strictly prohibited all intrigues out of his family.' Are there any symptoms in this narration of that care which is supposed in the ancients, of the marriage and propagation of their slaves? If that was a common practice, founded on general interest, it would surely * .^ristoph; Equites, I, 17. The ancient scholiast remarks on this passage, ^ap^api^ci cyj 1 KhivoiroiOi makers of those beds which the ancients lay upon at meals. ESSAY XXXIII. BY DAVID HUME. have been embraced by Cato, who was a great economist, and lived in times when the ancient frugahty and simphcity of manners were still in credit and reputation. It is expressly remarked by the writers of the Roman law, that scarcely any ever purchase slaves with a view of breeding from them. Our lackeys and house-maids, I own, do not serve much to multiply their species : but the ancients, besides those who attended on their person, had almost all their labour performed, and even manufactures executed, by slaves, who lived, many of them, in their family; and some great men possessed to the number of 10,000. If there be any suspicion, therefore, that this institution was unfavourable to pro- pagation (and the same reason, at least in part, holds with regard to ancient slaves as modern servants), how destructive must slavery have proved ? History mentions a Roman nobleman, who had 400 slaves under the same roof with him : and having been assassinated at home by the furious revenge of one of them, the law was executed with rigour, and all without exception were put to death. [Tacit Ann lib. xiv. cap. 43.] Many other Roman noblemen had families equally, or more numerous ; and I believe every one will allow, that this would scarcely be practicable, were we to suppose all the slaves married, and the females to be breeders.* So early as the poet Hesiod,t married slaves, whether male or female, were esteemed inconvenient. How much more, where families had increased to such an enormous size as in Rome, and where the ancient simplicity of manners was banished from all ranks of people? Xenophon in his Oeconomics, where he gives directions for the management of a farm, recommends a strict care and attention of laying the male and the female slaves at a distance from each other. He seems not to suppose that they are ever married. The only slaves among the Greeks that appear to have continued their own race, were the Helotes, who had houses apart, and were more the slaves of the pubHc than of individuals. [Strabo, lib. viii.] The same author [De ratione redituum] tells us, that Nicias's over- seer, by agreement with his master, was obliged to pay him an obolus a-day for each slave ; besides maintaining them, and keeping up the number. Had the ancient slaves been all breeders, this last circum- stance of the contract had been superfluous. The ancients talk so frequently of a fixed, stated portion of pro« visions assigned to each slave,J thit we are naturally led to conclude, * The slaves in the great houses had little t!>:;Tns assigned them called ce/Za?. Whence tho name of cell was transferred to the monk's rooiv. in a convent. Just. Lipsius, Saturn, i. cap. 14. These form strong presumptions against the marriage and propagation of the fcimily £laves. t Opera et Dies, lib. ii. 1. 24, also I. 220. X Set Catq re riistica» cap. 56 Popsty • phormion, I i. g. g, Senecs? cpi^l* ^fs. 232 POPULOUSNESS OF ANCIENT NATIONS. that slaves lived almost all single, and received that portion as a kind of board wages. The practice, indeed, of marrying slaves seems not to have been very common, even among the country labourers, where it is more naturally to be expected. Cato [De re rustic, cap. lo, ii.] enumera- ting the slaves requisite to labour a vine-yard of a hundred acres, makes them amount to 15 ; the overseer and his wife, villims and villica, and 13 male slaves ; for an olive plantation of 240 acres, the overseer and his wife, and 1 1 male slaves ; and so in proportion to a greater or less plantation or vineyard. Varro, [Lib. i. cap. 18.] quoting this passage of Cato, allows his computation to be just in every respect except the last. For as it is requisite, says he, to have an overseer and his wife, whether the vine- yard or plantation be great or small, this must alter the exactness of the proportion. Had Cato's computation been erroneous in any other respect, it had certainly been corrected by Varro, who seems fond of discovering so trivial an error. The same author, [Lib. i. cap. 17.] as well as Columella, [Lib. i. cap. 18.] recommends it as requisite to give a wife to the overseer, in order to attach him the more strongly to his master's service. This was therefore a peculiar indulgence granted to a slave, in whom so great confidence was reposed. In the same place, Varro mentions it as an useful precaution, not to buy too many slaves from the same nation, lest they beget factions and seditions in the family. A presumption, that in Italy, the greater part, even of the country labouring slaves (for he speaks of no other), were bought from the remoter provinces. All the world knows, that the family slaves in Rome, who were instruments of show and luxury, were commonly imported from the East. Hoc profecei^e^ says Pliny, speaking of the jealous care of masters, mancipio7^um legiones^ et in domo tiirba exteriia^ ac servo7'ii7n qiwque causa no7nenclaior ad- hibe7tdiis.* It is indeed recommended by Varro [Lib. ii. cap. 10.] to propagate young shepherds in the family from the old ones. For as grazing farms were commonly in remote and cheap places, and each shepherd lived in a cottage apart, his marriage and increase were not liable to the same inconveniences as in dearer places, and where many ser- vants lived in the family ; which was universally the case in such of the Roman farms as produced wine or corn. If we consider this ex- ception with regard to shepherds, and weigh the reasons of it, it will serve for a strong conhrmation of all our foregoing suspicions.f Columella, [Lib. i. cap. 8,] I own, advises the master to give a re« • Lib. xxxiii. cap. i. So lik'iwise Tacitus, Amial. lib. xiv. cap. 4^ ♦ P^storis duri es^ Hig ftUws^ v'c ^wbulgi. Juven. Sat. 11, # ESSAY XXXIII. BY DAVID HUME, 233 ward, and c ven liberty to a female slave, that had reared him above three children. A proof, that sometimes the ancients propagated from their slaves ; which, indeed, cannot be denied. Were it otherwise the practice of slavery, being so common in antiquity, must have been destmctive to a degree which no expedient could repair. All I pre- tend to infer from these reasonings is, that slavery is in general dis- advantageous both to the happiness and populousness of mankind, and that its place is much better supplied by the practice of hired servants. The laws, or, as some writers call them, the seditions of the Gracchi, were occasioned by their observing the increase of slaves all over Italy, and the diminution of free citizens. Appian"^ ascribes this in- crease to the propagation of the slaves : Plutarchf to the purchasing of bargains, who were chained and imprisoned ^ap^ap.Ka SeuwTTjptaJ. It is to be presumed that both causes concurred. Sicily, says Florus [Lib. iii. cap. 19.] was full of ergasttila^ and was cultivated by labourers in chains. Eunus and Athenio excited the servile war, by breaking up these monstrous prisons, and giving liberty to 60,000 slaves. The younger Pompey augmented his army in Spain by the same expedient. [Id lib. iv. cap. 8.] If the country labourers, throughout the Roman empire, were so generally in this situation, and if it was difficult or impossible to find separate lodgings for the families of the city servants, how unfavourable to propagation, as well as to humanity, must the institution of domestic slavery be esteemed ? Constantinople, at present, requires the same recruits of slaves from all the provinces, that Rome did of old ; and these provinces are of consequence far from being populous. Egypt, according to Mons. Maillet, sends continual colonies of black slaves to the other parts of the Turkish empire ; and receives annually an equal return of white ; the one brought from the inland parts of Africa ; the other from Mingrelia, Circassia, and Tartary. Our modern convents are, no doubt, bad institutions ; but there is reason to suspect, that anciently every great family in Italy, and pro- bably in other parts of the world, was a species of convent. And although we have reason to condem all those popish institutions, as nurseries of superstition, burthensome to the public, and oppressive to * De bell. civ. lib. i. t In vila Tib. et C. Gracchi. t To the same purpose is that passage in the elder Seneca, ex controversia, 5 lib. v. 'Arata 'quondam populis rura, singuiorum ergastulorum sunt; latiusque nunc villici, quam o'Jim * reges, impcrant.* *At nunc eadem,' says Pliny, *vincti pedes, damnata) manus, insgripti *vuitus exercent.' Lib- xviii. cap. 3. So also Martial. *Et S5net innumera compede Thuscus ager. — Lib. ix. ep. 33, L'lcan- 'Tun. longosjungere fines 'Agrorum, et quondam duro sulcata Camiili, 'Vomere et antiquas Curiorum passa ligones, *Longa sub ignotos extendere rura colonis.' — Lib i. ' Viocio fossore coluntur * ilesperag segetes,-»-«w' ^l-il). 234 POPULOUSNESS OF ANCIENT NATIONS. the poor prisoners, male as well as female ; yet may it be questioned whether they be so destructive to the populousness of a state, as is commonly imagined. Were the land which belongs to a convent bestowed on a nobleman, he would spend its revenue on dogs, horses, grooms, footmen, cooks, and housemaids ; and his family would not furnish many more citizens than the convent. The common reason why any parent thrusts his daughters into nun- neries, is, that he may not be overburthened with too numerous a family ; but the ancients had a method almost as innocent, and more effectual to that purpose, to wit, exposing their children in early in- fancy. This practice was very common ; and is not spoken of by any author of those times with the horror it deserves, or scarcely [Tacitus blames it. De morib. Germ.], even with disapprobation. Plutarch, the humane good-natured Plutarch,"^ mentions it as a merit in Attalus, king of Pergamus, that he murdered, or, if you will, exposed all his own children, in order to leave his crown to the son of his brother Eumenes ; signalizing in this manner his gratitude and affection to Eumenes, who had left him his heir preferably to that son. It was Solon, the most celebrated of the sages of Greece, that gave parents permission by law to kill their children. [Sext. Em. hb. iii. cap. 24.] Shall we then allow these two circumstances to compensate each other, to wit, monastic vows and the exposing of children, and to be unfavourable, in equal degrees, to the propagation of mankind ? I doubt the advantage is here on the side of antiquity. Perhaps, by an odd connection of causes, the barbarous practice of the ancients might rather render those times more populous. By removing the terrors of too numerous a family it would engage many people in marriage ; and such is the force of natural affection, that very few, in comparison, would have resolution enough, when it came to the push, to carry into execution their former intentions. China, the only country where this practice of exposing children prevails at present, is the most populous country we know of ; and every man is married before he is twenty. Such early marriages could scarcely be general, had not men the prospect of so easy a method of getting rid of their children. I own, that [De amore prolis.] Plutarch speaks of it as a very general maxim of the poor to expose their children ; and as the rich were then averse to marriage, on account of the courtship they met with from those who expected legacies from them, the public must have been in a bad situation between them.f * De fraterno amore. Seneca also approves of the exposing of sickly infirm children. Ds ira, lib. i- cap. 15. t The practice of leaving great sums of money to friends, though one had near relations, was common in Greece as well as Rome ; as we may gather from Lucian. This practice pre- vails much less in modern times ; and Ben Johnson's Volpone is therefore almost entirely extracted from ancient authors, and suits better the manners of those times. It may justly be thought, that the liberty of divorces in Rome was another discourage- ment to raamagc. Such a practice prevents noi quarrels frojn humour, but rather incrcasci ESSAY XXXIII. BY DAVID HUME. 235 Of all sciences, there is none where first appearances are more deceitful than in politics. Hospitals for foundlings seern favourable to the increase of numbers ; and, perhaps, may be so, when kept under proper restrictions. But when they open the door to every one, with- out distinction, they have probably a contrary effect, and are pernicious to the state. It is computed, that every ninth child born at Paris is sent to the hospital ; though it seems certain, according to the common course of human affairs, that it is not a hundredth child whose parents are altogether incapacitated to rear and educate him. The great dif- ference, for health, industry, and morals, between an education in an hospital and that in a private family, should induce us not to make the entrance into the former too easy and engaging. To kill one's own child is shocking to nature, and must therefore be somewhat unusual ; but to turn over the care of him upon others, is very tempting to the natural indolence of mankind. Having considered the domestic life and manners of the ancients, compared to those of the moderns ; where, in the main, we seem rather superior, so far as the present question is concerned ; we shall now examine the political customs and institutions of both ages, and weigh their influence in retarding or forwarding the propagation of mankind. Before the increase of the Roman power, or rather till its full estab- lishment, almost all the nations, which are the scene of ancient history, were divided into small territories or petty commonwealths, where of course a great equality of fortune prevailed, and the centre of the government was always very near its frontiers. This was the situation of affairs not only in Greece and Italy, but also in Spain, Gaul, Germany, Afric, and a great part of the Lesser Asia : and it must be owned, that no institution could be more favour- able to the propagation of mankind. For though a man of an ovei- grown fortune, not being able to consume more than another, must share it with those who serve and attend him ; yet their possession being precarious, they have not the same encouragement to marry, as if each had a small fortune, secure and independent. Enormous cities are, besides, destructive to society, beget vice and disorder of all kinds, starve the remoter provinces, and even starve themselves, by the prices to which they raise all provisions. Where each man had his little house and field to himself, and each country had its capital, free and independent ; what a happy situation of mankind ! How favour- able to industry and agriculture ; to marriage and propagation ! The prolific virtue of men, were it to act in its full extent, without that restraint which poverty and necessity impose on it, would double the number every generation : and nothing surely can give it more liberty, them ; and occasions also those from interest, which are much more dangerous and destruc- tive. Perhaps too the unnatural lusts of the ancients ought to be taken into consideratioa* as of some moment. 236 POPULOUSNESS OF THE ANCIENT NATIONS. than such small commonwealths, and such an equality of fortune among the citizens. All small states naturally produce equality of fortune, because they afford no opportunities of great increase ; hut small commonwealths much more, by that division of power and authority which is essential to them. When Xenophon [Be exp. Cyr. lib. vii.] returned after the famous expedition with Cyrus, he hired himself and 6000 of the Greeks into the service of Seuthes, a prince of Thrace ; and the articles of his agreement were, that each soldier should receive a daric a month, each captain two darzcs, and he himself, as general, four. A regulation of pay which would not a little surprise our modern officers. Demosthenes and ^schines, with eight more, were sent ambas- sadors to Philip of Macedon, and their appointments for above four months were a thousand dracJimas^ which is less than a drachma a-day for each ambassador."^ But a drachma a-day, nay sometimes two [Thucyd. lib. iii.], was the pay of a common foot-soldier. A centurion among the Romans had only double pay to a private man in Polybius's time [Lib. vi. cap. 37] ; and we accordingly find the gratuities after a triumph regulated by that proportion.f But Mark Anthony and the triumvirate gave the centurions five times the reward of the other. [Appian. De belL civ, lib. iv.] So much had the increase of the commonwealth increased the incquahty among the citizens.J It must be owned, that the situation of affairs in modern times, with regard to civil liberty, as well as equality of fortune, is not near so favourable, either to the propagation or happiness of mankind. Europe is shared out mostly into great monarchies ; and such parts of it as are divided into small territories are commonly governed by absolute princes, who ruin their people by a mimicry of the great monarchs, in the splendor of their court, and number of their forces. Switzerland alone and Holland resemble the ancient republics ; and though the former is far from possessing any advantage, either of soil, climate, or commerce, yet the numbers of people with which it abounds, notwithstanding their enlisting themselves into every service in Europe, prove sufficiently the advantages of their political institu- tions. The ancient republics derived their chief or only security from the numbers of their citizens. The Trachinians having lost great numbers of their people, the remainder, instead of enriching themselves by the inheritance of their fellow-citizens, applied to Sparta, their metropolis, for a new stock of inhabitants. The Spartans immediately collected • Demost. de falsa leg. He calls it a considerable sum. t Tit. Liv. lib xli. cap. 7, 13, et alibi passim. X Caesar gave the centurions ten times the gratuity of the common soldiers. De lello Gal- Uco, lib. viii. In the Rhodian cartel mentioned afterwards, no distiuction in the raasoai was made o» aecouRt of ranks in the army* KssAV xxJtin. m david Hume. 23? ten thousand men ; among whom the old citizens divided the lands of which the former proprietors had perished. [Diod. Cyc. lib. xii» Thuycd. lib. iii.] After Timoleon had banished Dionysius from Syracuse, and had settled the affairs of Sicily, finding the cities of Syracuse and Sellinun* tium extremely depopulated by tyranny, war, and faction, he invited over from Greece some new inhabitants to repeople them. [Diod. Sic* lib. xvi.] Immediately 40,000 men (Plutarch vita TimoL] says 60,000) offered themselves ; and he distributed so many lots of land among them, to the great satisfaction of the ancient inhabitants : a proof at once of the maxims of ancient policy, which affected populous* ness more than riches ; and of the good effects of these maxims, in the extreme populousness of that small country, Greece, which could at once supply so great a colony. The case was not much different with the Romans in early times. He is a pernicious citizen, said M. Curius, who cannot be content with seven"^ acres. Such ideas of equality could not fail of producing great numbers of people. We must now consider what disadvantages the ancients lay under with regard to populousness, and what checks they received from their political maxims and institutions. There are commonly compensations in every human condition ; and though these compensations be not always perfectly equal, yet they serve, at least, to restrain the pre- vailing principle. To compare them, and estimate their influence, is indeed difficult, even where they take place in the same age, and in neighbouring countries : but where several ages have intervened, and only scattered lights are afforded us by ancient authors ; what can we do but amuse ourselves by talking pro and con^ on an interesting sub- ject, and thereby correcting all hasty and violent determinations 1 I. We may observe, that the ancient republics were almost in per- petual war ; a natural effect of their martial spirit, their love of liberty, their mutual emulation, and that hatred which generally prevails among nations that live in close neighbourhood. Now, war in a small state is much more destructive than in a great one ; both because all the inhabitants, in the former case, must serve in the arm^ies ; and be- cause the whole state is frontier, and is all exposed to the inroads of the enemy. The maxims of ancient war were much more destructive than those of modern ; chiefly by that distribution of plunder, in which the soldiers were indulged. The private men in our armies are such a low set of people, that we find any abundance, beyond their simple pay, breeds * Plin. lib. xviii. cap. 3. The same author, in cap. 6. says, Verumgice fatentibjcs latif- undia perdidere Italiam ; jam vero et provincias. Sez dojni sevtissem Africce possidebanty ctcm i7tterfecit eos Nero princeps. In this view, the barbarous butchery committed by the first Roman emperors, was not, perhaps, so destructive to the public as we may imagine. These never ceased till they had extinguished all the illustrious families, which had en- joyed the plunder of the world, during the latter ages of the republic. The new nobles who rose ia their place were less splendid, as we learn from Tacit. — Ann. lib, iii. cap. 55. 238 POFULOUSNESS OF ANCIENT NATIONS ccnfusioli and disorder among them, and a total dissolution of dis. cipline. The very wretchedness and meanness of those who fill the modern armies, render them less destructive to the countries which they invade : one instance, among many, of the deceitfulness of first appearances in all political reasonings."'^ Ancient battles were much more bloody, by the very nature of the weapons employed in them. The ancients drew up their men i6 or 20. sometimes 50 men deep, which made a narrow front ; and it was not difficult to find a field, in which both armies might be marshalled, and might engage with each other. Even where any body of the troops was kept off by hedges, hillocks, woods, or hollow ways, the battle was not so soon decided between the contending parties, but that the others had time to overcome the difficulties which opposed them, and take part in the engagement. And as the whole army was thus engaged, and each man closely buckled to his antagonist, the battles were commonly very bloody, and great slaughter was made on both sides, especially on the vanquished. The long thin lines, re- quired by fire-arms, and the quick decision of the fray, render our modern engagements but partial rencounters, and enable the general, who is foiled in the beginning of the day, to draw off the greater part of his army, sound and entire. The battles of antiquity, both by their duration and their resemblance to single combats, were wrought up to a degree of fury quite unknown to later ages. Nothing could then engage the combatants to give quarter, but the hopes of profit, by making slaves of their prisoners. In civil wars, as we learn from Tacitus [Hist. lib. ii. cap. 4], the battles were the most bloody, because the prisoners were not slaves. What a stout resistance must be made, where the vanquished ex- pected so hard a fate. How inveterate the rage, where the maxims of war were, in every respect, so bloody and severe ? Instances are frequent, in ancient history, of cities besieged, whose inhabitants, rather than open their gates, murdered their wives and children, and rushed themselves on a voluntary death, sweetened per- haps by a little prospect of revenge upon the enemy. Greeks,t as well as Barbarians, have often been wrought up to this degree of fury. And the same determined spirit and cruelty must, in other instances less remarkable, have been destructive to human society, in those petty commonwealths, which lived in close neighbourhood, and were engaged in perpetual wars and contentions. Sometimes the wars in Greece, says Plutarch [In vita Arati.] were • The ancient soldiers, being free citizens, above the lowest rank, were all married. Our modern soldiers are either forced to live unmarried, or their marriages turn to small ac- count towards the increase of mankind. A circumstance which ought, perhaps, to be taken jito consideration, as of some consequence in favour of the ancients. t As Abydus, mentioned by Livy, lib. xxxl cap. 17, 18, and Polye, lib. xvi. As also tho X*«ithians, Appian, de bell, civil, lib. iv. ESSAY XXXIII. BY DAVID HUME. 239 carried on entirely by inroads, and robberies, and piracies. Such a method of war must be more destructive in small states, than the bloodiest battles and sieges. By the laws of the twelve tables, possession during two years formed a prescription for land ; one year for moveables : [Inst. lib. ii. cap. 6.] an indication, that there was not in Italy, at that time, much more order, tranquillity, and settled police, than there is at present among the Tartar tribes. The only cartel I remember in ancient history, is that between De- metrius Poliorcetes and the Rhodians ; when it was agreed, that a free citizen should be restored for 1000 drachmas^ a slave bearing arms for 500. [Diod. Sicul. lib. xx.] 11. It appears that ancient manners were more unfavourable than the modern, not only in times of war, but also in those of peace ; and that too in every respect, except the love of civil liberty and of equality, which is, I own, of considerable importance. To exclude faction from a free government, is very difficult, if not altogether impracticable ; but such inveterate rage between the factions, and such bloody maxims, are found, in modern times, amongst religious parties alone. In an- cient history we may always observe, where one party prevailed^ whether the nobles or people (for I can observe no difference in this respect,) * that they immediately butchered all of the opposite party who fell into their hands, and banished such as had been so fortunate as to escape their fury. No form of process, no law, no trial, no par- don. A fourth, a third, perhaps near half of the city was slaughtered, or expelled, every revolution ; and the exiles always joined foreign enemies, and did all the mischief possible to their fellow-citizens ; till fortune put it in their power to take full revenge by a new revolu- tion. And as these were frequent in such violent governments, the dis- order, diffidence, jealousy, enmity, which must prevail, are not easy for us to imagine in this age of the world. There are only two revolutions I can recollect in ancient history, which passed without great severity, and great effusion of blood in massacres and assassinations, namely, the restoration of the Athenian Democracy by Thrasybulus, and the subduing of the Roman republic by Csesar. We learn from ancient history, that Thrasybulus passed a general amnesty for all past offences ; and first introduced that word, as well as practice, into Greece [Cicero, Philip, i.] It appears, however, from many orations of Lysias,t that the chief, arid even some of the subaltern offenders, in the preceding tyranny, were tried and capitally punished. And as to Caesar's clemency, though much cele- brated, it would not gain great applause in the present age. He • Lysias, who was himself of the popular faction, and very narrowly escaped from the thirty tyrants, says, that the Democracy was as violent a government as the Oligarchy.— Qrat. 24, de statu popul- \ As orat. xi, contra Eratost. orat i9, centra Agorat. crair '^^dro MauUth. 240 t»Ot>tJLOtJSN^§S Of ANCIENT NATIONS. butchered, for instance, all Cato's senate, when he became itiastct of Utica [Appian. de del. dv. lib. ii.] and these, we may readily believe, were not the most worthless of the party. All those who had borne arms against that usurper, were attainted ; and, by Hirtius's law, de- clared incapable of all public offices, These people were extremely fond of liberty ; but seem not to have understood it very well. When the thirty tyrants first estab- lished their dominion at Athens, they began with seizing all the syco- phants and informers, who had been so troublesome during the demo- cracy, and putting them to death by an arbitrary sentence and execution. Every man, says Sallust [Csesar's speech de del, Calil.'] and Lysias,* rejoiced at these pitnishments ; not considering that hberty was from that moment annihilated. The utmost energy of the nervous style of Thucydides, and the copiousness and expression of the Greek language, seem to sink under that historian, when he attempts to discribe the disorders, which arose from faction throughout all the Grecian commonwealths. You would imagine, that he still labours with a thought greater than he can find words to communicate. And he concludes his pathetic de- scription with an observation, which is at once refined and solid : * In * these contests,' says he, * those who were the dullest and most stupid, ^ and had the least foresight, commonly prevailed. For being conscious * of this weakness, and dreading to be over-reached by those of greater * penetration, they went to work hastily, without premeditation, by the * sword and poniard, and thereby got the start of their antagonists, who Svere forming fine schemes and projects for their destruction.' [Thu- cydides, Lib. iii.] Not to mention Dionysius [Plut. de virt &* fort. Alex.] the elder who is computed to have butchered in cold blood above 10,000 of his fellow-citizens : or Agathocles, [Diod. Sic. lib. xviii, xix.] Nabis, [Tit. Liv. xxxi, xxxiii, xxxiv.] and others, still more bloody than he ; the transactions, even in free governments, were extremely violent and destructive. At Athens, the thirty tyrants and the nobles, in a twelve- month, murdered, without trial, about 1200 of the people, and banished above the half of the citizens that remained. f In Argos, near the same time, the people killed 1200 of the nobles; and afterwards their own demagogues, because they had refused to carry their prosecutions farther. [Diod. Sic. lib. xv.] The people also in Corcyra killed 1 500 of the nobles, and banished a thousand. [Diod. Sic. lib. xiii.] These numbers will appear the more surprising, if we consider the extreme * Orai. 24. And in orat. 29, he mentions the factious spirit of the popular assemblies as the only cause why these illegal punishments should displease. t Diod, Sic. lib. xvi. Isocrates says, there were only 5000 banished. He makes the number of those killed amount to 1500. Areop. iEschines coniya Ctesiph. assigns precisely the same number. Senep* (de tranq. anim.) cap. v. says 13,000, ESSAY XXXIII. BY DAVID HUME^ 241 smallness of these states. But all ancient history will be found full of such circumstances."^ When Alexander ordered all the exiles to be restored throughout all the cities ; it was found, that the whole amounted to 20,000 men ; [Diod. Sic. lib. xviii.] the remains probably of still greater slaughters and massacres. What an astonishing multitude in so narrow a country as ancient Greece ! And what domestic confusion, jealousy, partiality, revenge, heart-burnings, must tear those cities, where factions were wrought up to such a degree of fury and despair ! It would be easier, says Isocrates to Philip, to raise an army in Greece at present from the vagabonds than from the cities. Even when affairs came not to such extremities (which they failed not to do almost in every city twice or thrice every century), property was rendered very precarious by the maxims of ancient government. Xenophon, in the Banquet of Socrates, gives us a natural unaffected description of the tyranny of the Athenian people. ^ In my poverty,' says Charmides, ' I am much more happy than I ever was while pos- * sessed of riches : as much as it is happier to be in security than * in terrors, free than a slave, to receive than to pay court, to be trusted * than suspected. Formerly I was obliged to caress every informer; * some imposition was continually laid upon me ; and it was never * allowed me to travel, or be absent from the city. At present, when * I am poor, I look big, and threaten others. The rich are afraid of * me, and show me every kind of civility and respect ; and I am become *a kind of tyrant in the city.' [P. 885. ex ed, Leunclay.] In one of the pleadings of Lysia, \Orat, 29, in Nicom.] the orator very coolly speaks of it, by the bye, as a maxim of the Athenian people, that whenever they wanted money, they put to death some of the rich citizens as well as strangers, for the sake of the forfeiture. In * We shall mention from Diodorus Siculus alone a few massacres, which passed in the course of sixty years, during the most shining age of Greece. There were banished from Sybaris 500 of the nobles and their partizans ; lib. xii. p. 77. ex edit. Rhodovtanni. Of Chians, 600 citizens banished : lib. xiii. p. 189. At Ephesus, 340 killed, 1000 banished ; lib. xiii. p. 223. Of Cyrenians, 500 nobles killed, all the rest banished ; iib. xiv. p. 263, The Corinthians killed 120, banished 500 : lib. xiv. p. 304. Phaebida.s the Spartan banished 300 Baeotians ; lib. xv. p. 342. Upon the fall of the Lacedemonians, democracies were restored in many cities, and severe vengeance taken of the nobles, after the Greek manner. But matters did not end there. For the banished nobles, returning in many places, butchered their adversaries at Phialse, in Corinth, in Megara, in Phliasia. In this last place they killed 300 of the people ; but these again revolting, killed above 600 of the nobles, and banished the rest ; lib. xv. p. 357. In Arcadia 1400 banished, besides many killed. The banished re- tired to Sparta and to Pallantium. The latter were delivered up to their countrymen, and all killed ; lib. xv. p. 373. Of the banished from Argos and Thebes, there were 500 i.i the Spartan army : id. p. 374. Here is a detail of the most remarkable of Agathocles' cruelties from the same author. I he people before his usurpation had banished 600 nobles ; lib- 19. p, 655. Afterwards that tyrant, in concurrence with the people, killed 4000 nobles, and banished 6000; id. p. 647. He killed 4000 people at Gela; id. p. 741. By Agathocles' brother 8oco banished from Syracuse ; lib. xx. p. 757. The inhabitants of -(4^gesta, to the number of 40,000, were killed, man, woman, and child ; and with tortures, for the sake ol their money ; id. p. 802. All the relations, to wit, father, brother, children, grandfather, of his Libyan army, killed ; id. p. 803. He killed 7000 eetiles after capitulation ; id. p. 816. It is to be remarked, that Agathocles was a man of great sense and courage, and is not to b« suspected of wanton cruelty, contrary to the maxims of his age. 16 242 POPULOUSNESS OF ANCIENT NATIONS. mentioning this, he seems not to have any intention of blaming them, still less of prov^oking them, who were his audience and judges. Whether a man was a citizen or a stranger among that people, it seems indeed requisite, either that he should impoverish himself, or that the people would impoverish him, and perhaps kill him into the bargain. The orator last mentioned gives a pleasant account of an estate laid out in the public service:* that is, above the third of it in raree-shows and figured dances. I need not insist on the Greek tyrannies, which were altogether horrible. Even the mixed monarchies, by which most of the ancient states of Greece were governed, before the introduction of republics, were very unsettled. Scarcely any city, but Athens, says Isocrates, could show a succession of kings for four or five generations. Besides many other obvious reasons for the instability of ancient monarchies, the equal division of property among the brothers of private families, must, by a necessary consequence, contribute to un- settle and disturb the state. The universal preference given to the elder by modern laws, though it increases the inequality of fortunes, has, however, this good effect, that it accustoms men to the same idea in public succession, and cuts off all claim and pretension of the younger brethren. The new settled colony of Heraclca, falling immediately into faction, applied to Sparta, who sent Heripidas with full authority to quiet their dissentions. This man, not provoked by any opposition, not inflamed by party rage, knew no better expedient than immediately putting to death about five hundred of the citizens, [Diod. Sic. lib. xvi.] A strong proof how deeply rooted these violent maxims of government were throughout all Greece. If such was the disposition of men's minds among that refined people, what may be expected in the commonwealth's of Italy, Afric, Spain, and Gaul, which were denominated barbarous ? Why other- wise did the Greeks so much value themselves on their humanity, * In order to recommend his client to the favour of the people, he enumerates all the sums he had expended: when X^pVy^^ 30 minas. Upon a chorus of men 2ominas ; ^KTiruppixiO'TaiSy 8 mmas ; avbpacn X^P^7<^^> 59 minas : kvkXikco X^P^j 3 minas: seven times trierarch, where he spent 6 talents: taxes, once 30 minas; another time 40: yvfii/a(TLapX(»iy, 12 minas ; X^^PVyos iraiZiKca X^P^^ 15 minas ; KO/xoBois X^P'^y^^^ 18 minas ; iruppLXKrrais, ayeyeiois 7 minas ; rpLrjpet a/JLiWofiei/oSy 15 minas ; apxv^^c^pos, 30 minas ; in the whole ten talents 3S minas. An immense sum for an Athenian fortune, and what alone would be esteemed great riches, Orat. 20. It is true, he says, the law did not oblige him absolutely to be at so much expence, not above a fourth. But without the favour of the people, nobody was travels, the bulk of the people consist, in a manner, wholly of 'discoverers, witnesses, infouncrs, accusers, prosecutors, evidences, swearers, together with ' their several subservient and .subaltern instruments, all under the colours, the conduct, and 'pay of ministers of state and their deputies. The plots in that kingdom are usually the 'workmanship of those persons,' &c. — Gidliver's Travels. Such a representation might suit the government of Athens ; not that of England, which is remarkable, even in modern times, for humanity, justice, aid liberty. Yet the Doctor's satire, though carried to ex- tremes, as is usual with him, even beyond other satirical writers, did not altogether want an object. The Bishop of Rochesier, who was his friend, and of the same party, had been banished a little before by a bill of attainder, with great justice, but without such proof af was legal, or acct-^ding to tlic stiict forms of common law. 2^ POPULOUSNESS OF ANaENT NATIONS. triiunvir^ shows evidently his sense of the matter. Did not Cicero, with the approbation of all the wise and virtuous of Rome, arbitrarily put to death Catiline's accomplices, contrary to law, and without any trial or form of process ? and if he moderated his executions, did it not proceed, either from the clemency of his temper, or the conjunctures of the times 1 A wretched security in a government which pretends to laws and liberty ! Thus, one extreme produces another. In the same manner, as ex- cessive severity in the laws is apt to beget great relaxation in their execution ; so their excessive lenity naturally produces cruelty and barbarity. It is dangerous to force us, in any case, to pass their sacred boundaries. One general cause of the disorders, so frequent in all ancient governments, seems to have consisted in the great difficulty of establish- ing any aristocracy in those ages, and the perpetual discontents and seditions of the people, whenever even the meanest and most beggarly were excluded from the legislature and from public offices. The very quality of free77ien gave such a rank, being opposed to that of slave, that it seemed to entitle the possessor to every power and privilege of the commonwealth, Solon's [Plutarchus m vita Solon.] laws excluded no freeman from votes or elections, but confined some magistracies to a particular census j yet were the people never satisfied till those laws were repealed. By the treaty with Antipater [Diod. Sic. lib. xviii.] no Athenian was allowed a vote whose census was less than 2000 draclunas (about £60 Sterling), And though such a government would to us appear sufficiently democratical, it was so disagreeable to that people, that above two-thirds of them immediately left their country. [Id. ibid.] Cassander reduced that census to the half [Id. ibid.] yet still the government was considered as an oligarchical tyranny, and the effect of foreign violence. Servius TuUius's [Tit. Liv. lib. i. cap. 43.] laws seem equal and reasonable, by fixing the power in proportion to the property : yet the Roman people could never be brought quietly to submit to them. In those days there was no medium between a severe, jealous aris- tocracy, ruling over discontented subjects ; and a turbulent, factious, tyrannical democracy. At present, there is not one republic in Europe, from one extremity of it to the other, that is not remarkable for justice, lenity, and stability, equal to, or even beyond Marseilles, Rhodes, or the most celebrated in antiquity. Almost all of them are well-tempered aristocracies. III. There are many other circumstances, in which ancient nations seem inferior to the modern, both for the happiness and increase of mankind. Trade, manufactures, industry, were no where, in former ages, so flourishing as they are at present in Europe. The only garb of the ancients^ both for rriales ^n4 females, seems to have been a kir.(^ ESSAY XXxitt, fiy DAVID tit^Mfi. 245 Ot flannel, which they wore commonly white or grey, and which they scoured as often as it became dirty. Tyre, which carried on, after Carthage, the greatest commerce of any city in the Mediterranean, before it was destroyed by Alexander, was no mighty city, if we credit Arrian's account of its inhabitants.* Athens is commonly supposed to have been a trading city : but it was as populous before the Median war as at any time after it, according to Herodotus ;t yet its com- merce, at that time, was so inconsiderable, that, as the same his- torian observes [lb. v.] even the neighbouring coasts of Asia were as little frequented by the Greeks as the pillars of Hercules ; for beyond these he conceived nothing. Great interest of money, and great profits of trade, are an infallible indication, that industry and commerce are but in their infancy. We read in Lysias [Orat, 33. advers, Diagit.] of 100 per cent, profit made on a cargo of two talents, sent to no greater distance than ^rom Athens to the Adriatic : nor is this mentioned as an instance cf extraordinary profit. Antidorus, says Demosthenes [^Contra Aphob. p. 25. ex, edit. Aldi.], paid three talents and a half for a house which he let at a talent a year : and the orator blames his own tutors for not employing his money to like advantage. My fortune, says he, in eleven years minority, ought to have been tripled. The value of 20 of the slaves left by his father, he computes at 40 minas, and the yearly profit of their labour at 12. [Id. p. 19.] The most moderate interest at Athens (for there was higher [Id. ibid.] often paid) was 12 per ce7it. [Id. ibid, and ^schines contra. Ctesiph.], and that paid monthly. Not to insist upon the high interest, to which the vast sums distributed in elections had raised money \Epist, ad. Attic, lib. iv. epist. 15.] at Rome, we find, that Verres, before that factious period, stated 24 per cent, foi money which he left in the hands of the publicans : and though Cicero exclaims against this article, it is not on account of the extravagant usury ; but because it had never been customary to state any interest on such occasions. \Con. Verr. or. 3.] Interest, indeed, sunk at Rome, after the settlement of the empire : but it never remained any consider- able time so low as in the commercial states of modern times. J Among the other inconveniences which the Athenians felt from the fortifying of Decelia by the Lacedemonians, it is represented by Thucy- dides, [Lib. vii.] as one of the most considerable, that they could not bring over their corn from Eubea by land, passing by Oropus ; but were obliged to embark it, and to sail round the promontory of * Lib. ii. There were 8000 killed during the siege; and the captives amounted to 30,000. Diodorus Siculus, lib. xvii. says only 13,000; but \\t. accounts for this sir.all aumher, by laying that the Tyrians had sent away before-hand part of their wives and children to Carthage. t Lib. V. he makes th i nu mber of citizens amoiint to 30,000^ X See Essay XXVI. 246 POPULOUSNESS OP ANCIENT NATIONS. Sunium. A surprising instance of the imperfection of ancient naviga- tion ! For the water-carriage is not here above double the land. I do not remember a passage in any ancient author, where the growth of a city is ascribed to the establishment of a manufacture. The commerce, which is said to flourish, is chiefly the exchange of those commodities, for which different soils and chmates were suited. The sale of wine and oil into Africa, according to Diodorus Siculus [Lib. xiiL] was the foundation of the riches of Agrigentum. The situa- tion of the city of Sybaris, according to the same author [Lib. xii.] was the cause of its immense populousness ; being built near the two rivers Crathys and Sybaris. But these two rivers, we may observe, are not navigable ; and could only produce some fertile valleys, for agriculture and tillage ; an advantage so inconsiderable, that a modern writer would scarcely have taken notice of it. The barbarity of the ancient tyrants, together with the extreme love of liberty, which animated those ages, must have banished every merchant and manufacturer, and have quite depopulated the state, had it subsisted upon industry and commerce. While the cruel and suspicious Dionysius was carrying on his butcheries, who, that was not detained by his landed property, and could have carried with him any art or skill to procure a subsistence in other countries, would have remained exposed to such implacable barbarity ? The persecutions of Philip n. and Lewis XIV. filled all Europe with the manufactures of Flanders and of France. I grant, that agriculture is the species of industry chiefly requisite to the subsistence of multitudes ; and it is possible, that this industry may flourish, even where manufactures and other arts are unknown and neglected. Switzerland is at present a remarkable instance ; where we find, at once, the most skilful husbandmen, and the most bungling tradesmen, that are to be met with in Europe. That agri- culture flourished in Greece and Italy, at least in some parts of them, and at some periods, we have reason to presume ; and whether the mechanical arts had reached the same degree of perfection, may not be esteemed so material, especially, if we consider the great equality of riches in the ancient repubhcs, where each family was obliged to cultivate, with the greatest care and industry, its own little field, in Drder to its subsistence. But is it just reasoning, because agriculture may, in some instances, flourish without trade or nianufactures, to conclude, that, in any great extent of country, and for any great tract of time, it would subsist '^lone ? The most natura.1 v;ay, surely, of encouraging husbandry is, first, to excite other kinds of industry, and thereby afford the labourer a ready market for his commodities, and a return for such goods as may contribute to his pleasure and enjoyment. This method is infallible and universal ; and, as it prevails more in modern govern- ESSAY XXXIII. BY DAVID HUME. 247 ments than in the ancient, it affords a presumption of the superior populousness of the former. Every man, says Xenophon, [Oecon] may be a farmer : no art or skill is requisite : all consists in industry, and in attention to the execution. A strong proof, as Columella hints, that agriculture was but little known in the age of Xenophon. All our later improvements and refinements, have they done nothing towards the easy subsistence of men, and consequently towards their propagation and increase ? Our superior skill in mechanics ; the discovery of new worlds, by which commerce has been so much enlarged ; the establishment of posts ; and the use of bills of exchange : these seem all extremely useful to the encourage- ment of art, industry, and populousness. Were we to strike off these, what a check should we give to every kind of business and labour, and what multitudes of families would immediately perish from want and hunger ? And it seems not probable, that we could supply the place of these new inventions by any other regulation or institution. Have we reason to think, that the police of ancient states was any wise comparable to that of modern, or that men had then equal security, either at home, or in their journies by land and water ? I question not, but every impartial examiner would give us the preference in this particular.* Thus, upon comparing the whole, it seems impossible to assign any just reason, why the world should have been more populous in ancient than in modern times. The equality of property among the ancients, liberty, and the small divisions of their states, were indeed circum- stances favourable to the propagation of mankind : but their wars were more bloody and destructive, their governments more factious and unsettled, commerce and manufactures more feeble and languish- ing, and the general police more loose and irregular. These latter disadvantages ; seem to form a sufficient counterbalance to the former advantages and rather favour the opposite opinion to that which commonly prevails with regard to this subject. But there is no reasoning, it may be said, against matter of fact. If it appear, that the world was then more populous than at present, we may be assured, that our conjectures are false, and that we have overlooked some material circumstance in the comparison. This I readily own : all our preceeding reasonings I acknowledge to be mere trifling, or, at least, small skirmishes and frivolous rencounters, which decide nothing. But unluckily the main combat, where we compare facts, cannot be rendered much more decisive. The facts delivered by ancient authors, are either so uncertain or so imperfect as to aiford us nothing positive in this matter. How indeed could it be See Essay X. 248 POPUI/)USNESS OF ANCIENT NATIONS. Otherwise ? The very facts, which we must oppose to them, in com- puting the populousness of modern states, are far from being either certain or complete. Many grounds of calculation proceeded on by celebrated writers are little better than those of the emperer Helio- gabalus, who formed an estimate of the immense greatness of Rome from ten thousand pounds weight of cobwebs which had been found in that city. [JElii Lamprid. m vita Heliogab. cap 26.] It is to be remarked, that all kinds of numbers are uncertain in ancient manuscripts, and have been subject to much greater cor- ruptions, than any other part of the text, and that for an obvious reason. Any alteration, in other places, commonly affects the 'sense or grammar, and is more readily perceived by the reader and the transcriber. Few enumerations of inhabitants have been made of any tract of country by any ancient author of good authority, so as to afford us a large enough view for comparison. It is probable that there was formerly a good foundation for the number of citizens assigned to any free city, because they entered for a share in the government, and there were exact registers kept of them. But as the number of slaves is seldom mentioned, this leaves us in as great uncertainty as ever with regard to the populousness even of single cities. The first page of Thucydides is, in my opinion, the commencement of real history. All preceding narrations are so intermixed with fable, that philosophers ought to abandon them, in a great measure, to the embellishment of poets and orators. With regard to remote times, the number of people assigned are often ridiculous, and lose all credit and authority. The free citizens of Sybaris, able to bear arms, and actually drawn out in battle, were 300,000. They encountered at Siagra with loo^ooo citizens of Crotona, another Greek city contiguous to them, and were defeated. This is Diodorus Siculus' [ Lib. xii.] account, and is very seriously insisted on by that historian. Strabo [ Lib. vi.] also mentions the same number of Sybarites. Diodorus Siculus, [ Lib. xiii.] enumerating the inhabitants of Agri- gentum, when it was destroyed by the Carthaginians, says that they amounted to 20,000 citizens, 200,000 strangers, beside slaves, who, in so opulent a city as he represents it, would probably be at least as numerous. We must remark, that therefore, upon the whole, this city must have contained near two millions of inhabitants."^ And what was the reason of so immense an increase ? They were industrious in culti- vating the neighbouring fields, not exceeding a small English county ; * Diogenes Laertius {in. vita Empedoclis) says^ that Asrigcntum contained only 8oo,oo« innabjtann: ESSAY XXXIII. BY DAVID HUME» 249 and they traded with their wine and oil to Africa, which at that time produced none of these commodities. Ptolemy, says Theocritus, [Idyll. 17.] commands 33,339 cities. I suppose the singularity of the number was the reason of assigning it. Diodorus Siculus [Lib. i.] assigns three millions of inhabitants to Egypt, a small number : but then he makes the number of cities amount to 18,000 : an evident contradiction. He says, [Idyll. 17.] the people were formerly seven millions. Thus remote times are always most envied and admired. That Xerxes' army was extremely numerous, I can readily be- lieve ; both from the great extent of his empire, and from the practice among the eastern nations, of encumbering their camp with a superfluous multitude : but will any rational man cite He- rodotus' wonderful narrations as any authority ? There is something very rational, I own, in Lysias' {Orat de fzmebris.'] argument upon this subject. Had not Xerxes' army been incredibly numerous, says he, he had never made a bridge over the Hellespont ; it had been much easier to have transported his men over so short a passage with the numerous shipping of which he was master. Polybius says [Lib. ii.] that the Romans, between the first and second Punic wars, being threatened with an invasion from the Gauls, mustered all their own forces, and those of their allies, and found them amount to seven hundred thousand men able to bear arms : a great number surely, and which, when joined to the slaves, is probably not less, if not rather more, than that extent of country affords at present.* The enumeration too seems to have been made with some exactness ; and Polybius gives us the detail of the particulars. But might not the number be magnified, in order to encourage the people ? Diodorus Siculus [Lib. ii.] makes the same enumeration amount to near a million. These variations are suspicious. He plainly too supposes, that Italy, in his time, was not so populous : another sus- picious circumstance. For who can believe, that the inhabitants of that country diminished from the time of the first Punic war to that of the triiuiivirates ? Julius Caesar, according to Appian, [Celtica.] encountered four millions of Gauls, killed one million, and made another million prisoners.! Supposing the number of the enemy's army and that of the slain could be exactly assigned, which never is possible ; hov/ could it be known how often the same man returned into the armies, or how distinguish the new from the old levied soldiers ? No atten- * The country that supplied this number was not above a third of Italy, viz, the Pope'l dominions, Tuscany, and a part of the kingdom of Naples : but perhaps, in those early times, there were very few slaves, except in Rome, or the great cities. t Plutarch {in vita Cces.) makes the number that Caesar fought with amount to threo millions ; Julian {in Ccesaribus) to two. POrULOUSNESS OP ANCIENT NATIONS. tion ought ever to be given to such loose, exaggerated calculations, especially where the author does not tell us the mediums upon which the calculations were founded. Paterculus [Lib. ii. cap. 47.] makes the number of Gauls killed by Ca:sar amount only to 400,000 : a more probable account, and more easily reconciled to the history of these wars given by that conqueror himself in his Commentaries."*^ The most bloody of his battles were fought against the Helvetii and the Germans. One would imagine, that every circumstance of the life and actions of Dionysius the elder might be regarded as authentic, and free from all fabulous exaggeration ; both because he lived at a time when letters flourished most in Greece, and because his chief historian was Philistus, amanallowed to be of great genius, and who was a courtier and minister of that prince. But can we admit, that he had a standing army of 100,000 foot, 10,000 horse, and a fleet of 400 galleys? [Diod. wSic. lib. ii.] These, we may observe, were mercenary forces, and subsisted upon pay, like our armies in Europe. For the citizens were all disarmed ; and when Dion afterwards invaded Sicily, and called on his country- men to vindicate their liberty, he was obliged to bring arms along with him, which he distributed among those who joined him. [Plutarch vi'^a Dionys.] In a state where agriculture alone flourishes, there may be many inhabitants ; and if these be all armed and disciplined, a great force may be called out upon occasion : but great bodies of mercenary troops can never be maintained, without either great trade and numerous manufactures, or extensive dominions. The united provinces never were masters of such a force by sea and land, as that which is said to belong to Dionysius ; yet they possess as large a ter- ritory, perfectly well cultivated, and have much more resources from their commerce and industry. Diodorus Siculus allows, that, even in his time, the army of Dionysius appeared incredible ; that is, as I in- terpret it, was entirely a fiction ; and the opinion arose from the exaggerated flattery of the courtiers, and pvrhaps from the vanity and policy of the tyrant himself. It is a usual fallacy, to consider all the ages of antiquity as one period, and to compute the numbers contained in the great cities men- tioned by ancient authors, as if these cities had been all cotemporary. The Greek colonies flourished extremely in Sicily during the age of Alexander : but in Augustus' time they were so decayed, that almost all the produce of that fertile island was consumed in Italy. [Strabo, lib. vi.] Let us now examine the numbers of the inhabitants assigned to par- • Pliny, lib. vii. cap. 25. says, that Caesar used to boast, that there *»ad fallen In battle against him 1,192,000, besides those who perished in the civil wars. It is not probable that that conqueror could ever pretend to be so exact in his comput.ition. But allowing the fact, it is likely that the Helvetii, Germans, and Britons, whom he slaughtered, would amount to oear a half of the number. ESSAY XXXTII. BY DAVID HUIME. 2ft Hcular cities in antiquity : and omitting the numbers of Nine\ eh, Babylon, and the Egyptian Thebes, let us confine ourselves to the sphere of real history, to the Grecian and Roman states. I must own the more I consider this subject, the more am I inclined to scepticism, with regard to the great popalousness ascribed to ancient times. Athens is said by Plato {^Apolog. Socr.] to be a very great city ; and it was surely the greatest of all the Greek* cities, except Syracuse, which v/as nearly about the same size in Thucydides' [Lib. vi. and Plutarch in vita Nicice.] time, and afterwards increased beyond it. For Cicerof mentions it as the greatest of all the Greek cities in his time ; not com- prehending, I suppose, either Antioch or Alexandria under that deno- mination. Athenseus [Lib. vi. cap. 20.] says, that by the enumeration of Demetrius Phalereus, there were in Athens 21,000 citizens, 10,000 strangers, and 400,000 slaves. This number is much insisted on by those whose opinion I call in question, and is esteemed a fundamental fact to their purpose : but, in my opinion, there is no point of criticism more certain, than that Athenccus and Ctesicles, whom he quotes, are here mistaken, and that the number of slaves is augmented by a whole cypher, and ought not to be regarded as more than 40,000. L When the number of citizens are said to be 21,000 by Athen3eus,J men full of age are only understood. For, i. Herodotus says, [Lib. v.] that Aristagoras, ambassador from the lonians, found it harder to de- ceive one Spartan than 30,000 Athenians ; meaning, in a loose way, the whole state, supposed to be met in one popular assembly, exclud- ing the women and children. 2. Thucydides [Lib. viii.], says, that making allowance for all the absentees in the fleet, army, garrisons, and for people employed in their private affairs, the Athenian assembly never rose to five thousand. 3. The forces, enumerated by the same historian,§ being all citizens, and amo "iting to 1 3,000 heavy-armed infantry, prove the same method of calcul-ation ; as also the whole tenor of the Greek historians, who always understand men of full age, when they assign the number of citizens in any republic. Now, these being but the fourth of the inhabitants, the free Athenians were by this account 84,000 ; the strangers, 40,000 ; and the slaves, calculated by the smaller number, and allowing that they married and propagated at the same rate with freemen, were 160,000 ; and the whole of the inv habitants 284,000 : a number surely large enough. The other number, 1,720,000, makes Athens larger than London and Paris united. IL There were but 10,000 houses in Athens. [Xenophon Af^;;/. lib. ii.] in. Though the extent of the walls, as given us by Thucydides, * Argos seems also to have been a g^at city ; for Lycias contents himself with saying chat it did not exceed Athens. Orat. 34. t Orat. contra Verrem. lib. iv. cap. 52. Strabo, lib. vi. says, it was twenty-two mil? i "m iompass, But then we are to consider, that it contained two harbours within it : oq« ^1 which was a very large one, and might be regarded as a kind of bay \ Demosthenes assigns 20,000 ; contra Aristag. \ Lib. ii. Diodorus Siculus' accourt perfectly agrees, lib. xii. 1S2 POPULOUSNESS OF ANCIENT NATIONS. [Lib. ii.], be great (to wit 1 8 miles, beside the sea-coast): yet XenO- phon, [De ratione red\ says there was inuch waste ground within the walls. They seem indeed to have joined together four distinct and separate cities. . IV. No insurrection of the slaves, or suspicion of insurrection, is ever mentioned by historians ; except one commotion of the miners. [Athen. lib. vi.] V. The treatment of slaves by the Athenians is said by Xenophon, {De rep, Athen], and Demosthenes, [Philip 3.], and Plautus, [Sticho], to have been extremely gentle and indulgent : which could never have been the case, had the disproportion been twenty to one. The dispro- portion is not so great in any of our colonies ; yet are we obliged to exercise a rigorous and military government over the negroes. VI. No man is ever esteemed rich for possessing what may be reckoned an equal distribution of property in any country, or even triple or quadruple that wealth. Thus every person in England is computed by some to spend sixpence a-day : yet is he esteemed but poor who has five times that sum. Now Timarchus is said by ^schines, \Co7itra Timarch.], to have been left in easy circumstances ; but lie was master only of ten slaves employed in manufactures. Lysias and his brother, two strangers, were proscribed by the thirty for their great riches ; though they had but sixty a-piece. \Orat, 11.] Demosthenes was left very rich by his father ; yet he had no more than 52 slaves. \Contra Aphob.] His work-house, of 20 cabinet- makers, is said to be a very considerable manufactory. [Ibid.] VII. During the Decelian war, as the Greek historians call it, 20,000 slaves deserted, and brought the Athenians to great distress, as we learn from Thucydides. [Lib. vii.] This could not have hap- pened, had they been only the twentieth part. The best slaves would not desert. VIII. Xenophon {De rat red?^ proposes a scheme for maintaining by the public 10,000 slaves : and that so great a number may possibly be supported, any one will be convinced, says he, who considers the numbers we possessed before the Decehan war. A way of speaking altogether incompatible with the larger number of Athenseus. IX. The whole censtts of the state of Athens was less than 6,000 talents. And though numbers in ancient MSS. be often suspected by critics, yet this is unexceptionable ; both because Demosthenes, [D^ classibMs\ who gives it, gives also the detail, which checks him ; and be- * We are to observe, that when Dionysius Halicarnassseus says, that if we regard the ancient walls of Rome, the extent of that city will not appear greater than that of Athens ; he must mean the Acropolis and high town only. No ancient author ever speaks of the Pyrseum, Phalerus, and Munychia, as the same with Athens. Much less can it be sup- posed, that Dionysius would consider the matter in that light, after the walls of Cimon and Pericles were destroyed, and Athens was entirely separated from these other towns. This observation destroys all Vossius' reasonings, and introduces common sense into these calcu- lations. ESSAY XXXIII. BY DAVID HUME. cause Polybius [Lib. ii. cap. 62.J, assigns the same number, andieasons upon it. Now, the most vulgar slave could yield by his labour an obolus U-day, over and above his maintenance, as we learn from Xenophon, {De rat, red.'] who says, that Nicias' overseer paid his master so much for slaves, whom he employed in mines. If you will take the pains to esti- mate an obolus a-day, and the slaves at 400,000, computing only at four years purchase, you will find the sum above 12,000 talents ; even though allowancfi be made for the great number of holidays in Athens. Be- sides, many of the slaves would have a much greater value for their art. The lowest that Demosthenes estimates any of his \Co7itra Aphobum] father's slaves is two minas a-head. And upon this sup- position, it is a little difficult, I confess, to reconcile even the number of 40,000 slaves with the census of 6,000 talents. X. Chios is said by Thucydides [Lib. viii.] to contain more slaves than any Greek city, except Sparta. Sparta then had more than Athens, in proportion to the number of citizens. The Spartans were 9,000 in the town, 30,000 in the country. [Plutarch, in vita Lycurg,] The male slaves, therefore, of full age, must have been more than 780,000 ; the whole more than 3,120,000. A number impossible to be maintained in a narrow barren country, such as Laconia, which had no trade. Had the Helotes been so very numerous, the murder of 2,000 mentioned by Thucydides [Lib. iv.] would have irritated them, without weakening them. Besides, we are to consider, that the number assigned by Athenasus,"* whatever it is, comprehends all the inhabitants of Attica, as well as those of Athens. The Athenians affected much a country life, as we learn from Thucydides [Lib. ii.] ; and when they were all chased into town, by the invasion of their territory during the Peloponnesian war, the city was not able to contain them ; and they were obliged to lie in the porticoes, temples, and even streets, for want of lodging. [Thucyd. lib. ii.] The same remark is to be extended to all the other Greek cities ; and when the number of citizens is assigned, we must alwa;^'o under- stand it to comprehend the inhabitants of the neighbouring country, as well as of the city. Yet even with this allowance, it must be con- fessed that Greece was a populous country, and exceeded what we could imagine concerning so narrow a territory, naturally not very fertile, and which drew no supplies of corn from other places. For, excepting Athens, which traded to Pontus for that commodity, the other cities seem to have subsisted chiefly from their neighbouring territory"^. * The same author affirms, that Corinth had once 460,000 slaves ; Egina 470.000. But the foregoing arguments hold stronger against these facts, which are indeed entirely absurd and impossible. It is, however, remarkable, that Athenseus cites so great an authority as Aris- totle for this last fact : and the scholiast on Pindar mentions the same number of slaves in /Egina. t Demost. cpntra Left. The Athenians brought yearly fjcnm Pontus 400,000 med imni 254 POPULQUSNESS OF ANCIENT NATIONS. Rhodes is well known to have been a city of extensive commerce, and of great fame and splendour ; yet it contained only 6000 citizens able to bear arms, when it was besieged by Demetrius. [Diodonus Sic. lib. XX.] Thebes was always one of the capital cities of Greec. [Isocr. paneg.'] But the number of its citizens exceeded not those of Rhodes."^ Phhasia is said to be a small city by Xenophon. [Hist. Gr^c. lib. vii], yet we find that it contained 6000 citizens. [Id. lib. vii.] I pretend not to reconcile these two facts. Perhaps, Xenophon calls Phliasia a small town, because it made but a small figure in Greece, and maintained only a subordinate alhance with Sparta ; or perhaps the country, belonging to it, was extensive, and most of the citizens were employed in the cultivation of it, and dwelt in the neighbouring villages. Mantinea was equal to any city in Arcadia. [Polyb. lib. ii.] Con- sequently it was equal to Megalopolis, which was fifty stadia, or six miles and a quarter in circumference. [Polyb. lib. ix. cap. 20.] But Mantinea had only 3000 citizens. [Lysias, orat. 34.] The Greek cities, therefore, contained often fields and gardens, together with the houses ; and we cannot judge of them by the extent of their walls, Athens contained no more than 10,000 houses ; yet its walls, with the sea-coast, were above 20 miles in extent. Syracuse was 22 miles in circumference ; yet was scarcely ever spoken of by the ancients as more populous than Athens. Babylon was a square of 1 5 miles, or 60 miles in circuit ; but it contained large cultivated fields and enclosures, as we learn from Pliny. Though Aurelian's wall was 50 miles in cir- cumference,"^ the circuit of all the 13 divisions of Rome, taken apart, or bushels of corn, as appeared from the custom-house books. And this was the greater part of their importation of corn. This, by the bye, is a strong proof that there is some great mistake in the foregoing passage of Athenseus. For Attica itself was so barren of corn, that it produced not enough even to maintain the peasants. Tit, Liv. Hb. xliii, cap. 6. And 400,000 medimni would scarcely feed 100,000 men during a twelvemonth. Lucian, in his navigium sive vota, says, that a ship, which, by the dimensions he gives, seems to have been about the size of our third rates, carried as much corn as would maintain all Attica for a twelvemonth. But perhaps Athens was decayed at that time ; and, besides, it is not safe to trust to such loose rhetorical calculations. * DiOD. Sic. lib. xvii. When Alexander attacked Thebes, we may safely conclude that almost all the inhabitants were present. Whoever is acquainted with the spirit of the Greeks, especially of the Thebans, will never suspect that any of them would desert their country when it was reduced to such extreme peril and distress. As Alexander took the town by storm, all those who bore arms were put to the sword without mercy ; and they amounted only to 6000 men. Among these were some strangers and manumitted slaves. fThe captives, consisting of old men, women, children, and slaves, were sold, and they mounted to 30,000. We may therefore conclude, that the free citizens in Thebes, of both iiexes and all ages, were near 24,000 ; the strangers and slaves about 12,000. These last, we may observe, were somewhat fewer in proportion than at Athens ; as is reasonable to imagine from this circumstance, that Athens was a town of more trade to support slaves, and of more entertainment to allure strangers. It is also to be remarked, that 26,000 was the whole number of people, both in the city of Thebes and the neighbouring territory. A very mo- derate number, it must be confessed ; and this computation, being founded on facts which appear indisputable, must have great weight in the present controversy. Tlie above mentioned number of Rhodians, too. »vere all the inhabitants of the island, who were fr«e, and able to bear arms. t Vopisc.3 f« vita Aund. ESSAY XXXIII. BY DAVID HUME. according to PubViUS Victor, was only about 43 miles. When an enemy invaded the country, all the inhabitants retired within the walls of the ancient cities, with their cattle and furniture, ami instruments husbandry : and the great height, to which the waVi.- A^cre raisea, enabled a small number to defend then. A'lin lacuity. Sparta, says Xenophon,* is one of the cities of Greece that has the fewest inhabitants. Yet Polybius [Polyb. lib. ix. cap. 20.] says, that it was 48 stadia in circumferance, and was round. All the iEtholians able to bear arms in Antipater's time, deducting some few garrisons, were but 10,000 men. [Diod. Sic. xviii.] Polybius [Legat] tells us, that the Achaean league might, without any inconvenience, march 30 or 40,000 men ; and this account seems propable ; for that league comprehended the greater part of Pelopon- nesus. Yet Pausanias [In Achaicis] speaking of the same period, says, that all the Achasans able to bear arms, even when several ma- numitted slaves were joined to them, did not amount to 1 5,000. The Thessalians, till their final conquest by the Romans, were, in all ages, turbulent, factious, seditious, disorderly."^ It is not therefore natural to suppose, that this part of Grece abounded much in people. We are told by Thucydides [Lib. vii.] that the part of Pelopon- nesus, adjoining to Pylos, was desert and uncultivated. Herodotus says [Lib. vii.] that Macedonia was full of lions and wild bulls ; animals which can only inhabit vast unpeopled forests. These were the two extremities of Greece. All the inhabitants of Epirus, of all ages, sexes, and conditions, who were sold by Paulus ^milius, amounted only to 1 50,000. [Tit. Liv. hb. xlv. cap. 34.] Yet Epirus might be double the extent of Yorkshire. Justin [Lib. ix. cap. 5] tells us, that when Philip of Macedon was declared head of the Greek confederacy, be called a congress of all the states, except the Lacedemonians, who refused to concur ; and he found the force of the whole, upon computation, to amount to 200,000 infantry and 15,000 cavalry. This must be understood to be all the citizens capable of bearing arms. For as the Greek republics main- tained no mercenary forces, and had no militia distinct from the whole body of citizens, it is not conceivable what other medium there could be of computation. That such an army could ever, by Greece, be brought into the field, and be maintained there, is contrary to all history. Upon this supposition, therefore, we may thus reason. The free Greeks of all ages and sexes were 860,000. The slaves, estimat- ing them by the number of Athenian slaves as above, who seldom married or had families, were double the male citizens of full age, to v/it, 430,000. And all the inhabitants of ancient Greece, excepting * De rep. Laced. This passage is not easily reconciled with that of Plutaich abov«, sftho says that Sparta had 9000 citizens, t Tit Liv. hb. xxxiv. c^p. 51- Pl^to in Critone. 4 256 POPULOUSNESS OF ANCIENT NATIONS, Lacoma, were 1,290,000. No mighty number, nor exceeding what may be found at present in Scotland, a country of not much greater extent* and v<^rv indifferently peopled. vVeuiay iiuv^ ^onsidf^r the numbers of people in Rome and Italy, and collect all the ngnts arrotrJed us by scattered passages in ancient authors. We shall find, upon the whole, a great difficulty in fixing any opinion on that head ; and no reason to support those exaggerated calculations, so much insisted on by modern writers. Dionysius Hallicarnassxus [Lib. iv.] says, that the ancient walls of Rome were nearly of the same compass with those of Athens, but that the suburbs ran out to a great extent ; and it was difficult to tell where the town ended or the country began. In some places of Rome, it appears, from the same author, [Lib. x.] from Juvenal, [Satyr, iii. I. 269, 270.], an«^ from other ancient writers,"^ that the houses were high, and families liv ed in separate stories, one above another. But it is probable that these were only the poorer citizens, and only in some few streets. If we may judge from the younger Pliny's t account of his own house, and from Bartoh's plans of ancient buildings, the men of quality had very spacious palaces : and their buildings were like the Chinese houses at this day, where each apartment is separated from the rest, and rises no higher than a single story. To which if we add, that the Roman nobility much affected extensive porticos, and even woods! in town ; we may perhaps allow Vossius, (though there is no manner of reason for it) to read the famous passage of the elder Pliny§ his own way, without admitting the extravagant consequences which he draws from it. • Strabo, lib. V. says, that the Emperor Augustus prohibited the raising houses higher than 70 feet. In another passage, Hb. xvi. he speaks of the houses of Rome as remarkably high. See also to the same purpose Vitruvius, Hb. ii. cap. 8. Aristides the sophist, in his oration Ks V(af/,7]V says, that Rome consisted of cities on the top of cities ; and that if one ■were to spread it out, and unfold it, it would cover the whole surface of Italy. .Where an author indulges himself in such extravagant declamations, and gives so much into the hyper- bolical style, one knows not how far he must be reduced. But this reasoning seems natural : if Rome was built in so scattered a manner as Dionysius says, and ran so much into the country, there must have been very few streets where the houses were raised so high. It is only for want of room that any body builds in that inconvenient manner. t Lib. ii. epist. i6. lib. v. epist. 6. It is true, Pliny there describes a country-house. But since that was the idea which the ancients formed of a magnificent and convenient building, the great men would certainly build the same way in town. ' In laxitatem ruris *excurrunt,' says Seneca of the rich and voluptuous, epist. 114. Valerius Maximus, lib. iv. cap. 4, speaking of Cincinnatus' field of four acres, says, * Auguste se habitare nunc putat, * cujus domus tantum patet quantum Cincinnati rura patuerant.' To the same purpose see lib. xxxvi. cap. 15, also lib. xviii. cap. 2. X Vitruvius lib. iv. cap. 11. Tacitus annal. lib. xL cap. 3. Sueton. in vita. Octav. cap. 72, &c. § * MoENiA ejus (Romse) collegere ambitu imperatoribus, censoribusque Vespasianis, * A. U. C. 828. pass. xiii. MCC* complexa montes septem, ipsa dividitur in regiones quatu- * ordecim compita earum 265. Ejusdem spatii raensura, currente a milliario in capite Rom. ' Fori statuto, ad singulas portas, quae sunt hodie numero 37, ita ut duodecim portae scnid 'numerentur, prsetereanturque ex veteribus septem, quae esse desierunt, efficit passuunr per 'directum 30,775. Ad extrema vero tectorum cum castris praetoris ab eodem Milliario, per * vicos onnium viarum, mensura collegit paulo amplius septuaginta millia passuum. Quo si * quis altitudinem tectorum addat, dignam profecto, aestimationem concipiat, fateaturque 'iiUilius urbis magnitudinem in toto orbe potuisse ei comparari.' Plin. lib. iii. cap. 5. All the best MSS. of Pliny read the pS.ssages as here cited, and fix the compass of tha ESSAY XXXIII. BY DAVID HUME. The number of citizens who received com oy lae public distribution in the time of Augustus were 200.000. [E^: inoniiincnt, Ancy)\] This one would esteem a pretty certain ground of calculation : yci H is at- tended with such circumstances as throw us back into doubc and uncertainty. Did the poorer citizens only receive the distribution ? It was calcu- lated, to be sure, chiefly for their benefit. But it appears from a passage in Cicero [Tusc. Quest, lib. iii. cap. 48] that the rich j^ight also take their portion, and that it was esteemed no reproach in ihem to apply for it. walls of Rome to be 13 miles. The question is. What Pliny means by 30,775 paces, and how that number was formed ? The manner in which I conceive it is this. Rome was a semicircular area of 13 miles circumference. The Forum, and consequently the Milliarium, we know, was situated on the banks of the Tyber, and near the centre of the circle, c*^ upon the diameter of the semicircular area. Though there were 37 gates to Rome, yet only 12 of them had straight streets, leading from them to the Milliarium. Pliny, therefore, having assigned the circumference of Rome, and knowing that that alone was not sufficient to give us a just notion of its surface, uses this farther method. He supposes all the streets, leading from the Milliarium to the 12 gates, to be laid together into one straight line, and supposes we run along that line, so as to count each gate once : in which case, he says, that the whole line is 30,775 paces : or, in other words, that each street or radius of the semicircular area is upon an average two miles and a half ; and the whole length of Rome is 5 miles, and its breadth about half as much, besides the scattered suburbs. Pere Hardouin understands this passage in the same manner, with regard to the laying together the several streets of Rome into one line, in order to compose 30,775 paces * but then he supposes that streets led from the Milliarium to every gate, and that no street exceeded 800 paces in length. But, I. A semicircular area, whose radius was only 800 paces, could never have a circumference near 13 miles, the compass of Rome as assigned by Pliny. A radius of two miles and a half forms very nearly that circumference. II. There is an absur- dity in supposing a city so built as to have streets running to its centre from every gate in its circumference: these streets must interfere as they approach. III. This diminishes too much from the greatness of ancient Rome, and reduces that city below even Bristol or Rotterdam. The sense which Vossius, in his Observationes variae, puts on this passage of Pliny, errs widely in the other extreme. One MSS. of no authority, instead of 13 miics, has assigned 30 miles for the compass of the walls of Rome. And Vossius understands this only of the curvi- linear part of the circumference ; supposing that, as the Tyber formed the diameter, there were no walls built on that side. But, I. This reading is allowed to be contrary to almost all the MSS. IT. Why should Pliny, a concise writer, repeat the compass of the walls of Rome in two successive sentences ? III. Why repeat it with so sensible a variation ? IV. What is the meaning of Pliny's mentioning twice the Milliarium, if a line was measured that had no dependence on the Milliarium? V, Aurelian's wall is said by Vopsicus to have been rlrawn laxiore ambitu, and to have comprehended all the buildings and suburbs on the norti. side of the Tyber ; yet its compass was only 50 miles ; and even here critics susi)e(:t some mistake or corruption in the text ; since the walls which remain, and which are supposed to the same with Aurelian's, exceeds not 12 miles. It is not probable that Rome would diminish from Augustus to Aurelian. It remained still the capital of the same empire ; and none of the civil wars in that long period, except the tumults on the death of Maximus and Balbinus, ever affected the city. Caracalla is said by Aurelius Victor to have increased Rome. VI, There are no remains of ancient buildings which mark any such greatness of Rome. Vossius' reply to this objection seems absurd : that the rubbish would sink 60 or 70 feet underground. It appears from Spartian {in vita Severi) that the five mile-stone z« via Lavicaiia was out of the city. VII. Olympiodorus and Publius Victor fix the. number <)f houses in Rome to be between 40,000 and 50,000. VIII, The very extravagances of the co7Ksequen."cs drawn by this critic, as well as Lipsius, if they be necessary, destroys the foundation on which they aiti grounded : that Rome contained 14,000,000 of inhabitants ; while the wh;;le kingdom of France contains only five, according to his computation, &:c. The only objection to the sense which we have affixed above to the passgas of Pliny, seems to lie in this, that Pliny, after mentioning the 37 gates of Rome, assigns only a reason for suppressing the 7 old ones, and says nothing of the 18 gates ; the streets leading from whicn terminated, according to my opinion, before they reached the Fon^m. ^ But as Pliny was writing to the Romans, who perfectly knew the disposition of the streets, it not strange hs should take a circumstance for granted, which was so familiar to evciT bo^. Perhaps, too, many of these gates led to wharfs upon the river. 17 POPULOUSNESS OF ANCIENT NATIONS. To whom was the corn given ; whether only to heads of families, or to every man, woman, and child ? The portion every month was five nodii to each"^ (about five-sixths of a bushel.) This was too little for A family, and too much for an individual. A very accurate antiquary, therefore, infers, that it was given to every man of full age : but he allows the matter to be uncertain. Was it strictly enquired, whether tke claimant lived within the precincts of Rome ? or was it sufficient, that he presented himself at the monthly distribution ? This last seems more probable.f Were there no false claimants? We are told \Sueton. in JitL cap. 4], that Cassar struck off at once 170,000, who had creeped in without a just title ; and it is very little probable that he remedied all such abuses. But lastly, what proportion of slaves must we assign to these citizens ? This is the most material question ; and the most uncertain. It is very doubtful, whether Athens can be established as a rule for Rome. Perhaps the Athenians had more slaves, because they em- ployed them in manufactures, for which a capital city, like Rome, seems not so proper. Perhaps, on the other hand, the Romans had more slaves, on account of their superior luxury and riches. There were exact bills of mortality kept at Rome ; but no ancient author has given us the number of burials, except Suetonius, \In Vita Neronis\ who tells us, that in one season there were 30,000 names carried to the temple of Libetina : but this was during a plague, which can afford no certain foundation for any inference. The pubhc corn, though distributed only to 200,000 citizens, affected very considerably the whole agriculture of Italy. [Suetojt, Aug. cap. 42.] A fact no wise reconcileable to some modern exaggerations with regard to the inhabitants of that co;mtry. The best ground of conjecture I can find concerning the greatness of ancient Rome is this : we are told by Herodian, [Lib. iv. cap. 5.] that Antioch and Alexandria, were very little inferior to Rome. It appears from Diodorus Siculus [ Lib. xvii.] that one straight street of Alexandria, reaching from gate to gate, was five miles long ; and as Alexandria was much more extended in length than breadth, it seems to have been a city nearly of the bulk of Paris ; § and Rome might be about the size of London. * Licinius ap7id Salhtst. hist. frag. lib. iii. \ Nicolaiis Horteiisitis de re frnmenta7'ia Roman. \ Not to take the people too much from their business, Augustus ordained the distribution of corn to be made only thrice a-year : but the people, finding the monthly distributions more convenient (as preserving, I suppose, a more regular economy in their family), desired to have them restored. Sueton. August, cap. 40. Had not some of the people come from some dis- tance for their corn, Augustus' precaution seems superfluous. § QuiNTUs CuRTius says, its walls were 10 miles in circumference, when founded by Alex- ander; lib. iv. cap. 8. Strabo, who travelled to Alexandria, as well as Diodorus Siculus, says it was scarce 4 miles long, and in most places about a mile broad ; lib- xvii. Pliny said resemW'M a Macedonian cassock, stretching out in the corners ; lib. v. cap. 10. Not* ESSAY XXXIIL BY DAVID HUME. 259 There lived in Alexandria, in Diodorus Siculus's time, [Lib. xvii.] 300,000 free people, comprehending, I suppose, women and children * But what number of slaves ? Had we any just ground to fix these at an equal number with the free inhabitants, it would favour the foregoing computation. There is a passage in Herodian which is a little surprising. He says positively, that the palace of the Emperor was as large as all the rest of the city.f This was Nero's golden house, which is indeed represented by Suetonius! and Pliny as of an enormous extent ; § but no power of imagination can make us conceive it to bear any proportion to such a city as London. We may observe, had the historian been relating Nero's extrava- gance, and had he made use of such an expression, it would have had much less weight ; these rhetorical exaggerations being so apt to creep into an author's style, even when the most chaste and correct. But it is mentioned by Herodian only, by the bye, in relating the quarrels between Geta and Caracalla. It appears from the same historian, [Lib. ii. cap. 15.] that there was then much land uncultivated, and put to no manner of use ; and he ascribes it as a great praise to Pertinax, that he allowed every one to take such land, either in Italy or elsewhere, and cultivate it as he pleased, without paying any taxes. Lands tiucultivaied^ and put to no manner of nse / This is not heard of in any part of Christendom, withstanding tliis bulk of Alexandria, which seems but moderate, Diodorus Sicuhis, speaking of its circuit as drawn by Alexander, (which it never exceeded, as we learn from Ammianus Marcellinus, lib. xxii. cap. 16.) says it was ^'Oy^Q^i hiat the King of Sardinia has but one town in Piedrnont ; for it is all a town. Agrippa, tn Josephus de bello Judaico. lib. ii. cap. 16, to make his audience com- prehend the excessive greatness of Alexandria, which he endeavours to magnify, describes only the compass of the city as drawn by Alexander. A clear proof that the bulk of the in- gabitants were lodged there, and that the neighbouring country was no more than what might be expected about all great towns, very well cultivated, and well peopled. * He says eA.€u0epo, not iroA-troi which last expression must have been understood of citizens alone, and grown men. t Lib. iv. cap. 1. Tracrrjs TToAtwy. Politian interprets it» *aedibus majoribus ctiam reliqua urbe.' X He says (in Nerone, cap. 30.) that a portico or piazza of it was 3000 feet long ; 'tanta * laxitas ut porticus triplices milliarias haberet.' He cannot mean 3 miles. For the whole ex tent of the house from the Palatine to the Esquiline was not near so great. ^ So when Vopisc. in AureMano mentions a portico in Sallust's gardens, whieh he calls porticui milliariensis, it must be understood of a thousand feet. So also Horace : 'Nulla decempedis Metata privatis opacam Porticus excipicbat Arcton/— lib. IL Ode 15. 5o also in lib. i. satyr 8. * Mille pedes in fronte, trecenios cippus in agrum * Hie dabat'* 9 Plinius, lib xxxyi. cap. 15. ' Bis vidimus urbem tottm cingi domibus prindpum^ Caaj ijvc Neromi^' 26o POPULOUSNESS OF ANCIENT NATIONS. except in some remote parts of Hungary, as I have been informed. And surely it corresponds very ill with that idea of the extreme popu- lousness of antiquity so much insisted on. We learn from Vopiscus, [In Aurelian cap. 48.] that there was even in Etruria much fertile land uncultivated, which the emperor Aurelian intended to convert into vineyards, in order to furnish the Roman people with a gratuitous distribution of wine ; a very proper expedient for depoulating still farther that capital, and all the neighbouring territories. It may not be amiss to take notice of the account which Polybius [Lib. xxi. cap. 2,] gives of the great herds of swine to be met with in Tuscany and Lombardy, as well as in Greece, and of the method of feeding them which was then practised. ' There are great herds of * swine,' says he, 'throughout all Italy, particularly in former times, * through Etruria and Cisapline Gaul. And a herd frequently consists *of 1,000 or more swine. When one of these herds in feeding meets * with another, they mix together ; and the swine-herds have no other * expedient for separating them than to go to different quarters, where * they sound their horn ; and these animals, being accustomed to that * signal, run immediately each to the horn of his own keeper. Whereas * in Greece, if the herds of swine happen to mix in the forests, he who * has the greater flock takes cunningly the opportunity of driving all *away. And thieves are very apt to purloin the straggling hogs, * which have wandered to a great distance from their keeper in search * of their food.' May we not infer, from this account, that the north of Italy, as well as Greece, was then much less peopled, and worse, cultivated, than at pre- sent.^ How could these vast herds be fed in a country so full of in cloures, so improved by agriculture, so divided by farms, so planted with vines and corn intermingled together ? I must confess, that Polybius' relation has more the air of that economy which is to be met with in our American colonies, than the management of an European country. We meet with a reflection in Aristotle's* Ethics, which seems unaccountable to any supposition, and by proving too much in favour of our present reasoning, may be thought really to prov^ nothing. That philosopher, treating of friendship, and observing, that this relation ought neither to be contracted to a very few, nor extending over a great multitude, illustrates his opinion by the follow- ing argument : 'In like manner,' says he, 'as a city cannot subsist, * if it either have so few inhabitants as ten, or so many as a 100,000 ; ' so is there a mediocrity required in the number of friends ; and you * destroy the essence of friendship by running into either extreme.' What ! impossible thaC a city can contain a 100,000 inhabitants ! Had * Lib. ix. cap. 10. If** expression is ayOpwiros, not ttqKittis ; inhabitant not citizeiv ESSAY XXXIIL BY DAVID HUME. 261 Aristotle never seen nor heard of a city so populous ? This, I must own, passes my compreher«ion. Pliny [Lib. vi. 28.] tells us, that Seleucia, the seat of the Greek Empire in the East, was reported to contain 600,000 people. Carth- age is said by Strabo [Lib. xvii.] to have contained 700,000. The inhabitants of Pekin are not much more numerous. London, Paris, and Constantinople, may admit of nearly the same computation ; at least, the two latter cities do not exceed it. Rome, Alexandria, Antioch, we have already spoken of. From the experience of past and present ages, one might conjecture that there is a kind of impossibility that any city could ever rise much beyond the pro- portion. Whether the grandeur of a city be founded on commerce or on empire, there seem to be invincible obstacles Avhich prevent its farther progress. The seats of vast monarchies, by introducing extravagant luxury, irregular expenses, idleness, dependence, and false ideas of rank and superiority, are improper for commerce. Extensive commerce checks itself, by raising the price of all labour and com- modities. When a great court engages the attendance of a numerous nobility, possessed of overgrown fortunes, the middling gentry remain in their provincial towns, where they can make a figure on a moderate income. And if the dominions of a state arrive at an enormous size, there necessarily arise many capitals, in the remoter provinces, whither all the inhabitants, except a few courtiers, repair for education, fortune, and amusement."^ London, by uniting extensive commerce and middling empire, has perhaps arrived at a greatness, which no city will ever be able to exceed. Choose Dover or Calais for a centre : draw a circle of two hundred miles radius : you comprehend London, Paris, the Netherlands, the united provinces, and some of the best cultivated parts of France and England. It may safely, I think, be affirmed, that no spot of ground can be found, in antiquity, of equal extent, which contained near so many great and populous cities, and was so stocked with riches and inhabitants. To balance, in both periods, the states which possessed most art, knowledge, civility, and the best police, seems the truest method of comparison. It is an observation of L'abbe du Bos, that Italy is warmer at present that it was in ancient times. ' The annals of Rome tell us,' says he. * that in the year 480 ad U. C the winter was so severe that it des- * troyed the trees. The Tyber froze in Rome, and the ground was * covered with snow for forty days. When Juvenal [Sat. 6.] describes * a superstitious woman, he represents her as breaking the ice of the * Tyber, that she might perform her ablutions : * Such were Alexandria, Antioch, Carthage, Ephesus, Lyons, &c In the Roman empire. Such are even Bourdeaux, Tholouse, Dijon, Rennes, Rouen, iUx, &c. in France; Dublin, Edinburgh, York, in the British dominions. 262 POPULOUSNESS OF ANCIENT JSATIQI^. * Hybe7'mi77i fracta glacie descendet in amnem^ * Ter MattUino Tyberi inergetitr, * He speaks of that river's freezing as a common event. Many pas ' sages of Horace suppose the streets of Rome full of snow and ice. * We should have more certainty with regard to this point, had the ^ ancients known the use of thermometers : but their writers, withou 'intending it, give us information, sufficient to convince us, that the ' winters are now much more temperate at Rome than formerly. A * present the Tyber no more freezes at Rome than the Nile at Cairo. ' The Romans esteem the winters very rigorous, if the snow lie two * days, and if one see for 48 hours a few icicles hang from a fountain * that has a north exposure.' The observation of this ingenious critic may be extended to othel European climates. Who could discover the mild climate of France in Diodorus Siculus [Lib. iv.] description of that of Gaul.'* *As it is * a northern climate,' says he, * it is infested with cold to an extreme ' degree. In cloudy weather, instead of rain, there fall great snows ; ' and in clear weather it there freezes so excessive hard, that the rivers * acquire bridges of their own substance ; over which, not only single * travellers may pass, but large armies, accompanied with all their * baggage and loaded waggons. And there being many rivers in Gaul, * the Rhone, the Rhine, &c. almost all of them are frozen over ; and it * is usual, in order to prevent falling, to cover the ice with chaff and * straw at the places where the road passes.' Colder than a Gallic Winter^ is used by Petronius as a proverbial expression. Aristotle says, that Gaul is so cold a climate that an ass could not live in it. [De generat. anim. lib. ii.] North of the Cevennes, says Strabo [Lib. iv.], Gaul produces not figs and olives : and the vines, which have been planted, bear not grapes that will ripen. Ovid positively maintains, with all the serious affirmation of prose, that the Euxine Sea was frozen over every winter in his time, and he appeals to Roman governors, whom he names, for the truth of his assertion.* This seldom or never happens at present in the latitude of Tomi, whether Ov^d was banished. All the complaints of the same poet seem to mark ^^eour of the seasons, which is scarcely expe- rienced at present in Petersuargh or Stockholm. Tournefort, a Provencal^ who had travelled into the same country, observes, that there is not a finer climate in the world : and he asserts, that nothing but Ovid's melancholy could have given him such dismal ideas of it. But the facts, mentioned by that poet, are too circum- stantial to bear any such interpretation. Polybius [Lib. iv. cap. 21] says, that the climate in Arcadia was very cold, and the air moist * Trist, lib. iu. eleg. 9. D€ PonU, lib. iv, eleg* 7, 101 ESSAY XXXIII. BY DAVID HUME. 263 Italy,' says Varro [Lib. i. cap. 2], * is the most temperate climate in * Europe. The inland parts, (Gaul, Germany, and Pannonia, no doubt) * have almost perpetual winter.' The northern parts of Spain, according to Strabo [Lib. iii.], are but ill inhabited, because of the great cold. Allowing, therefore, this remark to be just, that Europe is become warmer than formerly ; how can we account for it ? Plainly, by no other method, that by supposing, that the land is at present much better cultivated, and that the woods are cleared, which formerly threw a shade upon the earth, and kept the rays of the sun from penetrating to it. Our northern colonies in America become more temperate, in proportion as the woods are felled but in general, every one may remark, that cold is still much more severely felt, both in North and South America, than in places under the same latitude in Europe. Saserna, quoted by Columella [Lib. i. cap. i.], affirmed, that the dis- position of the heavens was altered before his time, and that the air had become much milder and warmer ; as appears hence, says he, that many places now abound with vineyards and olive plantations, which formerly, by reason of the rigour of the climate, could raise none of these productions. Such a change, if real, will be allowed an evi- dent sign of the better cultivation and peophng of countries before the age of Saserna rf and if it be continued to the present times is a proof, that these advantages have been continually increasing throughout this part of the world. Let us now cast our eye over all the countries which are the scene of ancient and modern history, and compare their past and present situation : we shall not, perhaps, find such foundation for the com- plaint of the present emptiness and desolation of the world. Egypt is represented by Maillet, to whom we owe the best account of it, as extremely populous ; though he esteems the number of its inhabitants to be diminished. Syria, and the Lesser Asia, as well as the coasts of Barbary, I can readily own to be desert in comparison of their ancient condition. The depopulation of Greece is also obvious. But whether the country now called Turkey in Europe may not, in general, contain more inhabitants than during the flourishing period of Greece, may be a little doubtful. The Thracians seem then to have lived like the Tartars at present, by pasturage and plunder :t the Getes were still more uncivilized :§ and the Illyrians were no better :|| these occupy nine-tenths of that country : and though the government of the Turks be not very favourable to industry and propagation ; yet it preserves * The warm southern colonies also become more heathful : and it is remarkable, that in the Spanish histories of the first discovery and conquest of these countries, they appear to have been very healthful; being then well peopled and cultivated. No account of the sick- ness or decay of Cortes* or Pizarro's small armies. t He seems to have lived about the time of the younger Africanus, lib. L cap, i. i Xenoph. £jcj^. lib- viii. Polyb. lib. iv. cap. 45. S Ovid, passim, Strabo, lib. vii. U Polyb, lib. ii. cap. 12, t^O?-ULC)USNESS ANCtfiNt NATIONS. at least peace and order among the inhabitants ; and is preferable to that barbarous, unsettled condition, in which they anciently lived. Poland and Muscovy'in Europe are not populous ; but are certainly much more so than the ancient Sarmatia and Scythia; where no husbandry or tillage was ever heard of, and pasturage was the sole art by which the people were maintained. The like observation may be extended to Denmark and Sweden. No one ought to esteem the im- mense swarms of people which formerly came from the North, and over-ran all Europe, to be any objection to this opinion. Where a whole nation, or even half of it, remove their seat, it is easy to imagine what a prodigious multitude they must form ; with what desperate valour they must njnke their attacks ; and how the terror they strike into the invaded n.'j^ons will make these magnify, in their imagination, both the courage c nations consisted of 200,000 men, besides women and children, and the least of 50,000. Calculating, therefore, at a medium, we must admit of near 200,000,000 of people in a country which we esteem • De Bella Gallico, lib. vi. t De Moribus Germ. X Caesar de Bello Gallico, lib. xvL Strabo, lib. vlL says, the Gauls were not much moro iiTiproved than the Gennans. Celt. pars. i. ESSAY XXXIII. BY DAVID HUME. 265 populous at present, though supposed to contain little more than twenty.* Such calculations, therefore, by their extravagance, loose all manner of authority. We may observe, that the equality of property, to which the populousness of antiquity may be ascribed, had no place among the Gauls. [/^. ibid^ Their intestine wars also, before Caesar's time, were almost perpetual. [Lib. iv.] And Strabof observes, that though all Gaul was cultivated, yet was it not cultivated with any skill or care ; the genius of the inhabitants leading them less to arts than arms till their slavery under Rome produced peace among themselves. Caesar J enumerates very particularly the great forces which were levied in Belgium to oppose his conquests ; and makes them amount to 208,000. These were not the whole people able to bear arms : for the same historian tells us, that the Bellovaci could have brought 100,000 men into the field, though they engaged only for sixty. Taking the whole, therefore, in this proportion of ten to six, the sum of fighting men in all the states of Belgium was about 350,000 ; all the inhabitants 1,500,000. And Belgium being about a fourth of Gaul, that country might contain 6,000,000, which is not near the third of its present inhabitants. § We are informed by Csesar, that the Gauls had no fixed property in land ; but that the chieftains, when any death hap- pened in a family, made a new division of all the lands among the several members of the family. This is the custom of Tanistry, which so long prevailed in Ireland, and which retained that country in a state of misery, barbarism, and desolation. The ancient Helvetia was 250 miles in length, and 180 in breadth, according to the same author [De Bello Gallico, lib. i.] ; yet contained only 360,000 inhabitants. The canton of Berne alone has, at present, as many people. After this computation of Appian and Diodorus Siculus. I know not, whether I dare affirm that the modern Dutch are more numerous than the ancient Batavi. Spain is, perhaps, decayed from what it was three centuries ago ; but if we step backward two thousand years, and consider the restless, turbulent, unsettled condition of its inhabitants, we may probably be inclined to think that it is now much more populous. Many Spaniards • Ancient Gaul was more extensive than modern France. t Caesar ae Bello Gallico, lib. vL X De Bello Gallico^ lib. ii. § It appears from Cscsar's account, that the Gauls had no domestic slaves, \yho formed 9 different order from the Plebes- The whole common people were indeed a kind of slaves to the nobility, as the people of Poland are at this day : and a nobleman of Gaul had some- times To,ooo dependents ©f this kind. Nor can we doubt that the armies were composed of the people as well as of the nobility. An army of 100,000 noblemen, from a very small state, is incredible. The fighting men among the Helvetti were the fourth part of the inhabi- tants ; a clear proof that all the males of military age bore arms. — Caes, de bello Gall. lib. i. We may remark, that the numbers in Csesar's commentaries can be more depended^ on than those of any other ancient author, because of the Greek translation, which stiil remains, and which checks the Latin original. 266 POPULOUSNESS OF ANCIENT NATIONS. killed themselves when deprived of their arms by the Romans. [Titi Livii, lib. xxxiv. cap. 17.] It appears from Plutarch, [In vita Mariil that robbery and plunder were esteemed honourable among the Spaniards. Hirtius [De Bello Hisp] represents in the same light the situation of that country in Csesar's time ; and he says, that every man was obliged to live in castles and walled towns for his security. It was not till its final conquest under Augustus, that these disorders were repressed, [ Veil. Paterc, lib. ii. sect. 90.] The account which Strabo [Lib. iii.] and Justin [Lib. xliv.] give of Spain, corresponds exactly with those above mentioned. How much, therefore, must it diminish from our idea of the populousness of antiquity, when we find that Tully, comparing Italy, Afric, Gaul, Greece, and Spain, mentions the great number of inhabitants as the peculiar circumstance which ren- dered this latter country formidable P"^ Italy, however, it is probable, has decayed : but how many great cities does it still contain ? Venice, Genoa, Pavia, Turin, Milan, Naples, Florence, Leghorn, which either subsisted not in ancient times, or were then very inconsiderable? If we reflect on this, we shall not be apt to carry matters to so great an extreme as is usual with regard to this subject. When the Roman authors complain, that Italy, which formerly ex- ported corn, became dependent on all the provinces for its daily bread, they never ascribe this alteration to the increase of its inhabitants, but to the neglect of tillage and agriculturef. A natural effect of that pernicious practice of importing corn, in order to distribute it gratis among the Roman citizens, and a very bad means of multiplying the inhabitants of any country J. The sportula^ so much talked of by Martial and Juvenal, being presents regularly made by the great lords to their smaller clients, must have had a hke tendency to produce idleness, debauchery, and a continual decay among the people. The parish rates have at present the same bad consequences in England. Were I to assign a period when I imagine this part of the world might possibly contain more inhabitants than at present, I should pitch upon the age of Trajan and the Antonines ; the great extent of the Roman empire being then civilized and cultivated, settled almost in a profound peace, both foreign and domestic, and living under the same regular police and government.§ But we are told, that all extensive ■* * Ncc numero Hispanos, nec robore Gallos, nec calliditate Poenos, nec artibus Graecas * nec denique hoc ipsos hujus gentis, ac terrae domestico nativoque sensu, Italos ipsos hujus *gentis, ac terrae domestico nativoque sensu, Italos ipsos ac Latinos— superavimus.' De harusp. resp. cap. 9. The disorders of Spain seem to have been almost proverbial : ' Nec im- 'pacatos a tergo horrebis Iberos.' Virg. Georg.lih. iil The Iberi are here plainly Uken, by a poetical figure, for robbers in general. t Varro re rustica, lib. ii. prsef. Columella praef. Sueton. August, cap. 42. t Through the observations of L'Abbe du Bos should be admitted, that Italy is now warmer than in former times, the consequence may not be necessary, that it is more populous or better cultivated. If the other countries of Europe were more savage and woody, the cold winds that blew from them might affect the climate of Italy. I The inhabitants of Marseilles lost not their superiority over the Gauls in commerce and ESSAY XXXIII. BY DAVID HUME. 267 govemiiicntSj especially absolute monarchies, are pernicious to popu- lation, and contain a secret vice and poison, which destroy the effect of all these promising appearances. [LEsprit de Loix, liv. xxiii. chap. 19.] To confirm this, there is a passage cited from Plutarch [De Orac Defectus] which being somewhat singular, we shall here ex- amine it. That author, endeavouring to account for ihe silence of many of the oracles, says, that it may be ascribed to the present desolation of the world, proceeding from former wars and factions ; which common calamity, he adds, has fallen heavier upon Greece than any other country ; insomuch that the whole could scarcely at present furnish 3,000 warriors ; a number which, in the time of the Median war, were supplied by the single city of Megara. The gods, therefore, who affect works of dignity and importance, have suppressed many of their oracles, and deign not to use so many interpreters of their will to so diminutive a people. the mechanic arts, till the Roman dominion turned the latter from arms to agriculture and civil life, Strabo, lib. iv. That author, in several places, repeats the observation concern- ing the improvement arising from the Roman arts and civility: and he lived at the time when the change was new, and would be more sensible. So also Pliny : * Quis enim non 'communicato orbe terrarum, majestate Romani imperii, profecisse vitam putet, commercio * rerum ac societate festse pacis, omniaque etiam, quae occulta antea fuerant, in promiscuo * usu facta. Lib. xiv. proem. Numine deum electa (speaking of Italy) quae coelum ipsum * clarius faceret, sparsa congregaret imperia, ritusque molliret, et tot populorum discordes,^ * ferasque linguas sermonis commercio contraheret ad colloquia, et humanitatem homini * daret ; breviterque, una cunctarum gentium in toto orbe patria fieret ; ' lib. ii. cap. 5. Nothing can be stronger to this purpose than the following passage from Tertullian, who Mved about the age of Severus. ' Certe quidem ipse orbis impromtu est, cultior de die et * instructior pristiuo. Omnia jam pervia, omnia nota, omnia negotiosa. Solitudines * tamosas retro fundi amoenissimi obliteraverunt, silvas arva domuerunt, feras pecora fuga- * verunt : arenae seruntur, saxa panguntur, paludes eliquantur, tantae urbes, quantse non * casas quondam. Jam nec insulae horrent, nec scopuli terrent ; ubique domus, ubique * populus, ubique respubhca, ubique vita. Summum testimonium frequentise humanae, * onerosi sumus mundo, vix nobis elementa sufficiunt ; et necessitates arctiores, et querelae ' apud omnes, dum jam nos natura non sustinet.' De anima, cap. 30. The air of rhetoric and declamation which appears in this passage diminishes somewhat from its authority, but does not entirely destroy it. The same remark may be extended to the following passage of Aristides the sophist, who lived in the age of Adrian. * The whole world,' says he, ad- dressing himself to the Romans, * seems to keep one holiday ; and mankind, laying aside * the sword which they formerly wore, now betake themselves to feasting and to joy. The * cities, forgetting their ancient animosities, preserve only one emulation, which shall em- * hellish itself most by every art and ornament : theatres every where arise, amphi-theatres, ' porticos, aqueducts, temples, schools, academies ; and one may safely pronounce, that the 'sinking world has been again raised by your auspicious empire- Nor have cities alone * received an increase of ornament and beauty ; but the whole earth, like a garden of para- * dise, is cultivated and adorned ; insomuch, that such of mankind as are placed out of the * limits of your empire (who are but few) seem to merit our sympathy and compassion.' It is remarkable, that though Diodorus Siculus makes the inhabitants of Egypt, when conquered by the Romans, amount only to 3,000,000 ; yet Joseph, de bello Jud lib. ii. cap. 16, says, that its inhabitants, excluding those of Alexandria, were 7,500,000, in the reign of Nero: and he expressly says, that he drew this account from the books of the Roman Publicans, who levied the poll-tax. Strabo, lib. xvii. praises the superior police of the Romans with regard to the finances of Egypt, above that of its former monarchs : and no part of administration is more essential to the happiness of a people. Yet we read in Athenseus (lib. i. cap. 25), who flourished during the reign of the Antonines, that the town Mareia, near Alexandria, which was formerly a large city, had dwindled into a village. This is not, properly speaking, a contradiction. Suidas (August says, that the Emperor Augusttis, having numbered the whole Roman empire, found it contained only 4,101,017 men etv^fii). There is here surely some great mistake, either in the author or tran<. scriber. But this authority, feeble as it is, may be sufficient to counterbalance th<» exagger- ated accounts of Herodotus, and Diodorus Siculus, with regard to more early times. 268 POPULOUSNESS OF ANCIENT NATIONS. I must confess that this passage contains so many difficulties that I know not what to make of it. You may observe, that Plutarch assigns, for a cause of the decay of mankind, not the extensive dominion of the Romans, but the former wars and factions of the several states ; all which were quieted by the Roman arms. Plutarch's reasoning, there- fore, is directly contrary to the inference which is drawn from the fact he advances. Polybius supposes that Greece had become more prosperous and flourishing after the establishment ot the Roman yoke 'j"^ and though that historian wrote before these conquerors had degenerated, from being the patrons, to be the plunderers of mankind ; yet as we find from Tacitus [AnnaL lib. i. cap. 2.] that the severity of the emperors afterwards corrected the licence of the governors, we have no reason to think that extensive monarchy was so destructive as it is often represented to be. We learn ii'om Strabo, [Lib. viii. and ix.] that the Romans, from their regard to the Greeks, maintained, to his time, most of the pri- vileges and liberties ot that celebrated nation ; and Nero afterwards rather increased them.f How, therefore, can we imagine that tlie Roman yoke was so burdensome over that part of the world } The oppression of the proconsuls was checked ; and the magistracies in Greece being all bestowed, in the several cities, by the free votes ot the people, there was no necessity for the competitors to attend the Emperor's court. If great numbers were to seek their fortunes in Rome, and advance themselves by learning or eloquence, the com- modities of their native country, many of them would return with the fortunes which they had acquired, and thereby enrich the Grecian commonwealths. But Plutarch says, that the general depopulation had been more sensibly felt in Greece than in any other country. How is this recon- cilable to its superior privileges and advantages 1 Besides, this passage, by proving too much, really proves nothing. Only three thousand men able to bear arms in alt Greece / Who can admit so strange a proposition, especially if we consider the great number of Greek cities, whose names still remain in history, and which are mentioned by writers long after the age of Plutarch } There are there surely ten times more people at present, when there scarcely remains a city in all the bounds of ancient Greece. That country is still tolerably cultivated, and furnishes a sure supply ot corn, in case of a scarcity in Spain, Italy, or the south of France. * Lib. ii. cap. 62. It may perhaps be imagined, that Polybius, being dependent on Rome, would naturally extol the Roman dominion. But, I. Polybius, though one sees sometimes instances of his caution, discovers no symptoms of flattery. II. This opinion is only delivered in a single stroke, by the bye, while he is intent upon another subject ; and it is allowed, if there be any suspicion of an author's insincerity, that these oblique propositions discovered ais real opinioj: better than his more formal and direct assertions. t Plutarch. De his qui sero a Numine puniuntnr. ESSAY XXXIII. BY DAVID HUME. 269 We may observe, that the ancient frugahty of the Greeks, and their equahty of property, still subsisted during the age of Plutarch, as ap- pears from Luciar. [De mercede conductis^ Nor is there any ground to imagine, that that country was possessed by a few masters, and a great number of slaves. It is probable, indeed, that military discipline, being entirely useless, was extremely neglected in Greece after the establishment of the Roman empire ; and if these commonwealths, formerly so warlike and ambitious, maintained each of them a small city guard, to prevent mobbish disorders, it is all they had occasion for : and these, perhaps, did not amount to 3,000 men, throughout all Greece. I own, that, if Plutarch had this fact in his eye, he is here guilty of a gross para- logism, and assigns causes no wise proportioned to the effects. But is it so great a prodigy, that an author should fall into a mistake of this nature But whatever force may remain in this passage of Plutarch, we sh.2ll endeavour to counterbalance it by as remarkable a passage in Diodorus Siculus, where the historian, after mentioning Ninus' army of 1,700,000 foot and 200,000 horse, endeavours to support the credi- bility of this account by some posterior facts ; and adds, that we must not form a notion of the ancient populousness of mankind from the present emptiness and depopulation which is spread over the world. [Lib. ii.] Thus an author, who lived at that very period of antiquity which is represented as most populous,t complains of the desolation which then prevailed, gives the preference to former times, and has recourse to ancient fables as a foundation for his opinion. The humour of blaming the present, and admiring the past, is strongly rooted in human nature, and has an influence even on persons endued with the profoundest judgment and most extensive learning. * I must confess that that discourse of Plutarch, concerning the silence^ of the oracles, is in general of so odd a texture and so unlike his other productions, that one is at a loss what judgment to form of it. It is written in dialogue, which is a method of composition that Plutarch commonly but little affects. The personages he introduces advance very wild, absurd, and contradictory opinions, more like the visionary systems or ravings of Plato than the plain sense of Plutarch- There runs also through the whole an air of superstition and credulity, which resembles very little the spirit that appears in other philosophical composi- tions of that author. For it is remarkable, that though Plutarch be an historian as super- stitious as Herodotus or Livy, yet there is scarcely, in all antiquity, a philosopher less superstitious, excepting Cicero and Lucian. I must therefore confess, that a passage of Plutarch, cited from this discourse, has much less authority with me, than if it had been found in most of his other compositions. There is only one other discourse of Plutarch liable to like objections, to wit, that concerning those whose pimishment is delayed by the Deity. It is also writ in dialogue, contains like superstitious, wild visions, and seems to have been chiefly composed in rivalship to Plato, particularly his last book de republica. And here I cannot but observe, that Fontenelle, a writer eminent for candour, seems to have departed a little from his usual character, when he endeavours to throw a ridicule upon Plutarch on account of passages to be met with in this dialogutj concerning oracles. The absurdities here put into the mouths of the several personages are not to be ascribed to Plu- tarch. He makes them refute each other ; and, in general, he seems to intend the ridiculing of those very opinions, which Fontenelle would ridicule him for maintaining. Histoire des oracles. t lie was cotemporary witi* Caesar and Augustus. 270 OF THE OKIGINAL CONTRACT. XXXIV.— OF THE ORIGINAL CONTRACT. As no party, in the present age, can well support a philosophical or speculative system of principles annexed to its political or practical one. we accordingly find, that each of the factions, into which this nation is divided, has reared up a fabric of the former kind, in ordei to protect and cover that scheme of actions, which it pursues. The people being commonly very rude builders, especially in this speculative way, and more especially still when actuated by party zeal ; it is natural to imagine, that their workmanship must be a little unshapely, and discover evident marks of that violence and hurry, in which it was raised. The one party, by tracing up government to the Deity, en- deavour to render it so sacred and inviolate, that it must be little less than sacrilege, however tyrannical it may become, to touch or invade it, in the smallest article. The other party, by founding government altogether on the consent of the People, suppose that there is a kind of origmal contract^ by which the subjects have tacitly reserved the power of resisting the sovereign, whenever they find themselves aggrieved by that authority, with which they have, for certain purposes, voluntarily entrusted him. These are the speculative principles of the two parties ; and these too are the practical consequences to be deduced from them. I shall venture to affirm, that both these systems of speculative 't)7dnciples are just; though not in the sense intended by the parties: and, that both the schemes of practical consequences are prudeut; though not in the extremes^ to which each party ^ in opposition to the other ^ has co7nmonly endeavoured to carry them. That the Deity is the ultimate author of all government, will never be denied by any, who admit a general providence, and allow, that all events in the universe are conducted by an uniform plan, and directed to wise purposes. As it is impossible for the human race to subsist, at least in any comfortable and secure state, without the protection of government ; this institution must certainly have been intended by that beneficent Being, who means the good of all his creatures: and as it has universally, in fact, taken place in all countries, and all ages ; we may conclude, with still greater certainty, that it was intended by L,hai omniscient Being, who can never be deceived by any event or iperation. But since he gave rise to it, not by any particular or -"niraculous interposition, but by his concealed and universal efficacy, a sovereign cannot, properly speaking, be called his vicegerent in any other sense than every power or force, being derived from him, may be said to act by his commission. Whatever actually happens is comprehended in the general plan or intention of Providence - nor has ESSAY XXXIV. BY DAVID HUME. 271 the greatest and most lawful prince any more reason, upon that account, to plead a peculiar sacredness or inviolable authority, than an inferior magistrate, or even an usurper, or even a robber and a pirate. The same Divine Superintendant, who, for wise purposes, invested a Titus or a Trajan with authority, did also, for purposes no doubt equally wise, though unknown, bestow power on a Borgia or an Angria. The same causes, which gave rise to the sovereign power in every state, established likewise every petty jurisdiction in it, and every limited authority. A constable, therefore, no less than a king, acts by a divine commission, and possesses an indefeasible right. When we consider how nearly equal all men are in their bodily force, and even in their mental powers and faculties, till cultivated by education ; we must necessarily allow, that nothing but their own consent could, at first, associate them together, and subject them to any authority. The people, if we trace government to its first origin in the woods and deserts, are the source of all power and jurisdiction, and voluntarily, for the sake of peace and order, abandoned their native liberty, and received laws from their equal and companion. The con- ditions, upon which they were willing to submit, were either expressed, or were so clear and obvious, that it might well be esteemed super- fluous to express them. If this, then, be meant by the original con- tract^ it cannot be denied, that all government is, at first, founded on a contract, and that the most ancient rude combinations of mankind were formed chiefly by that principle. In vain, are we asked in what records this charter of our liberties is registered. It was not written on parchment, nor yet on leaves or barks of trees. It preceded the use of writing and all the other civilized arts of life. But we trace it plainly in the nature of man, and in the equality, or something approaching equality, which we find in all the individuals of that species. The force, which now prevails, and which is founded on fleets and armies, is plainly political, and derived from authority, the effect of established government A man's natural force consists only in the vigour of his courage ; which could never subject multitudes to the command of one. Nothing but their own consent, and their sense of the advan- tages resulting from peace and order, could have had that influence. Yet even this consent was long very imperfect, and could not be the basis of a regular administration. The chieftain, who had probably acquired his influence during the continuance of war, ruled more by persuasion than command ; and till he could employ force to reduce the refractory and disobedient, the society could scarcely be said to have attained a state of civil government. No compact or agreement, it is evident, was expressly formed for general submission ; an idea far beyond the comprehension of savages : each exertion of authority in the chieftain must have been particular, and called forth by the present exigencies of the case : the sensible utility, resulting from his interpo- 272 or THE ORIGINAL CONTRACT. sition, made these exertions become daily more l/equent ; and their frequency gradually produced an habitual, and, if you please to call it so, a voluntary, and therefore precarious, acquiescence in the people. But philosophers, who have embraced a party (if that be not a con- tradiction in terms) are not contented with these concessions. They assert, not only that government in its earliest infancy arose from consent, or rather the voluntary acquiescence of the people ; but also, that, even at present, when it has attained its full maturity, it rests on no other foundation. They affirm, that all men are still born equal, and ov/e allegiance to no prince or government, unless bound by the obligation and sanction of 2l promise. And as no man, without some equivalent, would forego the advantages of his native liberty, and subject himself to the will of another ; this promise is always under- stood to be conditional, and imposes on him no obligation, unless he meet with justice and protection from his sovereign. These advan- tages the sovereign promises him in return ; and if he fail in the exe- cution, he has broken, on his part, the articles of engagement, and has thereby freed his subject from all obligations to allegiance. Such, according to these philosophers, is the foundation of all authority in every gove-^-ament ; and such is the right of resistance, possessed by every subject. But would these reasoners look abroad into the world, they would meet with nothing that, in the least, corresponds to their ideas, or can warrant so refined and philosophical a system. On the contrary, we find, every where, princes, who claim their subjects as their property, and assert their independent right of sovereignty, from conquest or succession. We find also, everywhere, subjects, who acknowledge this right in their prince, and suppose themselves born under obliga- tions of obedience to a certain sovereign, as much as under the ties of reverence and duty to certain parents. These connections are always conceived to be equally independent of our consent, in Persia and China ; in France and Spain ; and even in Holland and England, wherever the doctrines above mentioned have not been carefully incul- cated. Obedience or subjection becomes so familiar, that most men never make any inquiry about its origin or cause, more than about the principle of gravity, resistance, or the most universal laws of nature. Or if curiosity ever move them ; as soon as they learn, that they themselves or their ancestors have, for several ages, or from time immemorial, been subject to such a form of government or such a family ; they immediately acquiesce, and acknowledge their obligation to allegiance. Were you to preach, in most parts of the world, that political connections are founded altogether on voluntary consent or a mutual promise, the magistrate would soon imprison you, as seditious, for loosening the ties of obe- dience ; if your friends did not before shut you up as dehrious, for advancing such absurdities. It is strange, that ari a,ct of the mind^ 1 ESSAY XXXIV. BY DAVID HUME. 273 which every individual is supposed to have formed, and after he came to the use of reason too, otherwise it could have no authority ; that this act, I say, should be so much unknown to all of them, that, over the face of the whole earth, there scarcely remain any traces or memory of it. But the contract, on which government is founded, is said to be the ori^i7ial contract; and consequently may be supposed too old to fall under the knowledge of the present generation. If the agreement, by which savage men first associated and conjoined their force, be here meant, this is acknowledged to be real ; but being so ancient, and being obliterated by a thousand changes of government and princes, it cannot now be supposed to retain any authority. If we would say any thing to the purpose, we must assert, that every particular govern- ment, which is lawful, and which imposes any duty of allegiance on the subject, was, at first, founded on consent and a voluntary compact. But besides that this supposes the consent of the fathers to bind the children, even to the most remote generations (which republican writers will never allow), besides this, I say, it is not justified by his- tory or experience, in any age or country of the world. Almost all the governments, which exist at present, or of which there remains any record in history, have been founded originally, either on usurpation or conquest, or both, without any pretence of a fair consent, or voluntary subjection of the people. When an artful and bold man is placed at the head of an army or faction, it is often easy for him, by employing, sometimes violence, sometimes false pre- tences, to establish his dominion over a people a hundred times more numerous than his partizans. He allows no such open communica- tion, that his enemies can know, with certainty, their number or force. He gives them no leisure to assemble together in a body to oppose him. Even all those, who are the instruments of his usurpation, may wish his fall ; but their ignorance of each other's intention keeps them in awe, and is the sole cause of his security. By such arts as these, many governments have been established ; and this is all the original contract which they have to boast of. The face of the earth is continually changing, by the increase of small kingdoms into great empires, by the dissolution of great empires into smaller kingdoms, by the planting of colonies, by the migration of tribes. Is there any thing discoverable in all these events, but force and violence ? Where is the mutual agreement or voluntary associa- tion so much talked of ? Even the smoothest way, by which a nation may receive a foreign master, by marriage or a will, is not extremely honourable for the people ; but supposes them to be disposed of, like a dowry or a legacy, according to the pleasure or interest of their rules. But where no force interposes, and election takes place ; what 19 18 274 OF THE ORIGINAL CONTRACT. this election so highly vaunted ? It is either the combination of a few great men, who decide for the whole, and will allow of no opposition : or it is the fury of a multitude, that follow a seditious ringleader, who is not known, perhaps, to a dozen among them, and who owes his advancement merely to his own impudence, or to the momentary caprice of his fellows. Are these disorderly elections, which are rare too, of such mighty authority, as to be the only lawful foundation of all government and allegiance ? In reality, there is not a more terrible event, than a total dissolu- tion of government, which gives liberty to the multitude, and makes the determination or choice of a new establishment depend upon a number, which nearly approaches to that of the body of the people : for it never comes entirely to the whole body of them. Every wise man, then, wishes to see, at the head of a powerful and obedient army, a general, who may speedily seize the prize, and give to the people a master, which they are so unfit to choose for themselves. So little correspondent in fact and reality to those philosophical notions. Let not the establishment at the Revolution deceive us, or make us so much in love with a philosophical origin to government, as to imagine all others monstrous and irregular. Even that event was far from corresponding to these refined ideas. It was only the succes- sion, and that only in the regal part of the government, which was then changed : and it was only the majority of seven hundred, who determined that change for near ten millions. I doubt not, indeed, but the bulk of these ten millions acquiesced willingly in the deter- mination : but was the matter left, in the least, to their choice ? Was it not justly supposed to be, from that moment, decided, and every man punished, who refused to submit to the new sovereign ? How otherwise could the matter have ever been brought to any issue or conclusion. The republic of Athens was, I believe, the most extensive demo- cracy that we read of in history : yet if we make the requisite allow- ances for the women, the slaves, and the strangers, we shall find, that that establishment was not, at first, made, nor any law ever voted, by a tenth part of those who were bound to pay obedience to it : not to mention the islands and foreign dominions, which the Athenians claimed as theirs by right of conquest. And as it is well known, that popular assemblies in that city were always full of licence and dis- order, notwithstanding the institutions and laws by which they were checked ; how much more disorderly must they prove, where they form not the established constitution, but meet tumultuously on the dissolution of the ancient government, in order to give rise to a new 9ne ? how chimercial must it be to talk of a choice in such circum- .unces t ESSAY XXXIV. BY DAVID HUME. V5 The Ach^ans enjoyed the freest and most perfect democracy of all antiquity ; yet they employed force to oblige some cities to enter into their league, as we learn from Polybius. [Lib. ii. cap 38.] Harry IV, and Harry VII. of England, had really no title to the throne but a parliamentary election ; yet they never would acknowledge it, lest they should thereby weaken their authority, Strange, if the only real foundation of all authority be consent and promise ? It is in vain to say, that all governments are or should be at first, founded on popular consent, as much as the necessity of human affairs will admit. This favours entirely my pretension. I maintain, that human affairs will never admit of this consent ; seldom of the appearance of it. But that conquest or usurpation, that is, in plain terms, force, by dissolving the ancient governments, is the origin of almost all the new ones, which were ever established in the world. And that in the few cases, where consent may seem to have taken place, it was commonly so irregular, so confined, or so much intermixed either with fraud or violence, that it cannot have any great authority. My intention here is not to exclude the consent of the people from being one just foundation of government where it has place. I only pretend, that it has very seldom had place in any degree, and never almost in its full extent. And that therefore some other founda- tion of government must also be admitted. Were all men possessed of so inflexible a regard to justice, that, of themselves, they would totally abstain from the properties of others ; they had for ever remained in a state of absolute liberty, without sub- jection to any magistrate or political society : but this is a state of perfection, of which human nature is justly deemed incapable. Again, were all men possessed of so perfect an understanding as always to know their own interests, no form of government had ever been submitted to, but what was established on consent, and was fully canvassed by every member of the society : but this state of perfection is likewise much superior to human nature. Reason, history, and experience shew us, that all political societies have had an origin much less accurate and regular : and were one to choose a period of time, when the people's consent was the least regarded in public transactions, it would be precisely on the establishment of a new government. In a settled constitution, their inclinations are often consulted ; but during the fury of revolutions, conquests, and public convulsions, military force or political craft usually decides the controversy. When a new government is established, by whatever means, the people are commonly dissatisfied with it, and pay obedience more from fear and necessity, than from any idea of allegiance or of moral 276 OP THE ORIGINAL CONTRACT* obli^j'ation. The prince is watchful and jealous, and must carefully guard against every beginning or appearance of insurrection. Time, by degrees, removes all these difficulties, and accustoms the nation to regard, as their lawful or native princes, that family, which, at first, they considered as usurpers or foreign conquerors. In order to found ihis opinion, they have no recourse to any notion of voluntary con- sent or promise, which they know, never was, in this case, eith expected or demanded. The original establishment was formed violence, and submitted to from necessity. The subsequent adminis- tration is also supported by power, and acquiesced in by the people, not as a matter of choice, but of obligation. They imagine not, that their consent gives their prince a title : but they willingly con- sent, because they think, that from long possession, he has acquired a title, independent of their choice or inclination. Should it be said, that, by living under the dominion of a prince, which one might leave, every individual has given a tacit consent to his authority, and promised him obedience ; it may be answered, that such an implied consent can only have place, where a man imagines, that the matter depends on his choice. But where he thinks ( as all mankind do who are born under established governments) that by his birth he owes allegiance to a certain prince or certain form of <^overnment ; it would be absurd to infer a consent or choice, which 4e expressly, in this case, renounces and disclaims. Can we seriously say, that a poor peasant or artizan has a free choice to leave his country, when he knows no foreign language or manners, and lives, from day to day, by the small wages which he acquires ? We may as well assert, that man by remaining in a vessel, freely consents to the dominion of the master ; though he was car- ried on board while asleep, and must leap into the ocean, and perish, the moment he leaves her. What if the prince forbid his subjects to quit his dominions ; as in Tiberius' time, it was regarded as a crime in a Roman knight that he had attempted to fly to the Parthians, in order to escape the tyranny of thot emperor? [Tacit. Ann. lib. vi. cap. 14.] Or as the ancient Muscovites prohibited all travelling under pain of death ? And did a prince observe, that were many of his subjects seized with the frenzy ot migrating to foreign countries, he would doubtless, with great reason and justice, restrain them, in order to prevent the depopulation of his own kingdom. W^^uld he forfeit the allegiance of all his subjects, by so wise and reasonable a law? x'et the freedom of their choice is surely, in that case, ravished from them. A company of men, who should leave their native country, in order to people some inhabited region, might dream of recovering their native freedom ; but they would soon find, that their prince still laid claim to them, a:^ 'f^isA them hi? ^^bjects, even in their new ESSAY XXXIV. BY DAVID HUME. 277 settlement. And in this he would but act comformably to the commop Heas of mankind. The truest tacit consent of this kind, that is ever observed, is when a foreigner settles in any country, and is before-hand acquainted with the prince, and government, and laws to which he must submit : yet is his allegiance, though more voluntary, much less expected or depended on, than that of a natural born subject. On the contrary, his native prince still asserts a claim to him. And if he punish not the renegade, when he seizes him in war with his new prince's com- mission ; this clemency is not founded on the municipal law, which in all countries condemns the prisoner ; but on the consent of prince^ who have agreed to this indulgence, in order to prevent reprisals. Did one generation of men go off the stage at once, and anoth^* succeed, as is the case with silk worms and butterflies^ the new race, if they had sense enough to chuse their government, .vhich surely is never the case with men, might voluntarily, and by general consent, establish their own form of civil polity, without any regard to the laws or precedents which prevailed among their ancestors. But as human society is in perpetual flux, one man every hour going out of the world, another coming into it, it is necessary, in order to preserve stability in government, that the new brood should conform themselves to the established constitution, and nearly follow the path which their fathers, treading in the footsteps of theirs, had marked out to them. Some innovations must necessarily have place in every human institution ; and it is happy where the enlightened genius of t'ic £^;e give these a direction to the side of reason, liberty, and justice . but violent innova- tions no individual is entitled to make : they are even dangerous to be attempted by the legislature : more ill than good is ever to De expected from them : and if history affords examples to the contrary, they are not to be drawn into precedent, and are only to be regarded as proofs, that the science of pplitics affords few rules, which will not admit »f some exception, and which may not sometimes be controlled by fortune and accidents. The violent innovations in the reign of Henry VIII. proceeded from an imperious monarch, seconded by the appearance of legislative authority : those in the reign of Charles I. were derived from faction and fanaticism ; and both of them have proved happy in the issue. But even the former were long the source of many disorders, and still more dangers ; and if the measures of allegiance were to be taken from the latter, a total anarchy must have place in human society, and a final period at once be put to every government. Suppose, that an usurper, after having banished his lawful prince and royal family, should establish his dominion for ten or a dozen years in any country, and should preserve so exact a discipline in his troops, and so regular a disposition in his garrisons, that no insurrec- 278 OF THE ORIGINAL CONTRACT. tion had ever been raised, or even murmur heard, against his adminis- tration : can it be asserted, that the people, who in their hearts abhor his treason, have tacitly consented to his authority, and promised hirr allegiance, merely because, from necessity, they live under his dominion? Suppose again their native prince restored, by means of an army, which he levies in foreign countries: they receive him with joy and exultation, and show plainly with what reluctance they had submitted to any other yoke. I may now ask, upon what foundation the prince's title stands ? Not on popular consent surely : for though the people willingly acquiesce in his authority, they never imagine, that their consent made him sovereign. They consent ; because they appre- hend him to be already, by birth, their lawful sovereign. And as to that tacit consent, which may now be inferred from their living under his dominion, this is no more than what they formerly gave to the tyrant and usurper. When we assert, that all lawful government arises from the consent of the people, we certainly do them a great deal more honour than they deserve, or even expect and desire from us. After the Roman dominions became too unwieldy for the republic to govern them, the people over the whole known world were extremely grateful to Augustus for that authority, which by violence he had established over them ; and they shewed an equal disposition to submit to the successor whom he left them by his last will and testament. It was afterwards their misfortune, that there never was, in one family, any long regular suc- cession ; but that their line of princes was continually broken, either by private assassinations or public rebellions. The prcetoriaii bands, on the failure of every family, set up one emperor ; the legions in the East a second ; those in Germany, perhaps, a third : and the sword alone could decide the controversy. The condition of the people, in that mighty monarchy, was to be lamented, not because the choice of the emperor was never left to them ; for that was impracticable ; but because they never fell under any succession of masters, who might regularly follow each other. As to the violence, and wars, and blood- shed, occasioned by every new settlement ; these were not blameable, because they were inevitable. The house of Lancaster ruled in this island about sixty years ; yet the partizans of the white rose seemed daily to multiply in England. The present establishment has taken place during a still longer period. Have all views of right in another family been utterly extinguished : even though scarce any man now alive had arrived at years of discre- tion when it was expelled, or could have consented to its dominion, or have promised it allegiance? A sufficient indication, surely, of the general sentiment of mankind on this head. For we blame not the partizans of the abdicated family, merely on account of the long time luring which they have preserved their imaginary loyalty. We blame ESSAY XXXIV. BY DAVID HUME, 279 them for adhering to a family, which we affirm, has been justly ex- pelled, and which, from the moment the new settlement took place, had forfeited all title to authority. But would we have a more regular, at least a more philosophical, refutation of this principle of an original contract, or popular consent ; perhaps the following observations may suffice. All moj^al duties may be divided into two kinds. I. Those to which men are impelled by a natural instinct or immediate propensity, which operates on them, independent of all ideas of obligation, and of all views, either to public or private utility. Of this nature are, love of children, gratitude to benefactors, pity to the unfortunate. When we reflect on the advantage which results to society from such humane instincts, we pay them the just tribute of moral approbation and esteem: but the person, actuated by them, feels their power and influence, antecedent to any such reflection. II. The kind of moral duties are such as are not supported by any original instinct of nature, but are performed entirely from a sense of obhgation, when we consider the necessities of human society, and the impossibility of supporting it, if these duties were neglected. It is thus justice, or a regard to the property of others, fidelity, or the observance of promises, become obligatory, and acquire an authority over mankind. For as it is evident that every man loves himself better than any other person, he is naturally impelled to extend his acquisitions as much as possible ; and nothing can restrain him in this propensity, but reflection and experience, by which he learns the pernicious effects of that licence, and the total dissolution of society which must ensue from it. His original inclination, therefore, or in- stinct, is here checked and restrained by a subsequent judgment or observation. The case is precisely the same with the political or civil duty of allegiaftce, as with the natural duties of justice and fidelity. Our pri- mary instincts lead us, either to indulge ourselves in unlimited free- dom, or to seek dominion over others : and it is reflection only which engages us to sacrifice such strong passions to the interests of peace and public order. A small degree of experience and observation suffices to teach us, that society cannot possibly be maintained with- out the authority of magistrates, and that this authority must soon fall into contempt, where exact obedience is not paid to it. The observa- tion of these general and obvious interests is the source of all alle- giance, and of that moral obligation which we attribute to it. What necessity, therefore, is there to found the duty of allegiance^ or obedience to magistrates on that oi fidelity ox a regard to promises, and to suppose that it is the consent of each individual which subjects him to government ; when it appears that both allegiance and fidelity stand precisely on the same foundation, and are both submitted to by 28o OF THE ORIGINAL CONTRACT. mankind, on account of the apparent interests and necessities of human society ? We are bound to obey our sovereign, it is said, because we have given a tacit promise to that purpose. But why are we bound to observe our promise ? It must here be asserted, that the commerce and intercourse of mankind, which are of such mighty advantage, can have no security where men pay no regard to their engagements. In like manner, may it be said, that men could not live at all in society, at least in a civilized society, without laws and magistrates and judges, to prevent the encroachments of the strong upon the weak, of the violent upon the just and equitable. The obligation to allegiance being of like force and authority with the obligation to fidelity, we gain nothing by resolving the one into the other. The general interests or necessities of society are sufficient to establish both. If the reason be asked of that obedience which we are bound to pay to government, I readily answer, because society could not otherwise subsist. And this answer is clear and intelligible to all mankind. Your answer is, because we should keep our word. But besides, that no body, till trained in a philosophical system, can neither comprehend or relish this answer : besides this, I say, you find yourself embarrassed, when it is asked, why are we bou7td to keep our word? Nor can you give any answer, but what would imme- diately, without any circuit, have accounted for our obligation to allegiance. But to whom is all^ fiance due f And who is our lawful sovei^eign ? This question is often the most difficult of any, and liable to infinite discussions. When people are so happy, that they can answer, Our present sovereign^ who inherits^ in a direct line, from ancestors that have governed us for many ages. This answer admits of no reply ; even though historians, in tracing up to the remotest antiquity, the origin of that royal family, may find, as commonly happens, that its first authority was derived from usurpation and violence. It is con- fessed, that private justice, or the abstinence from the properties of others, is a most cardinal virtue : yet reason tells us, that there is no property in durable objects, such as land or houses, when carefully examined in passing from hand to hand, but must, in some period, have been founded on fraud and injustice. The necessities of human society, neither in private nor public life, will allow of such an accurate inquiry : and there is no virtue or moral duty, but what may, with facility, be refined away, if we indulge a false philosophy, in sifting and scrutmizmg it, by every captious rule of logic, in every light or position, in which it may be placed. The questions with regard to private property have filled infinite volumes of law and philosophy, if in boMi we add the commentators to the original text ; and in the end, we may safely pronounce, that many of the rules, there established, are uncertain, ambiguous, and ESSAY XXXIV. BY DAVID HUME. 28t arbitrary. The like opinion may be formed with regard to the suc- cession and rights of princes and forms of government. Several cases, no doubt, occur, especially in the infancy of any constitution, which admit of no determination from the laws of justice and equity : and our historian Rapin pretends, that the controversy between Edward III. and Philip de Valois was of this nature, and could be decided only by an appeal to heaven, that is by war and violence. Who shall tell me, whether Germanicus or Drusus ought to have succeeded to Tiberius, had he died, while they were both alive, with- out naming any of them for his successor ? Ought the right of adop- tion to be received as equivalent to that of blood, in a nation where it had the same effect in private families, and had already, in two in- stances, taken place in the public ? Ought Germanicus to be esteemed the elder son because he was born before Drusus ; or the younger, because he was adopted after the birth of his brother ? Ought the right of the elder to be regarded in a nation, where he had no advan- tage in the succession of private families ? Ought the Roman empire at that time to be deemed hereditary, because of two examples ; or ought it, even so early, to be regarded as belonging to the stronger or to the present possessor, as being founded on so recent an usurpation ? Commodus mounted the throne after a pretty long succession of ex- cellent emperors, who had acquired their title, not by birth, or public election, but by the fictitious rite of adoption. That bloody debauchee being murdered by a conspiracy, suddenly formed between his wench and her gallant, who happened at that time to be Prcetorian PrcBfect ; these immediately deliberated about choosing a master to humankind, to speak in the style of those ages ; and they cast their eyes on Pertinax. Before the tyrant's death was known, the Prcefect went secretly to that senator, who, on the appearance of the soldiers, imagined that his execution had been ordered by Commodus. He was immediately saluted emperor by the officer and his attendants ; cheerfully proclaimed by the populace ; unwillingly submitted to by the guards ; formally recognized by the senate ; and passively re- ceived by the provinces and armies of the empire. The discontent of the Prcetorian bands broke out in a sudden sedition, which occasioned the murder of that excellent prince : and the world being now without a master, and without government, the guards thought proper to set the empire formally to sale. Julian, the purchaser, was proclaimed by the soldiers, recognized by the senate, and submitted to by the people ; and must also have been submitted to by the provinces, had not the envy of the legions begotten opposi- tion and resistance. Pescennius Niger in Syria elected himself em- peror, gained the tumultuary consent of his army, and was attended with the secret good- will of the senate and people of Rome. Albinus in Britain found an equal right to set up his claim ; but Severus, who 282 OF THE ORIGINAL CONTRACT. governed Pannonia, prevailed in the end above both of them. That able politician and warrior, finding his own birth and dignity too much inferior to the imperial crown, professed, at first, an intention only of revenging the death of Pertinax. He marched as general into Italy ; defeated Julian ; and without being able to fix any precise commence- ment even of the soldiers' consent, he was from necessity acknow- ledged emperor by the senate and people ; and fully established in his violent authority by subduing Niger and Albinus. [Herodian, lib. ii.] Inter hcec Gordianus Ccesar (says Capitolinus, speaking of another period) sttblattis a militibus, Imperator est appellatus, quia non erat alms in pra:senti. It is to be remarked, that Gordian was a boy of fourteen years of age. Frequent instances of a like nature occur in the history of the emperors ; in that of Alexander's successors ; and of many other countries : nor can any thing be more unhappy than a despotic government of this kind ; where the succession is disjointed and irregular, and must be determined, on every vacancy, by force or elec- tion. In a free government, the matter is often unavoidable, and is also much less dangerous. The interests of liberty may there frequently lead the people, in their own defence, to alter the suc- cession of the crown. And the constitution, being compounded of parts, may still maintain a sufficient stability, by resting on the aris- tocratical or democratical members, though the monarchical be altered, from time to time, in order to accommodate it to the former. In an absolute government, when there is no legal prince, who has a title to the throne, it may safely be determined to belong to the first, occupant. Instances of this kind are but too frequent, especially in the eastern monarchies. When any race of princes expires, the will or destination of the last sovereign will be regarded as a title. Thus the edict of Louis XIV., who called the bastard princes to the succession in case of the failure of all the legitimate princes, would in such an event, have some authority.* Thus the will of Charles II. disposed of the whole Spanish monarchy. The cession of the ancient proprietor, especially when joined to conquest, is likewise deemed a good title. The general obligation, which binds us to government, is * It is remarkable, that, in the remonstrance of the Duke of Bourbon and the legitimate princes, against this destination of Louis the XIV, the doctrine of the original contract is insisted on, even in that absolute government. The French nation, say they, chusing Hugh •llapet and his posterity to rule over them and their posterity, where ^ the former line fails, there is a tacit right reserved to chuse a new royal family ; and this right is invaded by calling the bastard princes to the throne, without the consent of the nation. But the Comte de Boulainvilliers, who wrote in defence of the bastard princes, ridicules this notion of an original contract, especially when applied to Hugh Capet , who mounted the throne, says he, by the same arts, which have ever been employed by all conquerors and usurpers. He got his title, indeed, recognized by the states after he had put himself in possession ; but is this a choice or a contract ? The Comte dc Boulainvilliers, we may observe, was a noted repub- lican ; but being a man of learning, and very conversant in history, he knew that the people were never almost consulted in these revolutions and new establishments, and that time alono bestowed right and authority on what was commonly at first founded on force and violence -^Etatds la France, Vol- III. ESSAY XXXV. BY DAVID HUME. 283 the interest and necessities of society ; and this obligation is very strong. The determination of it to this or that particular prince, or form of government, is frequently more uncertain and dubious. Present possession has considerable authority in these cases, and greater than in private property ; because of the disorders which attend all revolutions and changes of government. We shall only observe, before we conclude, that though an appeal to general opinion may justly, in the speculative sciences of meta- physics, natural philosophy, or astronomy, be deemed unfair and inconclusive, yet in all questions with regard to morals, as well as criticism, there is really no other standard, by which any controversy can ever be decided. And nothing is a clearer proof, that a theory of this kind is erroneous, than to find, that it leads to paradoxes re- pugnant to the common sentiments of mankind, and to the practice and opinion of all nations and all ages. The doctrine which founds all lawful government on an original conU^act^ or consent of the people, is plainly of this kind ; nor has the most noted of its partizans, in prosecution of it, scrupled to affirm, that absolute monarchy is in- consistent with civil society^ and so can be no form of civil govern- ment at all; [Locke on Government, chap. vii. sect. 90,] and that the supreme power in a state cannot take from any man^ by taxes a?id impositions, any part of his property, without his own co?tsent or that of his representatives, [Id. chap. xi. sect. 138, 139, 140.] What authority any moral reasoning can have, which leads into opinions so wide of the general practice of mankind, in every place but this single kingdom, it is easy to determine. The only passage I meet with in antiquity, where the obligation of obedience to government is ascribed to a promise, is in Plato's Crito : where Socrates refuses to escape from prison, because he had tacitly promised to obey the laws. Thus he builds a Tory consequence of passive obedience on a Whig foundation of the original contract. New discoveries are not to be expected in these matters. If scarce any man, till very lately, ever imagined that government was founded on compact, it is certain, that it cannot, in general, have any such foundation. The crime of rebellion among the ancients was commonly expressed by the terms i/ecorepifcti/ novas res 7noli7'i, XXXV.— OF PASSIVE OBEDIENCE. In the former essay, we endeavoured to refute the speculative systems of politics advanced in this nation ; as well the religious system 0/ 284 OF PASSIVE OBEDIENCE. the one party, as the philosophical of the other. We come now to examine the practical consequences deduced by each party, with regard to the measures of submission due to sovereigns. As the obligation to justice is founded entirely on the interests of society, which require mutual abstinence from property, in order to preserve peace among mankind ; it is evident, that, when the execu- tion of justice would be attended with very pernicious consequences, that virtue must be suspended, and give place to public utility, in such extraordinary and such pressing emergencies. The maxim, jiat Jus- titia et ruat Ccehan, let justice be performed, though the universe be destroyed, is apparently false, and by sacrificing the end to the means, shews a preposterous idea of the subordination of duties. What governor of a town makes any scruple of burning the suburbs, when they facilitate the approaches of the enemy } Or what general abstains from plundering a neutral country, when the necessities of war require it, and he cannot otherwise subsist his army The case is the same with the duty of allegiance ; and common sense teaches us, that, as government binds us to obedience only on account of its tendency to public utility, that duty must always, in extraordinary cases, when public ruin would evidently attend obedience, yield to the primary and original obligation. Sahcs populi suprerna Lex, the safety of the people is the supreme law. This maxim is agreeable to the sentiments of mankind in all ages : nor is any one, when he reads of the insur- rections against Nero or Philip II., so infatuated with party systems, as not to wish success to the enterprise, and praise the undertakers. Even our high monarchical party, in spite of their subhme theory, are forced, in such cases, to judge, and feel, and approve, in confoimity to the rest of mankind. Resistance, therefore, being admitted in extraordinary emergencies, the question can only be among good reasoners, with regard to the degree of necessity, which can justify resistance, and render it lawful or commendable. And here I must confess, that I shall always incline to their side, who draw the bond of allegiance very close, and consider an infringement of it, as the last refuge in desperate cases, when the public is in the highest danger, from violence and tyranny. For besides the mischiefs of a civil war, which commonly attends insurrection ; it is certain, that, where a disposition to rebellion appears among any people, it is one chief cause of tyranny in the rulers, and forces them into many violent measures which they never would have embraced, had every one been inclined to submission and obedience. Thus the tyrannicide or assassination, approved of by ancient maxims, instead of keeping tyrants and usurpers in awe, made them ten times more fierce and unrelenting ; and is now justly, upon that account, abolished by the laws of nations, and universally condemned as a base and treacherous method of bringing to justice these disturbers of society. ESSAY XXXV. BY DAVID HUME. Besides, we must consider, that as obedience is out duty in the common course of tilings, it ought chiefly to be inculcated ; nor Can any thing be more preposterous than an anxious care and solicitude in stating all the cases, in which resistance may be allowed. In like manner, though a philosopher reasonably acknowledges, in the course of an argument, that the rules of justice may be dispensed with in cases of urgent necessity ; what should we think of a preacher or casuist, who should make it his chief study to find out such cases, and enforce them with all the vehemence of argument and eloquence? Would he not be better employed in inculcating the general doctrine, than in displaying the particular exceptions, which, we are, perhaps, but too much incHned, of ourselves, to embrace and to extend ? There are, however, two reasons, which may be pleaded in defence of that party among us, who have, with so much industry, propagated the maxims of resistance : maxims which, it must be confessed, are, in general, so pernicious, and so destructive of civil society. The ^rs^ is, that their antagonists, carrying the doctrine of obedience to such an extravagant height, as not only never to mention the exceptions in extraordinary cases (which might, perhaps, be excusable), but even positively to exclude them ; it became necessary to insist on these exceptions, and defend the rights of injured truth and liberty. The second^ and, perhaps, better reason, is founded on the nature of the British constitution and form of government. It is almost pecuhar to our constitution to establish a first magis- trate with such high pre-eminence and dignity, that, though limited by the laws, he is, in a manner, so far as regards his own person, above the laws, and can neither be questioned nor punished for any injury or wrong which may be committed by him. His ministers alone, or those who act by his commission, are obnoxious to justice ; and while the prince is thus allured, by the prospect of personal safety, to give the laws their free course, an equal security is, in effect, obtained by the punishment of lesser offenders, and at the same time a civil war is avoided, which would be the infallible consequence, were an attack, at every turn, made directly upon the sovereign. But though the constitution pays this salutary compliment to the prince, it can never reasonably be understood, by that maxim, to have determined its own destruction, or to have established a tame submission, where he protects his ministers, perseveres in injustice, and usurps the whole power of the commonwealth. This case, indeed, is never expressly put by the laws ; because it is impossible for them, in their ordinary course, to provide a remedy for it, or establish any magistrate, with superior authority, to chastise the exorbitances of the prince. But as a right without a remedy would be an absurdity ; the remedy, in this case, is the extraordinary one of resistance, when affairs come to that extremity, that the constitution can be defended by it alone. Resist- OF THE COALITION OF PARTIES. ance, therefore, must, of course, become more frequent in the British government, than in others, which are simpler, and consist of fewei parts and movements. Where the king is an absolute sovereign, he has little temptation to commit such enormous tyranny as may justly provoke rebellion. But where he is limited, his imprudent ambition, without any great vices, may run him into that perilous situation. Thi% is frequently supposed to have been the case with Charles I. ; and if we may now speak truth, after animosities are ceased, this was also the case with James II. These were harmless, if not, in their private character, good men ; but mistaking the nature of our constitution, and engrossing the whole legislative power, it became necessary to oppose them with some vehemence ; and even to deprive the latter formally of that authority which he had used with such imprudence and indiscretion. XXXVI.— OF THE COALITION OF PARTIES. To abolish all distinctions of party may not be practicable, perhaps not desirable, in a free government. The only dangerous parties are such as entertain opposite views with regard to the essentials ol government, the succession of the crown, or the more considerable privileges belonging to the several members of the constitution ; where there is no room for any compromise or accommodation, and where the controversy may appear so momentous as to justify even an opposi- tion by arms to the pretensions of antagonists. Of this nature was the animosity, continued for above a century past, between the parties in England ; an animosity which broke out sometimes into civil war, which occasioned violent revolutions, and which continually en- dangered the peace and tranquillity of the nation. But as there have appeared of late the strongest symptoms of an universal desire to* abolish these party distinctions : this tendency to a coalition affords the most agreeable prospect of future happiness, and ought to be care- fully cherished and promoted by every lover of his country. There is not a more effectual method of promoting so good an end, than to prevent all unreasonable insult and triumph of the one party- over the other, to encourage moderate opinions, to find the proper medium in all disputes, to persuade each that its antagonist may possibly be sometimes in the right, and to keep a balance in the praise jr blame, which we bestow on either side. The two former essays,, concerning the original contract and passive obedience^ are calculated for this purpose with regard to the philosophical and practical con- ESSAY XXXVI. BY DAVID HUME. 287 .roversies between the parties, and tend to show that neither side are in these respects so fully supported by reason as they endeavour to flatter themselves. We shall proceed to exercise the same moderation tvith regard to the historical disputes between the parties, by proving that each of them was justified by plausible topics ; that there was on both sides wise men, who meant well to their country ; and that the past animosity between the factions had no better foundation than narrow prejudice or interested passion. The popular party, who afterwards acquired the name of Whigs, might justify, by very specious arguments, that opposition to the crown, from which our present free constitution is derived. Though obliged to acknowledge, that precedents in favour of prerogative had uniformly taken place during many reigns before Charles I. ; they thought, that there was no reason for submitting any longer to so dangerous an authority. Such might have been their reasoning : as the rights of mankind are for ever to be deemed sacred, no prescription of tyranny or arbitrary power can have authority sufficient to abolish them. Liberty is a blessing so inestimable, that, wherever there appears any probability of recovering it, a nation may willingly run many hazards, and ought not even to repine at the greatest effusion of blood or dissi- pation of treasure. All human institutions, and none more than government, are in continual fluctuation. Kings are sure to embrace every opportunity of extending their prerogatives : and if favourable incidents be not also laid hold of for extending and securing the privileges of the people, an universal despotism must for ever prevail amongst mankind. The example of all the neighbouring nations proves, that it is no longer safe to entrust with the crown the same high prerogatives which had formerly been exercised during rude and simple ages. And though the example of many late reigns may be pleaded in favour of a power in the prince somewhat arbitrary, more remote reigns afford instances of stricter limitations imposed on the crown ; and those pretensions of the parliament now branded with the title of innovations, are only a recovery of the ancient and just rights of the people. These views, far from being odious, are surely large, and generous, and noble: to their prevalence and success the kingdom owes its liberty ; perhaps its learning, its industry, commerce, and naval power: by them chiefly the English name is distinguished among the society of nations, and aspires to a rivalship with that of the freest and m.ost illustrious commonwealths of antiquity. But as all these mighty con- sequences could not reasonably be foreseen at the time when th e con- test began, the royalists of that age wanted not specious arguments or. their side, by which they could justify their defence of the then estab- lished prerogatives of the prince. We shall state the question, as i : might have appeared to them z\ ««;embling of that parliamem. 28S OF THE COALITION OF PARTIES. which, by its violent encroachments on the crown, began the civil wars. The only rule of government, they might have said, known and acknowledged among men, is use and practice ; reason is so uncertain a guide, that it will always be exposed to doubt and controversy : could it ever render itself prevalent over the people, men had always retained it as their sole rule of conduct : they had still continued in the primitive, unconnected state of nature, without submitting to political government, whose sole basis is, not pure reason, but authority and precedent. Dissolve these ties, you break all the bonds of civil society, and leave every man at liberty to consult his private interest, oy those expedients, which his appetite, disguised under the appearance of reason, shall dictate to him. The spirit of innovation is in itself pernicious, however favourable its particular object may sometimes appear: a truth so obvious, that the popular party themselves are sensible of it : and therefore cover their encroachments on the crown by the plausible pretence of their recovering the ancient liberties of the people. But the present prerogatives of the crown, allowing all the supposi- tions of that party, have been incontestibly established ever since the accession of the House of Tudor ; a period which, as it now compre- hends a hundred and sixty years, may be allowed sufficient to give stability to any constitution. Would it not have appeared ridiculous in the reign of the Emperor Adrian, to have talked of the republican constitution as the rule of government ; or to have supposed, that the former rights of the senate, and consuls and tribunes, were still subsisting. But the present claims of the English monarchs are much more favourable than those of the Roman emperors during that age. The authority of Augustus was a plain usurpation, grounded only on military violence, and forms such an epoch in the Roman history, as is obvious to every reader. But if Henry VII. really, as some pretend, enlarged the power of the crown, it was only by insensible acquisitions, which escaped the apprehension of the people, and have scarcely been remarked even by historians and politicians. The new govern- ment, if it deserves the epithet, is an imperceptible transition from the former ; is entirely engrafted on it ; derives its title fully from that root ; and is to be considered only as one of those gradual revolutions, to which human affairs, in every nation, will be for ever subject. The house of Tudor, and after them that of Stuart, exercised no prerogatives but what had been claimed and exercised by the Planta- genets. Not a single branch of their authority can be said to be an innovation. The only difference is, that perhaps former kings exerted these powers only by intervals, and were not able, by reasor of the opposition of their barons, to render them so steady a rule o^. ESSAV XXXVI. BY DAVID HUME. 289 ..ministration. But the sole inference from this fact is, that those ancient times were more turbulent and seditious ; and that royal authority, the constitution, and the laws, have happily of late gained the ascendant. Under what pretence can the popular party now speak of recovering the ancient constitution ? The former control over the kings was not placed in the commons, but in the barons : the people had no authority, and even little or no liberty; till the crown, by suppressing these factious tyrants, enforced the execution of the laws, and obliged all the subjects equally to respect each others rights, privileges, and properties. If we must return to the ancient barbarous and feudal constitution, let those gentlemen, who now behave themselves with so much insolence to their sovereign, set the first example. Let them make court to be admitted as retainers to a neighbouring baron ; and by submitting to slavery under him, acquire some protection to them- selves ; together with the power of exercising rapine and oppression over their inferior slaves and villains. This was the condition of the commons among their remote ancestors. But how far back must we go, in having recourse to ancient consti- tutions and governments ? There was a constitution still more ancient than that to which these innovators affect so much to appeal. During that period there was no Magna Charta : the barons them- selves possessed few regular, stated privileges ; and the house of com- mons probably had not an existence. It is ridiculous to hear the Commons, while they are assuming, by usurpation, the whole power of government, talk of reviving the ancient institutions. Is it not known, that, though representatives /eceived wages from their constituents ; to be a member of the lower house was always considered as a burden, and an exemption from it as a privilege ? Will they persuade us, that power, which, of all human acquisitions, is the most coveted, and in comparison of which, even reputation, and pleasure, and riches, are slighted, could ever be regarded as a burden by any man ? The property, acquired of late by the commons, it is said, entitles them to more power than their ancestors enjoyed. But to what is this increase of their property owing, but to an increase of their liberty and their security ? Let them therefore acknowledge, that their ancestors, while the crown was restrained by the seditious barons, really enjoyed that liberty with moderation; and not forfeit it by new exorbitant daims, and by rendering it a pretence for endless innovations. The true rule of government is the present established practice of the age. That has most authority, because it is recent : it is also best known, for the same reason. Who has assured those tribunes, that the Plantagenets did not exercise as high acts of authority as the Tudors ? Historians, they say, do not mention them. But historians 19 290 OP THE COALITION OF PARTIES. are also silent with regard to the chief exertions of prerogative by the Tudors. Where any power or prerogative is fully and undoubtedly established, the exercise of it passes for a thing of course, and readily escapes the notice of history and annals. Had we no other monu- ments of Elizabeth's reign, than what are preserved even by Cambden, the most copious, judicious, and exact of our historians, we should be entirely ignorant of the most important maxims of her government. Was not the present monarchical government, in its full extent, authorised by lawyers, recommended by divines, acknowledged by politicians, acquiesced in, nay passionately cherished, by the people in general ; and all this during a period of at least a hundred and sixty years, and, till of late, without the smallest murmur of contro- versy ? This general consent, surely, during so long a time, must be sufficient to render a constitution legal and valid. If the origin of all power be derived, as is pretended, from the people, here is their consent in the fullest and the most ample terms that can be desired or imagined. But the people must not pretend, because they can, by their consent, lay the foundations of government, that therefore they are permitted, at their pleasure, to overthrow and subvert them. There is no end of these seditious and arrogant claims. The power of the crown is now openly struck at : the nobility are also in visible peril : the gentry will soon follow : the popular leaders, who will then assume the name of gentry, will next be exposed to danger : and the people themselves, having become incapable of civil government, and lying under the restraint of no authority, must, for the sake of peace, admit, instead of their legal and mild monarchs, a succession of military and despotic tyrants. These consequences are the more to be dreaded, as the present fury of the people, though glossed over by pretensions to civil liberty, is in reality incited by the fanaticism of religion ; a principle the most blind, headstrong, and ungovernable, by which human nature can possibly be actuated. Popular rage is dreadful, from whatever motive derived : but must be attended with the most pernicious consequences, when it arises from a principle, which disclaims all control by human law, reason, or authority. These are the arguments, which each party may make use of to justify the conduct of their predecessors, during that great crisis. The event, if that can be admitted as a reason, has shown, that the arguments of the popular party were better founded ; but perhaps, ac- cording to the established maxims of lawyers and politicians, the views of the royalists ought, beforehand, to have appeared more solid, more safe, and more legal. But this is certain, that the greater tioderation we now employ in representing; past events ; the nearer ESSAY XXXVII. BY DAVID HUME 29: shall we be to produce a full coalition of the parties, and an entire ac- quiescence in our present establishment. Moderation is of advantage to every establishment : nothing but zeal can overturn a settled power ; and an over-active zeal in friends is apt to beget a like spirit of an- tagonists. The transition from a moderate opposition against an establishment, to an entire acquiescence in it, is easy and insensible. There are many invincible arguments, which should induce the malcontent party to acquiesce entirely in the present settlement of the constitution. They now find, that the spirit of civil liberty, though at first connected with religious fanaticism, could purge itself from that pollution, and appear under a more genuirxC and engaging aspect ; a friend to toleration, and encourager of all the enlarged and generous sentiments that do honour to human nature. They may observe, that the popular claims of prerogative, could still maintain a due respect to monarchy, the nobility, and to all ancient institutions. Above all, they must be sensible, that the very principle, which made the strength of their party, and from which it derived its chief authority, has now deserted them, and gone over to their antagonists. The plan of liberty is settled ; its happy effects are proved by experience ; a long tract of time has given it stability ; and whoever would attempt to overturn it, and to recal the past government or abdicated family, would, besides other more criminal imputations, be exposed, in their turn, to the reproach of faction and innovation. While they peruse the history of past events, they ought to reflect, both that those rights of the crown are long since annihilated, and that the tyranny, and violence, and oppression, to which they often gave rise, are ills, from which the established liberty of the constitution has now at last happily protected the people. These reflections will prove a better security to our freedom and privileges, than to deny, contrary to the clearest evidence of facts, that such regal powers ever had an existence. There is not a more effectual method of betraying a cause, than to lay the stress of the argument on a wrong place, and by disputing an untenable post, enure the adversaries to success and victory. XXXVII.— OF THE PROTESTANT SUCCESSION. I SUPPOSE, that a memt)er of Parliament in the reign of King William or Queen Anne, while the establishment of the Pj'otestarit Succession was yet uncertain, was dehberating concerning the party he would chuse in that important question, and weighing, v/ith impartiahty, the 292 OF THE PROTESTANT SUCCESSION. advantages and disadvantages on each side, I believe the following particulars would have entered into his consideration. He would easily perceive the great advantage resulting from the restoration of the Stuart family ; by which we should preserve the succession clear and undisputed, free from a pretender, with such a specious title as that of blood, which, with the multitude, is always the claim, the strongest and most easily comprehended. It is in vain to say, as many have done, that the question with regard to governors^ independent of govefiiment^ is frivolous, and little worth disputing, much less fighting about. The generality of mankind never will enter into these sentiments ; and it is much happier, I believe, for society, that they do not, but rather continue in their natural prepossessions. How could stability be preserved in any monarchical government (which, though perhaps not the best, is, and always has been, the most common of any), unless men had so passionate a regard for the true heir of their royal family ; and even though he be weak in understand- ing, or infirm in years, gave him so sensible a preference above persons the most accomplished in shining talents, or celebrated for great achievements ? Would not every popular leader put in his claim at every vacancy, or even without any vacancy ; and the kingdom be- come the theatre of perpetual wars and convulsions ? The condition of the Roman empire, surely, was not, in this respect, much to be envied ; nor is that of the Easter7i nations, who pay little regard to the titles of their sovereign, but sacrifice them, every day, to the caprice or momentary humour of the populace or soldiery. It is but a foolish wisdom, which is so carefully displayed in undervaluing princes, and placing them on a level with the meanest of mankind. To be sure, an anatomist finds no more in the greatest monarch than in the lowest peasant or day-labourer ; and a moralist may, perhaps, frequently find less. But what do all these reflections tend to ? We, all of us, still retain these prejudices in favour of birth and family; and neither in our serious occupations, nor most careless amusements, can we ever get entirely rid of them. A tragedy that should represent the adventures of sailors, or porters, or even of private gentlemen, would presently disgust us ; but one that introduces kings and princes, acquires in our eyes an air of importance and dignity. Or should a man be able, by his superior wisdom, to get entirely above such pre- possessions, he would soon, by means of the same wisdom, again bring himself down to them, for the sake of society, whose welfare he would perceive to be intimately connected with them. Far from endeavour- ing to undeceive the people in this particular, he would cherish such sentiments of reverence to their princes, as requisite to preserve a due subordination in society. And though the lives of twenty thousand men be often sacrificed to maintain a king in possession of his throne, or preserve the right of succession undisturbed, he entertains no in- ESSAY XXXVII. BY DAVID HUME. dignation at the loss, on pretence that every individual of these was, perhaps, in himself, as valuable as the prince he served. He considers the consequences of violating the hereditary rights of kings : conse- quences, which may be felt for many centuries ; while the loss of several thousand men brings so little prejudice to a large kingdom, that it may not be perceived a few years after. The advantages of the Hanover succession are of an opposite nature, and arise from this very circumstance, that it violates hereditary right ; and places on the throne a prince, to whom birth gave no title to that dignity. It is evident, from the history of this island, that the privileges of the people have, during near two centuries, been con- tinually upon the increase, by the division of the church-lands, by the alienations of the barons' estates, by the progress of trade, and above all by the happiness of our situation, which, for a long time, gave us sufficient security, without any standing army or military establish- ment. On the contrary, public liberty has, almost in every other nation of Europe, been, during the same period, extremely on the decline ; while the people were disgusted at the hardships of the old feudal miHtia, and rather chose to entrust their prince with mercenary armies, which he easily turned against themselves. It was nothing extra- ordinary, therefore, that some of our British sovereigns mistook the nature of the constitution, at least the genius of the people ; and as they embraced all the favourable precedents left them by their ancestors, they overlooked all those which were contrary, and which supposed a limitation in our government. They were encouraged in this mistake, by the example of all the neighbouring princes, who bearing the same title or appellation, and being adorned with the same ensigns of authority, naturally led them to claim the same powers and pre- rogatives. It appears from the speeches and proclamations of James I. and the whole train of that prince's actions, as well as his son's, that he regarded the English government as a simple monarchy, and never imagined that any considerable part of his subjects entertained a con- trary idea. This opinion made those monarchs discover their preten- sions, without preparing any force to support them ; and even without reserve or disguise, which are always employed by those who enter upon any new subject, or endeavour to innovate in any government. The flattery of courtiers farther confirmed their prejudices ; and above all, that of the clergy, who from several passages of Scripture^ and these wrested too, had erected a regular and avowed system of arbitrary power. The only method of destroying, at once, all these high claims and pretensions, was to depart from the true hereditary line, and chuse a prince, who, being plainly a creature of the public, and receiving the crown on conditions, expressed and avowed, found his authority estab- lished on the same bottom with the privileges of the people. Bv elect- ing him in the royal line, we cut off all hopes of ambitious subjects, 294 OF THE PROTESTANT SUCCESSION who might, in future emergencies, disturb the government by their cabals and pretensions: by rendering the crown hereditary in his family, we avoided all the inconveniencies of elective monarchy ; and by excluding the lineal heir, we secured all our constitutional limita- tions, and rendered our government uniform and of ?» piece. The people cherish monarchy, because protected by it : the monarch favours liberty, because created by it. And thus every advantage is obtained by the new establishment, as far as human skill and wisdom can ex- tend itself. These are the separate advantages of fixing the succession, either in the house of Stuart, or in that of Hanover. There are also dis- advantages in each establishment, which an impartial patriot would ponder and examine, in order to form a just judgment upon the whole. The disadvantages of the protestant succession consist in the foreign dominions, which are possessed by the princes of the Hanover line, and which, it might be supposed, would engage us in the intrigues and wars of the Continent, and lose us, in some measure, the inestimable advantage we possess, of being surrounded and guarded by the sea, which we command. The disadvantages of recalling the abdicated family consist chiefly in their religion, which is more prejudicial to society than that established among us, is contrary to "t, and affords no toleration, or peace, or security, to any other ommunion. It appears to me, that these advantages and disadvantages are allowed on both sides ; at least, by every one who is at all susceptible of argument or reasoning. No subject, however loyal, pretends to deny, that the disputed title and foreign dominions of the present royal family are a loss. Nor is there any partizan of the Stuarts, but will confess, that the claim of hereditary, indefeasable right, and the Roman Catholic religion, are also disadvantages in that family. It belongs, therefore to a philosopher alone, who is of neither party, to put all the circumstances in the scale, and assign to each of them its proper poise and influence. Such a one will readily, at first, acknowledge, that all political questions are infinitely complicated, and that there scarcely ever occurs, in any deliberation, a choice, which is either purely good, or purely ill. Consequences, mixed and varied, may be foreseen to flow from every measure : and many consequences, unforeseen, do always, in fact, result from every one. Hesitation, and reserve, and suspense, are, therefore, the only sentiments he brings to this essay or trial. Or if he indulges any passion, it is that of derision against the ignorant multitude, who are always clamorous and dogmatical, even in the nicest questions, of which, from want of temper, perhaps still more than of understanding, they are altogetJier unfit judges. But to say something more determinate on this head, the foilow- XXXVII. BY DAVID HUME, 295 ing refxcctions will, I hope, show the temper, if not the understanding, of a philosopcr. Were we to judgemerely by first appearances, and by past experience, we must allow that the advantage of a parliamentary title in the house of Hanover are greater than those of an undisputed hereditary title in the house of Stuart ; and that our fathers acted wisely in preferring the former to the latter. So long as the house of Stuart ruled in Great Britain, which, with some interruption, was above ej^^^v years, the government was kept m a c-ontmual fever, by the contention between the privileges of the people and the prerogative of the crown. If arms were dropped, the noise of disputes continued: or if these were silenced, jealously still corroded the heart, and threw the nation into an unnatural ferment and disorder. And while we were thus occupied in domestic disputes, a foreign power, dangerous to public liberty, erected itself in Europe, without any opposition from us, and even sometimes with our assistance. But during these last sixty years, when a parliamentary establish- ment has taken place; whatever factions may have prevailed, either among the people or in public assemblies, the whole force of our con- stitution has always fallen to one side, and an uninterrupted harmony has been preserved between our princes and our parliaments. Public liberty, with internal peace and order, has flourished almost without interruption : trade and manufactures, and agriculture, have increased : the arts and sciences, and philosophy, have been cultivated. Even religious parties have been necessitated to lay aside their mutual ran- cour ; and the glory of the nation has spread itself all over Europe ; derived equally from our progress in the arts of peace, and from valour and success in war. So long and so glorious a period no nation almost can boast of : nor is there another instance in the whole history of mankind, that so many millions of people have, during such a space of time, been held together, in a manner so free, so rational, and so suitable to the dignity of human nature. But though this recent experience seems clearly to decide in favour of the present establishment, there are some circumstances to be thrown into the other scale ; and it is dangerous to regulate our judgment by one event or example, We have had two rebellions during the flourishing period above mentioned, besides plots and conspiracies without number. And if none of these have produced any very fatal event, we may ascribe oui escape chiefly to the narrow genius of those princes who disputed out establishment ; and we may esteem ourselves so far fortunate. But the claims of the banished family, I fear, are not yet antiquated; and whc can fortel, that future attempts will produce no greater disorder ? The disputes between privilege and prerogative may easily br. composed by laws, and votes, and conferences, and concessions ; where 296 OF THE PROTESTANT SUCCESSION. Ihere is tolerable temper or prudence on both sides, or on either sida Among contending titles, the questton can only be determined by the sword, and by devastation, and by civil war. A prince, who fills the throne with a disputed title, dare not arm his subjects ; the only method of securing a people fully, both against domestic oppression and foreign conquest. Notwithstanding our riches and renown, what a critical escape did we make, by the late peace, from dangers, which were owing not so much to bad conduct and ill success in war, as to the pernicious practice of mortgaging our finances, and the still more pernicious maxim of never paying off our incumbrances ? Such fatal measures would not probably have been embraced, had it not been to secure a pre- carious establishment. But to convince us, that an hereditary title is to be embraced rather than a parliamentary one, Vhich is not supported by any other views or motives ; a man needs only transport himself back to the era of the restoration, and suppose that he had had a seat in that parliament which recalled the royal family, and put a period to the greatest dis- order that ever arose from the opposite pretensions of prince and people. What would have been thought of one, that had proposed, at that time, to set aside Charles II. and settle the crown on the duke of York or Gloucester, merely in order to exclude all high claims, like those of their father and grandfather ? Would not such a one have been regarded as an extravagant projector, who loved dangerous remedies, and could tamper and play with a government and national constitution, like a quack with a sickly patient. In reality, the reason assigned by the nation for excluding the race of Stuart, and so many other branches of the royal family, is not on account of their hereditary title, (a reason, which would, to vulgar apprehensions, have appeared altogether absurd), but on account of Iheir religion ; which leads us to compare the disadvantages above mentioned in each establishment. I confess, that, considering the matter in general, it were much to be wished that our prince had no foreign dominions, and could con- fine all his attention to the government of this island. For not to mention some real inconveniences that may result from territories on the continent, they afford such a handle for^ calumny and defamation, as is greedily seized by the people, always disposed to think ill of their superiors. It must, however, be acknowledged, that Hanover is, perhaps, the spot of ground in Europe the least inconvenient for a King of England. It lies in the heart of Germany, at a distance from the great powers, which are our natural rivals : it is protected by the laws of the empire, as well as by the arms of its own sovereign : and it serves only to connect us more closely with the house of Austria, Qur patural ^lly, ESSAY XXXVII. BY DAVID HUME. 297 The religious persuasion of the house of Stuart is an inconvenience of a much deeper die, and would threaten us with much more dismal consequences. The Roman Catholic religion, with its train of priests and friars, is more expensive than ours ; even though unaccompanied with its natural attendants of inquisitors, and stakes, and gibbets, it is less tolerating : and not content with dividing the sacerdotal from the regal office (which must be prejudicial to any state), it bestows the former on a foreigner, who has always a separate interest from that of the public, and may often have an opposite one. But were this religion ever so advantageous to society, it is contrary to that which is established among us, and which is likely to keep possession, for a long time, of the minds of the people. And though it is much to be hoped, that the progress of reason will, by degrees, abate the acrimony of opposite religions all over Europe ; yet the spirit of moderation has, as yet, made too slow advances to be entirely trusted. Thus, upon the whole, the advantages of the settlement in the family of Stuart, which frees us from a disputed title, seem to bear some pro- portion with those of the settlement in the family of Hanover, which frees us from the claims of prerogative ; but, at the same time, its disadvantages, by placing on the throne a Roman Catholic, are greater than those of the other establishment, in settling the crown on a foreign prince. What party an impartial patriot, in the reign of king William or queen Anne, would have chosen amidst these opposite views, may perhaps to some appear hard to determine. But the settlement in the house of Hanover has actually taken place. The princes of that family, without intrigue, without cabal, without solicitation on their part, have been called to mount our throne, by the united voice of the whole legislative body. They have, since their accession, displayed, in all their actions, the utmost mildness, equity, and regard to the laws and constitution. Our own ministers, our own parliaments, ourselves, have governed us ; and if aught ill has befallen us, we can only blame fortune or ourselves. What a reproach must we become among nations, if, disgusted with a settlement so deli- berately made, and whose conditions have been so religiously observed, we should throw every thing again into confusion ; and by our levity and rebellious disposition, prove ourselves totally unfit for any state but that of absolute slavery and subjection ? The greatest inconvenience, attending a disputed title, is, that it brings us in danger of civil wars and rebellions. What wise man, to avoid this inconvenience, would run directly into a civil war and rebellion ? Not to mention, that so long possession, secured by so many Jaw^s, must, ere this time, in the apprehension of a great pait of ihe nation, have begotten a title in the house of Hanover, independent IDEA OF A PERFECT COMMONWEALTH. of their present possession : so that now we should not, even by a revolution, obtain the end of avoiding a disputed title. No revolution made by national forces, will ever be able, without some other great necessity, to abolish our debts and incumbrances, in which the interest of so many persons is concerned. And a revo- lution made by foreign forces, is a conquest : a calamity, with which the precarious balance of power threatens us, and which our civil dissensions are likely, above all other circumstances, to bring upon us. XXXVIII.— IDEA OF A PERFECT COMMONWEALTH. It is not with forms of government, as with other artificial contri- vances ; where an old engine may be rejected, if we can discover another more accurate and commodious, or where trials may safely be made, even though the success be doubtful. An established govern- ment has an infinite advantage, by that very circumstance of its being established ; the bulk of mankind being governed by authority, not reason^ i-nd never attributing authority to any thing that has not the recommenaanon of antiquity. To tamper, therefore, in this affair, or try experiments merely upon the credit of supposed argument and philosophy, can never be the part of a wise magistrate, who will bear a reverence to what carries the marks of age ; and though he may attempt some improvements for the public good, yet will he adjust his innovations, as much as pos- sible, to the ancient fabric, and preserve entire the chief pillars and supports of the constitution. The mathematicians in Europe have been much divided concerning that figure of a ship which is the most commodious for sailing ; and Huygens, who at last determined the controversy, is justly thought to have obliged the learned as well as commercial world ; though Columbus had sailed to America, and sir Francis Drake made the tour of the world, without any such discovery. As one form of go- vernment must be allowed more perfect than another, independent of the manners and humours of particular men ; why may we not inquire what is the most perfect of all, though the common botched and in- accurate governments seem to serve the purposes of society, and though it be not so easy to establish a new system of government, as to build a vessel upon a new construction ? The subject is surely the most worthy of curiosity of any the wit of man can possibly devise. And who knows, if this controversy were fixed by the universal con- sent of the wise and learned, but, in some future age, an opportunity ESSAY XXXVIII. BY DAVID HUME. 299 might be afforded of reducing the theory to practice, either by a dis- solution of some old government, or by the combination of men to form a new one, in some distant part of the world ? In all case-s, it must be advantageous to know what is the most perfect in the kind, that we may be able to bring any real constitution or form of govern- ment as near it as possible, by such gentle alterations and innovations as may not give too great disturbance to society. All I pretend to in the present essay is, to revive this subject of speculation ; and therefore I shall deliver my sentiments in as few w ords as possible. A long dissertation on that head would not, I ap- prehend, be very acceptable to the public, who will be apt to regard such disquisitions both as useless and chimerical. All plans of government, which suppose great reformation in the manners of mankind, are plainly imaginary. Of this nature, are the Repttblic of Plato, and the Utopia of Sir Thomas More. The Oceana is the only valuable model of a commonwealth that has yet been offered to the public. The chief defects of the Oceana seem to be these. I. Its rotation is inconvenient, by throwing men, of whatever abilities, by intervals, out of public employment. II. Its ^^mr/^;^ is impracticable. Men will soon learn the art, which was practised in ancient Rome, of con- cealing their possessions under other people's names ; till at last, the abuse will become so common that they will throw off even the appear- ance of restraint. III. The Oceana provides not a sufficient security for liberty, or the redress of grievances. The senate must propose, and the people consent ; by which means, the senate have not only a negative upon the people, but, what is of much greater consequence, their negative goes before the votes of the people. Were the king's negative of the same nature in the English constitution, and could he prevent any bill from coming into parliament, he would be an absolute monarch. As his negative follows the votes of the houses, it is of little consequence : such a difference is there in the manner of placing the same thing. When a popular bill has been debated in parlia- ment, is brought to maturity, all its conveniences and inconveniences weighed and balanced ; if afterwards it be presented for the royal assent, few princes will venture to reject the unanimous desire of the people. But could the king crush a disagreeable bill in embryo (as was the case for some time in the Scottish parliament, by means of the lords of the articles), the British government would have no balance, nor would grievances ever be redressed : and it is certain, that exorbitant power proceeds not in any government from new laws, so much as from neglecting to remedy the abuses which frequently rise from the old ones. A government, says Machiavel, must often be brought back to its original principles. It appears then that, in the Oceana^ the whole legislature may be said to rest in the senate ; whiclj 300 IDEA OF A PERFECT COMMONWEALTH. Harrington would own to be an inconvenient form of government. especially after the Agrarian is abolished. Here is a form of government, to which I cannot, in theory, discover any considerable objection. Let Great Britain and Ireland, or any territory of equal extent, be divided into loo counties, and each country into loo parishes, making in all 10,000. If the county proposed to be erected into a common- wealth, be of more narrow extent, we may diminish the number of counties ; but never bring them below thirty. If it be of greater extent, it were better to enlarge the parishes, or throw more parishes into a county, than increase the number of counties. Let all the freeholders of twenty pounds a-year in the county, and all the householders worth five hundred pounds in the town parishes, meet annually in the parish church, and chuse, by ballot, some free- holder of the county for their member, whom we shall call the county representative. Let the 100 county representatives, two days after their election^ meet in the county town, and chuse by ballot, from their own body, ten county iitagistrates^ and one senator. There are, there- fore, in the whole commonwealth, 100 senators, iioo county magis- trates, and 10,000 county representatives. For we shall bestow on all senators the authority of county magistrates, and on all county magistrates, the authority of county representatives. Let the senators meet in the capital, and be endowed with the whole executive power of the commonwealth ; the power of peace and war, of giving orders to generals, admirals, and ambassadors, and, in short, all the prerogatives of a British king, except his negative. Let the county representatives meet in their particular counties, and possess the whole legislative power of the commonwealth, the greater number of counties deciding the question ; and where these are equal, let the senate have the casting vote. Every new law must first be debated in the senate ; and though rejected by it, if ten senators insist and protest, it must be sent down to the counties. The senate, if they please, may join to the copy ot the law their reasons for receiving or rejecting it. Because it would be troublesome to assemble all the county repre- sentatives for every trivial law, that may be requisite, the senate have their choice of sending down the law either to the county magistrates or county representatives. The magistrates, though the law be referred to them, may, if they please, call the representatives, and submit the affair to their deter- mmation. Whether the law be referred by the senate to the county magistrates •oresentatives, a copy of it, and of the senate's reasons, must be ESSAY XXXVIII. BY DAVID HUME. 301 sent to every representative eight days before the day appointed for the assembling, in order to deliberate concerning it. And though the determination be, by the senate, referred to the magistrates, if five representatives of the county order the magistrates to assemble the whole court of representatives, and submit the affair to their determi- nation, they must obey. Either the county magistrates or representatives may give, to the senator of the county, the copy of a law to be proposed to the senate ; and if five counties concur in the same order, the law, though refused by the senate, must come either to the county magistrates or repre- sentatives, as IS contamed in the order of the five counties. Any twenty counties, by a vote either of their magistrates or repre- sentatives, may throw any man out of all public offices for a year. Thirty counties for three years. The senate has a power of throwing out any member or number of members of its own body, not to be re-elected for that year. The senate cannot throw out twice in a year the senator of the same county. The power of the old senate continues for three weeks after the annual election of the county representatives. Then all the new senators are shut up in a conclave, like the cardinals ; and by an intri- cate ballot, such as that of Venice or Malta, they chuse the following magistrates ; a protector, who represents the dignity of the common- wealth, and presides in the senate ; two secretaries of state : these six councils, a council of state, a council of religion and learning, a council of trade, a council of laws, a council of war, a council of the admiralty, each council consisting of five persons ; together with six commis- sioners of the treasury and a first commissioner. All these must be senators. The senate also names all the ambassadors to foreign courts, who may either be senators or not. The senate may continue any or all of these, but must re-elect them every year. The protector and two secretaries have session and suffrage in the council of state. The business of that council is all foreign politics. The council of state has session and suffrage in all the other councils. The council of religion and learning inspects the universities and clergy. That of trades inspects every thing that may effect commerce. That of laws inspects all the abuses of law by the inferior magistrates, and examines what improvements may be made by the municipal law. That of war inspects the militia and its discipline, magazines, stores, &:c. and when the republic is in war, examines into the proper orders for generals. The council of admiralty, has the same power with regard to the navy, together with the nomination of the captains and {ill inferior officers. 302 IDEA OF A PERFECT COMMONWEALTH. None of these councils can give orders themselves, except where they receive such powers from the senate. In other cases, they must communicate every thing to the senate. When the senate is under adjournm.eL't, any of the councils may assemble it before the day appointed for its meeting. Besides these councils or courts, there is another called the court of competitors; which is thus constituted. If any candidates for the office of senator have more votes than a third of the representatives, that candidate who has most votes, next to the senator elected, becomes incapable for one year of all public offices, even of being a magistrate or representative : but he takes his seat in the court of competitors. Here then is a court which may sometimes consist of a hundred members, sometimes have no members at all ; and by that means be for a year abolished. The court of competitors has no power in the commonwealth. It has only the inspection of public accounts, and the accusing of any man before the senate. If the senate acquit him, the court of com- petitors may, if they please, appeal to the people, either magistrates or representatives. Upon that appeal, the magistrates or representa- tives meet on the day appointed by the court of competitors, and chuse in each county three persons ; from which number every senator is excluded. These, to the number of 300, meet in the capital, and bring the person accused to a new trial. The court of competitors may propose any law to the senate ; and if refused, may appeal to the people, that is, to the magistrates or representatives, who examine it in their counties. Every senator, who is thrown out of the senate by a vote of the court, takes his seat in the court of competitors. The senate possesses all the judicative authority of the House of Lords, that is, all the appeals from the inferior courts. It likewise appoints the Lord Chancellor, and all the officers of the law. Every county is a kind of republic within itself, and the representa- tives may make bye-laws ; which have no authority till three months after they are voted. A copy of the law is sent to the senate, and to every other county. The senate, or any single county, may, at any time, annul any bye-law of another county. The representatives have all the authority of the British justices ok peace in trials, commitments, &c. The magistrates have the appointment of all the officers of the revenue in each county. All causes with regard to the revenue are carried ultimately by appeal before the magistrates. They pass the accompts of all the officers ; but must have their own accompts ex- amined and passed at the end of the year by the representatives. The magistrates name rectors or ministers to all the parishes. The Presbyterian government is established \ and the highest ESSAY XXXVIII. BY DAVID HUME. ecclesiastical court is an assembly or synod of all the presbyters of the county. The magistrates may take any cause from this court, and de- termine it themselves. The magistrates may try, and depose or suspend any presbyter. The militia is established in imitation of that of Switzerland, which being well known, we shall not insist upon it. It will only be proper to make this addition, that an army of 20,000 men be annually drawn out by rotation, paid and encamped during six weeks in summer ; that the duty of a camp may not be altogether unknown. The magistrates appoint all the colonels and downwards. The senate all upwards. During war, the general appoints the colonel and downwards, and his commission is good for a twelvemonth. But after that it must be confirmed by the magistrates of the county, to which the regiment belongs. The magistrates may break any officer in the county regiment. And the senate may do the same to any officer in the service. If the magistrates do not think proper to confirm the general's choice, they may appoint another officer in the place of him whom they reject. All crimes are tried within the county by the magistrates and a jury. But the senate can stop any trial, and bring it before themselves. Any county may indict any man before the senate for any crime. The protector, the two secretaries, the council of state, with any five or more that the senate appoints, are possessed, on extraordinary emergencies, of dictatorial power for six months. The protector may pardon any person condemned by the inferior courts. In time of war, no officer of the army that is in the field can have any civil office in the commonwealth. The capital, which we shall call London, may be allowed four members in the senate. It may therefore be divided into four counties. The representatives of each of these chuse one senator, and ten magis- trates. There are therefore in the city four senators, forty-four magis- trates, and four hundred representatives. The magistrates have the same authority as in the counties. The representatives also have the same authority \ but they never meet in one general court : they give their votes in their particular county, or division of hundreds. When they enact any bye-law, the greater number of counties or divisions determines the matter. And where these are equal, the magistrates have the casting vote. The magistrates chuse the mayor, sheriff, recorder, and other officers of the city. In the commonwealth, no representative, magistrate, or senator, as such, has any salary. The protector, secretaries, councils, and am* bassadors, have salaries. The first )'ear in every century is set apart for correcting all * 304 IDEA OF A PERFECT COMMONWEALTH. equalities, which time may have produced in the representative. Thi§ must be done by the legislature. The following political aphorisms may explain the reason of these orders. The lower sort of people and small proprietors are good enough judges of one not very distant from them in rank or habitation ; and therefore, in their parochial meetings, will probably chuse the best, or nearly the best representative : but they are wholly unfit for county- meetings, and for electing into the higher offices of the republic. Their ignorance gives the grandees an opportunity of deceiving them. Ten thousand, even though they were not annually elected, are a basis large enough for any free government. It is true, the nobles in Poland are more than 10,000, and yet these oppress the people. But as power always continues there in the same persons and families, this makes them, in a manner, a different nation from the people. Besides the nobles are there united under a few heads of families. All free governments must consist of two councils, a lesser and greater ; or, in other words, of a senate and people. The people, as Harrington observes, would want wisdom, without the senate: the senate, without the people, would want honesty. A large assembly of 1,000, for instance, to represent the people, if allowed to debate, would fall into disorder. If not allowed to debate, the senate has a negative upon them, and the worst kind of negative, that before resolution. Here therefore is an inconvenience, which no government has yet fully remedied, but which is the easiest to be remedied in the world. If the people debate, all is confusion: if they do not debate, they can only resolve ; and then the senate carves for them. Divide the people into many separate bodies ; and then they may debate with safety, and every inconvenience seems to be prevented. Cardinal de Retz says, that all numerous assemblies, however com- posed, are mere mob, and swayed in their debates by the least motive. This we find confirmed by daily experience. When an absurdity strikes a member, he conveys it to his neighbour, and so on, till the whole be infected. Separate this great body ; and though every member be only of middling sense, it is not probable, that anything but reason can prevail over the whole. Influence and example being removed, good sense will always get the better of bad among a number of people. There are two things to be guarded against in every senate: its combination, and its division. Its combination is most dangerous^ And against this inconvenience we have provided the following remedies : I. The great dependence of the senators on the people by annual elections ; and that not by an undistinguished rabble, like the English electors, but by men of fortune and education. II. The small FSSAY XXXVIII. BY DAVID HUMH.. 3^3 power they are allowed. They have few offices to dispose of. Almost all are given by the magistrates in the counties. III. The court of com- petitors ; which being composed of men that are their rivals, next to them in interest, and uneasy in their present situation, will be sure to take all advantages against them. The division of the senate is prevented, I. By the smallness of their number. II. As faction supposes a combination in a separate interest, it is prevented by their dependence on the people. III. They have a power of expelling any factious member. It is true, when another member of the same spirit comes from the county, they have no power of expelling him ; nor is it fit they should ; for that shows the humour to be in the people, and may possibly arise from some ill conduct in public affairs. IV. Almost any man, in a senate so regularly chosen by the people, may be supposed fit for any civil office. It would be proper, therefore, for the senate to form some general resolutions with regard to the disposing of offices among the members : which resolu- tion would not confine them in critical times, when extraordinary parts on the one hand, or extraordinary stupidity on the other, appears in any senator : but they would be sufficient to prevent intrigue and faction, by making the disposal of the offices a thing of course. For instance, let it be a resolution, that no man shall enjoy any office till he has sat four years in the senate : that, except ambassadors, no man shall be in office two years following : that no man shall attain the higher offices but through the lower : that no man shall be pro- tector twice, &c. The senate of Venice govern themselves by such resolutions. In foreign politics the interest of the senate can scarcely ever be divided from that of the people : and therefore it is fit to make the senate absolute with regard to them ; otherwise there could be no secrecy or refined policy. Besides, without money no alliance can be executed ; and the senate is still sufficiently dependent. Not to mention, that the legislative power, being always superior to the executive, the magistrates or representatives may interpose whenever they think proper. The chief support of the British government is the opposition of interests : but that, though in the main serviceable, breeds endless factions. In the foregoing plan, it does all the good without any of the harm. The competitors have no power of controlling the senate ; they have only the power of accusing, and appealing to the people. It is necessary, hkewise, to prevent both combination and division in the thousand magistrates. This is done sufficiently by the sepa- ration of places and interests. But lest that should not be sufficient, their dependence on the 10,000 for their elections serves to the same purpose. Nor is that all : for the 10,000 may resume the power whenever 20 3o6 IDEA OF A PERFECT COMMONWEALTH. they please ; and not only when they all please, but when any five of a hundred please ; which will happen upon the very first suspicion of a separate interest. The 10,000 are too large a body either to unite or divide, except when they meet in one place, and fall under the guidance of ambitious leaders. Not to mention their annual election, by the whole body of the people, that are of any consideration. A small commonwealth is the happiest government in the world within itself, because every thing lies under the eye of the rulers : but it may be subdued by great force from without. This scheme seems to have all the advantages both of a great and a little commonwealth. Every county-law may be annulled either by the senate or another county ; because that shows an opposition of interest : in which case no part ought to decide for itself. The matter must be referred to the whole, which will best determine what agrees with general interest. As to the clergy and militia, the reason of these orders are obvious. Without the dependence of the clergy on the civil magistrates, and without a militia, it is in vain to think that any free government will ever have security or stability. In many governments, the inferior magistrates have no rewards but what arise from their ambition, vanity, or public spirit. The salaries of the French judges amount not to the interest of the sums they pay for their offices. The Dutch burgo-masters have little more immediate profit than the English justices of peace, or the members of the house of commons formerly. But lest any should suspect that this would beget negligence in the administration (which is little to be feared, considering the natural ambition of mankind), let the magistrates have competent salaries. The senators have access to so many honourable and lucrative offices, that their attendance needs not be bought. There is little attendance required of the representatives. That the foregoing plan of government is practicable, no one can doubt who considers the resemblance that it bears to the common^ wealth of the United Provinces, a wise and renowned government. The alterations in the present scheme seem all evidently for the better. I. The representation is more equal. II. The unlimited power of the burgo-masters in the towns, which forms a perfect aristocracy in the Dutch commonwealth, is corrected by a well-tempered democracy, in giving to the people the annual election of the country represen- tatives. III. The negative, which every province and town has upon the whole body of the Dutch republic, with regard to alliances, peace, and war, and the imposition of taxes, is here removed. IV. The. counties, in the present plan, are not so independent of each other, nor do they form separate bodies so much as the seven pro- vinces ; where the jealousy and envy of the smaller provinces and towns against the. greater, particularly Holland and Amsterdam, hav^ ESSAY XXXVIII. BY DAVID HQME. 307 frequently disturbed the government. V. Larger powers, though of the safest kind, are intrusted to the senate than the States-General possess ; by which means, the former may become more expeditious and secret in their resolutions than it is possible for the latter. The chief alterations that could be made on the British govern- ment, in order to bring it to the most perfect model of limited monarchy, seem to be the following. I. The plan of Cromwell's par- liament ought to be restored, by making the representation equal, and by allowing none to vote in the county elections who possess not a property of 200 pounds value. II. As such a house of commons would be too weighty for a frail house of lords, like the present, tha Bishops and Scotch Peers, ought to be removed : the number of the upper house ought to be raised to three or four hundred : their seats not hereditary, but during life : they ought to have the election of their own members ; and no commoner should be allowed to refuse a seat that was offered him. By this means the house ol lords would consist entirely of the men of chief credit, abilities, and interest in the nation ; and every turbulent leader in the house of commons might be taken off, and connected by interest with the house of peers. Such an aristocracy would be an excellent barrier both to the monarchy and against it. At present, the balance of our government depends in some measure on the abilities and the behaviour of the sovereign : which are variable and uncertain cir- cumstances. This plan of limited monarchy, however corrected, seems still liable to three great inconveniences. I. It removes not entirely, though it may soften, the parties of coitrt and coimtry, II. The king's personal character must still have great influence on the government. III. The sword is in the hands of a single person, who will always neglect to discipline the militia, in order to have a pretence for keeping up a standing army. We shall conclude this subject, with observing the falsehood of the common opinion, that no large state, such as France or Great Britain, could ever be modelled into a commonwealth, but that such a form of government can only take place in a city or small territory. The contrary seems probable. Though it is more difficult to form a republican government is an extensive country than in a city ; there is more facility, when once it is formed, of preserving it steady and uniform, without tumult and faction. It is not easy for the distant parts of a large state to combine in any plan of free government ; but they easily conspire in the esteem and reverence for a single per- son, who, by means of this popular favour, may seize the power, and forcing the more obstinate to submit, may establish a monarchical government. On the other hand, a city readily concurs in the same liotions of government, the natural equality of property favours liberty, 3o8 IDEA OF A PERFECT COMMONWEALTH. and the nearness of habitation enables the citizens mutually to assist each other. Even under absolute princes, the subordinate govern- ment of cities is commonly republican ; while that of counties and provinces is monarchical. But these same circumstances, which facilitate the erection of commonwealths in cities, render their con- stitution more frail and uncertain. Democracies are turbulent. For however the people may be separated or divided into small parties, either in their votes or elections ; their near habitation in a city will always make the force of popular tides and currents very sensible. Aristocracies are better adapted for peace and order, and accordingly were most admired by ancient writers ; but they are jealous and oppressive. In a large government, which is modelled with masterly skill, there is compass and room enough to refine the democracy, from the lower people who may be admitted into the first elections or first concoction of the commonwealth, to the higher magistrates, who direct all the movements. At the same time, the parts are so distant and remote, that it is very difficult, either by intrigue, prejudice, or passion, to hurry them into any measures against the public interest. It is needless to inquire, whether such a government would be immortal. I allow the justness of the poet's exclamation on the endless projects of human race, Man and for ever ? The world itself proba- bly is not immortal. Such consuming plagues may arise as would leave even a perfect government a weak prey to its neighbours. We know not to what length enthusiasm, or other extraordinary move- ments of the human mind, may transport men, to the neglect of all order and public good. Where difference of interest is removed, whimsical and unaccountable factions often arise, from personal favour or enmity. Perhaps rust may grow to the springs of the most accu- rate political machine, and disorder its motions. Lastly, extensive conquests, when pursued, must be the ruin of every free government ; and of the more perfect governments sooner than of the imperfect ; because of the very advantages which the former possess above the latter. And though such a state ought to establish a fundamental law against conquests, yet repubhcs have ambition as well as individuals, and present interest make men forgetful of their posterity. It is a sufficient incitement to human endeavours that such a government would flourish for many ages ; without pretending to bestow, on any work of man, that immortality which the Almighty seems to have vefused to his own productions. ESSAY XXXIX. BY DAVlt) ttUME* ESSAY XXXIX.— AN INQUIRY CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. SECTION I. — OF THE DIFFERENT SPECIES OF PHILOSOPHY. Moral philosophy, or the science of human nature, may be treated after two different manners ; each of which has its pecuhar 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, according to the light in which they present themselves. As virtue, of all objects, is allowed to be the most valu- able, 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 oppo- site characters in a proper contrast ; and alluring us into the paths of virtue by the views of glory and happiness, direct our steps in these paths by the soundest precepts and most illustrious examples. They make us feel 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 than an active being, and endeavour to form his under- standing more than cultivate his manners. They regard human nature as a subject of speculation ; and with a narrow scrutiny examine it, in order to find those principles which regulate our 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, without being able to determine the source of those distinctions. While they attempt this arduous task, they are deterred by no diffi' culties ; but proceeding from particular instances to general principles, they still push on their inquiries to principles 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 speculations seem abstract, and even unintelligible to common readers, they aim at the approbation of the learned and wise ; and think them- selves sufficiently compensated for the labour of their whole lives, if 3IO INQUIRY CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. they can discover some hidden truths, which may contribute to th^ 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 wii\ be recommended, 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 Chose 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 cannot enter into business and action, vanishes when the phi- losopher leaves the shade and comes into open day ; nor can its principles easily retain any influence 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 pro- found 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 renown with more equitable posterity. It is easy for a profound philosopher to commit a mistake in his subtile reasonings ; and one mistake is the necessary parent of another, while he pushes on his consequences, and is not deterred from embracing any con- clusion, by its unusual appearance, or its contradiction to popular opinion. But a philosopher, who purposes only to represent the common tense of mankind in more beautiful and more engaging colours, if by nccident 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 flourishes 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 plea- sure, when Locke shall be entirely forgotten. The mere philosopher is a character which is commonly but little acceptable in the world, as being supposed to contribute 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 flourish, 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 ESSAY XXXIX. BY DAVID HUME. booko^ company, and business ; preserving in conversation that dis- cernment and delicacy which arise from poHte letters ; and, in business, that probity and accuracy which are the natural result of a just philosophy. 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 comprehended, 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 instructive, and retire- ment entertaining. Man is a reasonable being; and, as such, receives from 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 the human race, and secretly admonished them to allow none of these biases 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. Abstruse thought and profound researches I prohibit, and will severely punish, by the pensive melancholy which they introduce, by the endless uncertainty in which they involve you, and by the cold reception your pretended discoveries shall meet with, when communicated. Be a philosopher; 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 throwing any blame or contempt on the latter, it might not be improper, perhaps, to com- ply 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 reason- ings, or what is commonly called viataphysics^ we shall now proceed to consider what can reasonably be pleaded in their behalf. We may begin with observing, that one considerable advantage which results from the accurate and abstract philosophy, is its subserviency to the easy and humane ; which, without the former, can never attain a sufficient de-^Tee of exactness in its sentiments, precepts, or reasonings. All polite ktters are nothing but pictures of human 312 INQUIRY CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDINO. life in various attitudes and situations ; and inspire us with different sentiments of praise or blame, admiration, or ridicule, according to the qualities of the object which they set before us. An artist must be better qualified to succeed in this undertaking, who besides a delicate taste and a quick apprehension, possesses an accurate knowledge of the internal fabric, the operations of the understanding, the workings of the passions, and the various species of sentiment which dis- criminate vice and virtue. How painful soever this inward search or inquiry 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 depre- ciating 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 interests 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 or calling. The politician will acquire greater foresight and subtilty, in the subdividing and balancing of power ; the lawyer more method and finer princi- ples 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 similiar 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 an accession to those few safe and harmless pleasures which are bestowed on the human race. The sweetest and most inoffensive path of life leads through the avenues of science and learning ; and 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, ESSAY XXXIX. BY DAVID HUME. 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 ob- jected to, not only as painful and fatiguing, but as the inevitable source of uncertainty and error. Here, indeed, lies the most just and most plausible objection against a considerable 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 supen stitions, which, being unable to defend themselves on fair ground, raise these entangling brambles to cover and protect their weakness. Chased from the open country, these robbers fly into the forest, and he in wait to break in upon every unguarded 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 this is a sufficient reason why philosophers should desist from such researches, and leave superstition still in possession of her re- treat ? Is it not proper to draw an opposite 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 disappoint- ment, will 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 unsuccessful former attempts may have proved, there is still room to hope, that industry, good fortune, or im- proved sagacity of succeeding generations, may reach discoveries un- known to former ages. Each adventurous genius will still leap at the arduous prize, and find himself stimulated, rather than discouraged, by the failures of his predecessors ; while he hopes that the glory of achieving so hard an adventure is reserved for him alone. The only method of freeing learning, at once, from these abstruse questions, is to inquire seriously into the nature of the human understanding, and show, from an exact analysis of its powers, and capacity, that it is by no means fitted for such remote aad abstruse subjects. We must sub- mit to this fatigue, in order to live at ease ever after: and must culti- vate 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 314 INQUIRY CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. 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 impenetrable to careless reasoners, and gives it the air of science and wisdom. Besides this advantage of rejecting, after deliberate inquiry, 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, whenever 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 im- proved by habit and reflection. It becomes, therefore, no inconsider- able part of science, barely to know the different operations of the mind, to separate them from each other, to class them under theii proper heads, and to correct all that seeming disorder, in which they lie involved, when made the object of reflection and inquiry. 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 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), the 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 distinct from each other, that what is really dis- tinct 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 distinc- tions of this kind, such as those between the will and understanding, the imagination and passions, which fall within the comprehension of every ^ man creature ; and the finer and more philosophical distinctions are nc less real and certain, though more difficult to be comprehended. Some instances, especially late ones, of success in these inquiries, 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 philosophei ESSAY XXXIX. BY DAVID HUME. 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, dehneate the parts of the mind, in which we are so intimately concerned ? But may we not hope, that philosophy, if cultivated with 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 operation ? Astronomers had long contented themselves with proving, from the pheenomena, 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 Vvolutions of the planets are governed and directed. The like has 0een performed with regard to other parts of nature. And there is n< reason to despair of equal success in our inquiries concerning tha mental powers and economy, if prosecuted with equal capacity 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 achieved ; if not, it may, however, be rejected with some confidence and security. This last conclusion, surely, is not desirable ; nor ought it to be embraced 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 multi- tude and diversity of those actions that excite our approbation or dislike, to search for some common principle, on which this variety of sentiments 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 politicans : nor have their attempts been wholly unsuccessful ; though perhaps longer time, greater accuracy, and more ardent application, may bring these sciences still nearer their perfec- tion. 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 dictates and principles on mankind. 3l6 INQUIRY CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERStANDlNa 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 avoid- ing of all unnecessary detail, we have, in the following inquiry, attempted to throw some light upon subjects, from which uncertainty has hitherto deterred the wise, and obscurity the ignorant. Happy, we can unite the boundaries of the different species of philosophy, by reconciling profound inquiry with clearness, and truth with novelty 1 SECTION 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 recals to his memory this sensation, or anticipates it by his imagination. These faculties 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 abnost say we feel or see it : but, except the mind be disordered by disease or madness, they never can arrive at such a pitch of vivacity, as to render these perceptions altogether undistinguishable. All the colours of poetry, however splendid, can never paint natural objects in such a manner as to make the descrip- tion be taken for a real landscape. The most lively thought is stil) inferior to the dullest sensation. We may observe a like distinction to run through all the other per- ceptions 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 conception of his situation ; but never can mistake ESSAY XXXIX. BY DAVID HL.vlK 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 meta- physical 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 com- monly denominated Thoughts or Ideas. The 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 Impressions ; employing that word in a sense some- what different from the usual. By the term iijipression^ then, I mean all our more lively perceptions, when we hear, or see, or feel, or love, or hate, or desire, or will. And impressions are distinguished from ideas, which are the less lively perceptions, of which we are concious, 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 sup- posed 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 diminishing 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 vicious 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 in- W4r INQUIRY CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. thoughts than it introduces its correlative, and carries our attention towards it, by a gentle and insensible movement. These principles of connection or association we have reduced to three, namely. Resem- blance^ 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 relations or principles of asso- ciation, 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 relation and a present impression. Where the picture bears no resemblance to him, at least was not intended for him, it never so much as conveys our thought to him. And where it is absent, as well as the person ; though the mind may pass from the thought of one to that of the other : it feels its idea to be rather weakened than en- livened 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 mummeries with which they arc up- braided, 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 pos- sible for us to do, merely by an intellectual 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 id*w>s is very common ; and as in every case a resem^ ESSAY X2C5tiX. BY DAVID HUME. 339 blance and a present impression must concur, we are abundantly sup- plied with experiments to prove the reahty 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 object, 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 tran- sports the mind to what is contiguous ; but it is only the actual pre- sence 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 I 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 this latter case, both the objects of the mind are ideas ; notwithstanding there is an easy transition between them ; that transition alone is not able to give a superior vivacity to any of the ideas, for want of some immediate impression.* 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 handy-work of a saint ; and if his clothes 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 imperfect effects, and as connected with him by a shorter chain of consequences than any of those by which we leant the reality of his existence. Suppose that the son of a friend, who had been long dead or absent, «v'ere presented to us ; it is evident, that this object would instantly revive its correlative idea, and recall 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. * ' Naturane nobis, inquit, datum dicam, an errore quodam, ut, cum ea loca videamus, in * quibus memoria dignos viros acceperimus multum esse versatos, magis moveamur, quam ' siquando eorum ipsorum aut facta audiamus aut scriptum aliquod legamus ? Velut ego * nunc moveor. Venit enim mihi Platonis in mentem, queni accepimus primum hie disputare * solitum : cujus etiam illi hortuli propinque non memoriam solum mihi afFerunt, sed ipsum ' videntur in conspectu meo hie ponere. Hie Speusippus, hie Xenoeratcs, hie ejus auditor ' Polemo; cuju3 ipsa ilia sessio fuit, quam videamus. Equidem etiam curiam nostram, Hosti ' liam dico, non banc novam, quae mihi minor esse videtur postquam est major, solebam * intuens, Scipionem, Laelium, nostrum vero in primis avum cogitare. Tanta vis admonitionis * est in locis : ut non sine causa ex his memorise deducta sit disciplina.'— Cftc:^r<7 dt Finitus^ Lib. V, 340 INQUIRY CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING, We may observe, that in these phenomena, the behef of the coite* lative object is always presupposed ; without which the relation could have no effect. The influence of the picture supposes, that we believi our friend to have once existed. 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 senses, is of a similar nature, and arises from similar causes, with the transi- tion of thought and vivacity of conception here 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 flam^e. This tran- sition 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 or 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 pre- sented 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 conception, 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 1 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 related 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 governed, be wholly unknown to us; yet our thoughts and conceptions 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 conduct, in every circumstance and occurrence of human life. Had not the presence of an object instantly excited the idea of those objects commonly con- joined with it, all our knowledge 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^ have here ample subject to employ their wonder and admiration. I shall add, for a further confirmation of the foregoing theory, that, as this operation of the mind, by which we infer like effects from like ESSAY XXXIX. BY DAVID HUME. 341 causes, and vice versa, is so essential to the subsistence of all human tiealiires, it is not probable, that it could be trusted to the fallacious deductions of our reason, which is slow in its operation ; 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 infallible in its operations, may discover itself at the first appearance 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.* Though there be no such thing as Chance in the world, our ignorance of the real cause of any event has the same influence on the under- standing, and begets a like species of behef or opinion. There is certainly a probability, which arises from a superiority of chances on any side ; and according as this superiority increases, and surpasses the opposite chances ; the probability receives a proportion- able increase, and begets still a higher degree of belief or assent to that side in which we discover the superiority. If a die were marked with one figure or number of spots on four sides, and with another 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 pro- cess 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. * Mr. Locke divides all arguments into demonstrative and probable.^ In this view, we «iust say, that it is only probable all men must die, or that the sun will rise to-morrow. But to conform our language more to common use, we ought to divide arguments into demon- strationsy proofs^ and probabilHies. By proof, meaning sijch arguments from experience a| 342 INQUIRY CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. It seems evident, that when the mind looks forward to discover th( event, which may result from the throw of such a die, it considers the turning up of each particular side alike probable ; and this is the ver} 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 frequently 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 ex- plicable 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 behef 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 ; ren- ders 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 entirely uniform and con- stant 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, when any cause fails of pro- ducing its usual effect, philosophers ascribe not this to any irregularity in nature ; but suppose 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 effectgj but must assign to each of them a particular weight and ESSAY XXXIX. BY DAVID HUME. 343 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 some time in January, that the weather will continue open throughout that whole month; though this probability varies according to the different chmates, 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 beliefs and gives its object the preference above the contrary event, which is not supported by an equal number of experiments, and recurs not so frequently to the thought in transferring the past to the future. Let any one try to account for this operation of the mind upon any one of the received systems of philosophy, and he will be sensible of the difficulty. For my part, I shall think it suflficient, 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. SECTION VII.— OF THE IDEA OF NECESSARY CONNECTION. 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 distinction 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 ir our power to recall the original object, a« 344 INQUIRY CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. often as we have occasion 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 becomes 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 disadvantages nearly compen- sate 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 de- terminate, it must carry on a much longer and more intricate chain of reasoning, 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 of more parts, than are to be found in any moral reasoning which runs not into chimera and conceit. Where we trace the principles of the human mind through a few steps we may be very well satisfied with our progress, considering how soon nature throws a bar to all our inquiries concern- ing causes, and reduces us to an acknowledgment of our ignorance. The chief obstacle, therefore, to our improvement 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 inquiry. As moral philosophy seems hitherto to have received less improvement than either geometry or physics, we may conclude, that, if there be any dif- ference in this respect 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 necessaiy conneciion^ of which it is every moment necessary for us to treat in all our dis- quisitions. 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 dispute, that all our ideas are nothing but copies of our impressions, or, in other words, that it is impossible for us to think of anything which we have not antecedently y^//, either by our e^^ternal or internal senses. I have ESSAY XXXIX. BY DAVID HUME. 345 endeavoured [Section II.] 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 enumeia- tion of those parts or simple ideas that compose them. But when we have pushed up definitions to the most simple ideas, and find still some ambiguity and obscurity ; what resource are we then possessed of? By what invention can we throw light upon these ideas, and render them altogether precise and determinate 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 inquiry. To be fully acquainted, therefore, with the idea of power or necessary connection, 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 consider the operation of causes, we are never able, in a single instance, to discover any power or necessary connection ; 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 connection. From the first appearance of an object, we can never conjecture 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 con- cerning it, by the mere dint of thought and reasoning. In reality, there is no part of matter that does ever by its sensible quahties, discover any power or energy, or give us ground to imagine; that it could produce any thing, or be followed by any other object, which we could denominate its effect. Solidity, extension, motion ; these qualities are all complete in themselves ; and never pomt out any otb^r event which may result froin theni. The scenes of the uni- 34^ INJUIRY CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. verse are continually shifting, and one object follows another in an un- interrupted succession ; but the power or force, which actuates the whole machine, is entirely concealed 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 connection 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 discover any power, which can be the original of this idea.* Since, therefore, external objects, as they appear to the senses, give us no idea of power or necessary connection, by their operation in par- ticular instances, let us see, whether this idea be derived from reflec- tion on the operations of our own minds, and be copied from any in- ternal impression. It may be said, that we are every moment conscious of internal power while we feel, that, by the simple com- mand 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. This idea, then, is an idea of reflec- ion, 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 soul. We shall proceed to examine this pretension ; and first, with regard to the influence of volition over the organs of the body. This influ- ence, we may observe, is a fact, which, like all other natural events, can be known only by experience, 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 infaUible consequence of the other. The motion of our body follows 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 inquiry. I. Is there any principle in all nature more mysterious than the anion of soul with body ; by which a supposed spiritual substance ac- quires 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 * Mr. Locke, in his chapter of power, says, that finding from experience, that there are several new productions in matter, and conckiding that there must somewhere be a power capable of producing them, we arrive at last by this reasoning at the idea of power. But no reasoning can ever give us a new, original, simple idea ; as this philosopher himself confesses. This, therefore, can never be the origin of that idea. ESSAY XXXIX. BY DAVID HUME. 347 their orbit ; this extensive authority would not be more extraordinary, nor more beyond our comprehension. But if by consciousness we per- ceived any power or energy in the will, we must know this power ; we must know its connection 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. II. 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 fingres, 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 per- ceive, 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 boundaries, and no farther. A man, suddenly struck with a palsy in the leg or arm, or who had newly lost those members, frequently endeavours, at first, to move them, and employ them in their 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 de- ceives. 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 instructing us in the secret connection which binds them together, and renders them inseparable. III. We learn from anatomy, that the immediate object of power in voluntary motion, is not the members 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 succes- sively propagagated, ere it reach the member itself whose motion is the immediale object of vohtion. 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 certain event : immediately another event, unknown to ourselves, and totally different from the one intended, is produced: this event produces another, equally unknown: 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 348 INQUIRY CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. we have no such'power : but only that to move certain animal spirits, which, though they produce at last the motion of our hmbs, 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 on consciousness of power within ourselves, when we give rise to animal motion, or appl}^ our limbs to their proper use and office. That their motion follows the command of the will, is a matter of common experience, like other natural events : but the power or energy by which this is effected, like that in other natural eventii, is unknown and inconceivable.* 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 contemplation 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. I. 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 synonymous. We must, therefore, know both the cause and effect, and the relation between them. But do we pretend to be acquainted with the nature of the human soul and the nature of an idea, or the aptitude of the one to produce the other ? This is a real creation ; a production of some- thing 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, that 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 per- formed, the power by which it is produced, is entirely beyond our comprehension. II. The command of the mind over itself if limited, as well as its command over the body : and these limits are not known by reason, or any acquaintance with the nature of cause and effect ; * It may be pretended, that the resistance which we meet with in bodies, obliging us fre- quently to exert our force, and call up all our power, this gives us the idea of force and power. It is this nisiis or strong endeavour, of which we are conscious, that is the original impression from which this idea is copied. But, Jirst, we attribute power to a vast number of objects, where we never can suppose this resistance or exertion of force to take place ; to the Supreme Being, who never meets with any resistance ; to the mind in its command over its ideas and limbs, in common thinking and motion, where the effect follows immediately upon the will, without any exertion or summoning up of force ; to inanimate matter, which is not capable of this sentiment- Secondly, This sentiment of an endeavour to overcome resistance has no known connection with any event : what follows it we know by experience, but could not know it a priori. It must, however, be confessed, that the animal nisus \\'\{\q}!x we experience, though it can afford no accurate precise i4ea of power, epf^rs very much ipjQ tha^ vulpr, in^ccmr^te iclea, which is forn}e4 of i^. ESSAV XXXIX. SY t>AVlD tttiMS. 349 but only by experience and observation, as in all other natural events and in the operation of external objects. Our authority over oar sentiments and passions is much weaker than that ovei 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 deficient in one case, not in another? III. This self-command is very different at different times. A man in health possesses more of it than one languishing with sick* ness. We are more master of our thoughts in the morning than iil the evening ; fasting, than after full a meal. Can we give any reason for these variations, except experience .f* 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 mechanism 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. Reflect upon it. Consider it on all sides. Do you find any thing 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 operation. 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 conceive it possible that any other event could result from it. It is only on the discovery of extraordinary phenomena, such as earthquakes, pestilence, and prodigies of any kind, that they find themselves at a loss to assign a proper cause, and to explain the manner in which the effect is pro* duced by it. It is usual for men, in such difficulties, to have recourse to some invisible intelligent principle, [ecoy airo fjLrjxavrjs] as the im* mediate 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 INQtJtkV CONCERNING HUMAN tJNMkStANl)lNa 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 connection between them. Here, then, many philosophers think themselves obliged by reason to have recourse, on all occasions, to the same principle, 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 him- self, they say, who, by a particular volition, moves the second bail, 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 inquiries, discover, that as we are totally ignorant 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 same conclusion. They assert, that the Deity is the immediate cause of the union between soul and body ; and that they are not the organs of sense, which, being agitated by 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 himself 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 the 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 de- ESSAY XXXIX. BY DAVID HUME. 35t pendence on the Deity still more sensible and immediate. They consider not, that, by this theory, they diminish, instead of magnifying, the grandeur of those attributes, which they affect so much to celebrate. It argues, surely, more power in the Deity, to delegate a certain degree of power to inferior creatures, than to produce 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 stupendous machine. But if we would have a more philosophical confutation of this theory, perhaps the two following reflections may suffice. I. 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 which it is confined in all its operations. Though the chain of arguments which conduct to it were ever so logical, there 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 land long ere we have reached the last steps of our theory ; and there we have no reason to trust our common methods of argument, or to think that our usual analogies and probabilities 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. [Section XII.] II. 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 the body 1 Whence, I beseech you, do we acquire any idea of it ? We have no sentiment or consciousness of this power in ourselves. We have no idea of the Supreme Being but what we learn from re- flection 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. W^e surely comprehend as little the operations of one as of the other. Is it more difficult to conceive, that motion may arise from 35^ IKQUlkY CONCERNING tttJMAN UMDERSTANBINO. impulse, than that it may arise from volition ? All we know is out profound ignorance in both cases."^ PaRt ll. — But to hasten to a conclusion of this argument, which is already drawn out to too great a length : we have sought in vain for an idea of power or necessary connection, 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, dis- cover any thing but one event following another ; without being able to comprehend any force or power by which the cause operates, or any connection 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 follow 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 instance of connec- tion, 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. But as we can have no idea of anything, which never appeared to our out- ward sense or inward sentiment, the necessary conclusion seems to be, that we have no idea of connection 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 conclusion, and one source which we have not yet examined. When any natural object or event is presented, it is impossible for us, by any sagacity or penetration, to discover, or even conjecture, without experience, what event will result from it, or to carry our foresight beyond that object, which is immediately present to the memory and senses. Even after one instance or experiment, where we have observed a particular event * I need not examine at length the vis mertiae which is so much talked of in the new phi- losophy, and which is ascribed to matter. We find by experience, that a body at rest or in motion continues for ever in its present state, till put from it by some new cause ; and that a body impelled takes as much motion from the impelling body as it acquires itself. These are facts- When we call this a vis itiertiae, we only mark these facts, without pretending to have any idea of the inert power ; in the same manner as, when we talk of gravity, we mean certain effects, without comprehending that active power. It was never the meaning of Sir Isaac Newton to rob second causes of all force or energy ; though some of his followers have endeavoured to establish that theory upon his authority. On the contrary, that great philo- pher had recourse to an ethereal active fluid to explain his universal attraction : though he was so cautious and modest as to allow that it was a mere hypothesis not to be insisted on, without more experiments. I must confess, that there is something in the fate of opinions a little extraordinary. Des Cartes insinuated that doctrine of the universal and sole efficacy of the Deity, without insisting on it. Malebranche and other Cartesians made it the founda- tion of all their philosophy. It had, however, no authority in England. Locke, Clarke, and Cudworth, never so much as take notice of it, but suppose all along, that matter has a real, though subordinate and derived power. By what means has it become so prevalent among iar modern metaphysicians? ESSAY XXXIX. BY DAVID ttUME. to follow upon another, we are not entitled to form a general rule, or fortel what will happen in like cases ; it being justly esteemed an un- pardonable temerity to judge of the whole course of nature from one single experiment, however accurate or certain. But when one par- ticular species of event has always, in all instances, been conjoined with • another, we make no longer any scruple of forteUing 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 produces the other, and operates with the greatest certainty and strongest necessity. It appears then, that this idea of a necessary connection among events arises from a number of similar instances, which occur, of the constant conjunction of these events ; nor can that idea ever be sug- gested 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 connection, therefore^ which we feel in the mind, this customary 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 connection. 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 connection, 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 pro- nounce that the one event was connected^ but only that it was conjoined with the other. After he has observed several instances of this nature^ he then pronounces them to be connected. What alteration has hap- pened to give rise to this new idea of connection f Nothing but that he now feels these events to be cotmected in his imagination, and can readily foretel the existence of one from the appearance of the other. When we say, therefore, that one object is connected with another, Ave mean only that they have acquired a connection in our thought, and give rise to this inference, by which they become 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 suspicion concerning every conclusion which is new and extraordinary. No conclusions can be more agreeable to scepticism than such as make 23 354 INQUIRY CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. discoveries concerning the weakness and narrow limits of human reason and capacity. And what stronger instance can be produced of the surprising ignorance and weakness of the understanding, than the present ? For surely, if there be any relation among objects, which it imports 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 removed 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 inquiries ar@, therefore, every moment employed about this relation : yet so im- perfect 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 con- joined 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, wherQ, if the first 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, suitably to this experience, form another definition of cause ; and call it, an object followed by another, aiid whose appearance always conveys the thought to that other. But though both these definitions be drawn from circumstances foreign to the cause, we cannot remedy this incon- venience, or attain any more perfect definition, which may point out that circumstance in the cause which gives it a connection with its effect. We have no idea of this connection ; nor even any distinct- notion what it is we desire to know, when we endeavour at a conceptioi 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 affirma- tion ? We either mean, that this vibration is followed by this soundy and that all similar vibratio7is have been followed by similar sounds : or, that this vibration is followed by this sound, and that upo7i the appearance of one, the mind anticipates the senses, a7id forms immedi- ately a7i 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.* • According to these explications and definitions, the idea of power xs, relative as much as that of cause ; and both have a reference to an effect, or some other event constantly con- joined with the former. 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 ac- cordingly, it is allowed by all philosophers, that the effect is the measure 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 dis- pute, whether the force r*" i body in motion be as its velocity, or the square of its velocity : ESSAY XXXIX. DAVID HUME. 3S5 To recapitulate, therefore, the reasonings of this section : every idea is copied from some preceding impression or sentiment ; and where we cannot find any impression, we may be certain there is no idea. In all single instances of the operation of bodies or minds, there is nothing that produces any impression, nor consequently can suggest any idea, of power or necessary connection. But when many uniform instances appear, and the same object is always followed by the same event ; we then begin to entertain the notion of cause and connection. We then feel a new sentiment or impression, to wit, a customary connection 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 instances differ from every individual instance. But this customary connection 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 uni- form experience. I know not, whether the reader will readily appre- hend 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 abstract reasonings, there is one point of view,- which, if we can happily hit, we shall go farther towards illustrating the subject, than by all the eloquence and copious expres- sion 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. this dispute, I say, needed not be decided by comparing its effects in equal or unequal times, but by a direct mensuration and comparison- As to the frequent use of the words, Force, Power, Energy, &c., which every where occur in common conversation, as 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 ultimately for the production of one thing by another. These words, as commonly used, have very loose meanings annexed to them, and their ideas are very uncertain and confused. No animal can put external bodies in motiou without the sentiment of a nisus or endeavour ; and every ani- mal 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 in- ference, 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 exerted, without our annexing to them any idea of communicated motion, we consider only the constant experienced conjunction of the events ; and as /eel 2, customary con- nection between the ideas, we transfer that feeling to the objects ; as nothing is more usral than to apply to externa] bodies every internal sensation which they occasion. 3S6 INQUIRY GQNCEkNlKG ttUMAK UNDERStAKt)lKa SECTION Vltt^OF LIBERTY AND NECESSITY. Part. I. — 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 inquiries, 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 to give exact definitions of the terms employed in reason- ing, and make these definitions, not the mere sound of words, the object of future scrutiny and examination ? But if we consider the matter more narrowly, we shall be apt to draw a quite opposite con- clusion. 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 faculties 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 co-uld so long form different opinions of the same subject ; especially when they communicate their views, and each party turn themselves 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 economy 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 pre- serve 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 insiruction nor en« ESSAY XXXIX. BY DAVID HUME. 357 tertainment. But the state of the argument here proposed may- perhaps, serve to renew his attention ; as it has more novelty, pro- mises at least some decision of the controversy, and will not much disturb his ease by any intricate or obscure reasoning. I hope, therefore, to make it appear, that all men have ever agreed in the doctrine both of necessity and of liberty, according to any reasonable sense which can be put on these 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 de- termined by the energy of its cause, that no other effect, in such par- ticular circumstances, could possibly have resulted from it. The de- gree and direction of every motion is, by the laws of nature, prescribed with such exactness, 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 precise idea of necessity^ we must consider 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 ^ach 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 connection among these ob- jects. We might say, upon such a supposition, that one object or event has followed another, not that one was produced by the otha*. The relation of cause and effect must be utterly unknown to man- kind. Inference and reasoning concerning the operations 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 neces- sity and causation, arises entirely from the uniformity observable in the operations of nature; where similar objects are constantly con- joined together, and the mind is determined by custom to infer the one from tTie appearance of the other. These two circumstances form \ the whole of that necessity which we ascribe to matter. Beyond the constant conjunct ion of similar objects, and the consequent iit- ference from one to the other, we have no notion of any necessity or connection. If it appear, therefore, that all mankind have ever allowed, with- out any doubt or hesitation, that these two circumstances take place in the voluntary actions of men, and in the operations of mind ; it must follow, that all mankind have ever agreed in the doctrine of necessity, and that they have hitherto disputed, merely for not under- standing each other. 35^ INQUIRY CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. As to the first circumstance, the constant and regular conjunction of similar events ; we may possibly satisfy ourselves by the following considerations. It is universally acknowledged, that there is a great uniformity among the actions of men, in all nations and ages, and that human nature remains 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 passions, 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 enterprises which have ever been observed among mankind. Would you know the sentiments, inclinations, and course of life of the Greeks and Romans ? Study well the temper and actions of the French and English : you cannot be much mistaken in transferring to the former most of the observa- tions 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 that particular. Its chief use is only to discover the constant and universal principles of human nature, by shewing men in all varieties of circumstances and situations, and furnishing us with materials, from which we may form our observa- tions, and become acquainted with the regular springs of human ac- tion and behaviour. These records of wars, intrigues, factions, and revolutions, are so many collections of experiments,, by which the poli- tician or moral philosopher fixes the principles of his science ; in the same manner as the physician or natural philosopher becomes ac- quainted with the nature of plants, minerals, and other external ob- jects, by the experiments which he forms concerning them. Nor are the earth, water, and other elements, examined by Aristotle and Hippocrates, more like to those which at present lie under our obser- vation, than to the men, described by Polybius 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 were ever acquainted ; men who were entirely divested of avarice, ambition, or revenge ; who knew no pleasure but friendship, generosity, and public spirit ; we should immediately, 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 pro- digies. And if we would explode any forgery in history, 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 Curtius is as much to be suspected, when he describes the supornatural courage of ESSAY XXXIX. BY DAVID HUME. 359 Alexander, by which he was hurried on single 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 acknow- ledge a uniformity in human motives 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 gestures ; 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 experience, 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 disinterested- ness, so often pretended to, is never expected in multitudes 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 concerning mankind ; and no experience, however accu- rately 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 the operation of the sun, rain, and earth, towards the production of vegetables ; and experience teaches the old practitioner the rules, by which this opera- tion 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, preju- dices, 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 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 360 INQUIRY CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. 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 dif- ferent ages of human creatures. 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 th^m. I grant it possible to find some actions, which seem to have no regular connection with any known motives, and are exceptions 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 irregular and extraordinary actions : we may consider the sentiments, commonly entertained with regard to those irregular events, which appear in the course of nature, and the opera- tion of external objects. All causes are not conjoined to their usual effects, with like uniformity. An artificer, who handles only dead matter, may be disappointed of his aim, as well as the politician, who directs the conduct of sensible and intelligent agents. 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 oftheir 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 observation; 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 observation of several parallel instances, philosophers form a maxim, that the connection between all causes and effects is equally necessary, and that its seeming uncertainty in some instances 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 power ; when irregular events follow from any particular cause: the philosopher and physician are not surprised at the matter^ nor ^rp ev^r tempted to denj^, in general, th^ ESSAY XXXIX. BY DAVID HUME. necessity and uniformity of those principles by which the animal economy 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 it must often appeal 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 operations and government. The philosopher, if he be consistent, must apply the same reason- ing to the actions and volitions of intelligent agents. The most irregular and unexpected resolutions of men may frequently be accounted for by those who know every particular circumstance of their character and situation. A person of an obliging disposition gives a peevish answer : but he has the tooth-ache, or has not dined. A stupid fellow discovers 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 accounted 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, notwithstanding 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 inquiry. 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 conjunc- tion has been universally acknowledged among mankind, and has 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 con- joined together ; it may seem superfluous to prove, that this experienced uniformity in human actions is a source, whence we draw inferences con- cerning 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 complete in itself, or is performed with- out some reference to the actions of others, which are requisite to make it answer fully the intention of the agent. The poorest artificer who labours alone, expects at least the protection of the magistrate, to ensure him the enjoyment of the fruits of his labour. He also expects, that when hg his good§ to market, and offers them at a rea^ou* 362 INQUIRY CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. able 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 compli cated, 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 external 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 surprised were his expectations disappointed. In short, this experimental infer- ence 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 man- kind 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 specula- tive 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 1 Where would be the foundation of morals, if particular characters had no certain or determinative power to produce particular sentiments, and if these sentiments had no con- stant 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 almost impossible, therefore, to engage either in science or action of any kind, without acknowledging the doctrine of necessity, and this inference^ from motives to voluntary actions ; from characters to conduct. And indeed, when we consider how aptly natural and moral evi- dence 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 impossibility of his escape, as well when he con- siders the obstinacy of the gaoler, as the walls and bars with which he is surrounded ; 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 scaf» ESSAY XXXIX. BY DAVID HUME. 363 fold, foresees his death as certainly from the constancy and fidelity of his guards, as from the operation of the axe 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 con- nected chain of natural causes and voluntary actions ; but the mind feels no difference between them, in passing from one link to another : nor is 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. Were a man, whom I know to be honest and opulent, and with whom I lived 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 there- fore change the suppositions. I shall say, that I know with certainty that he is not to put his hand into the fire, and hold it there, till it be consumed : and this event, I think I can foretel with the same assu- rance, as that, if he throw himself out of 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 certainty, 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, acknow- ledged the doctrine of necessity, in their whole practice and reason- ing, have yet discovered such a reluctance to acknowledge it in words, and have rather shown a propensity, in all ages, to profess the con- trary 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, 364 INQUIRY CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING, than barely to observe, that particular 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 propensity to believe, that they penetrate farther into the powers of nature, and per- ceive something like a necessary connection between the cause and the effect. When again they turn their reflections towards the opera- tions of their own minds, and feel no such connection 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 co7ista7tt conjmiction of objects, and the consequent inference of the mind from one to another, and finding that these two circumstances are universally allowed to have place in voluntary actions ; we may be more easily led to own the same necessity common to all causes. And though this reasoning may contradict the systems of many philoso- phers, in ascribing necessity to the determinations of the will, we shall find, upon reflection, that they dissent from it in words only, not in their real sentiments. Necessity, according to the sense in which it is here taken, has never yet been rejected, nor can ever, I think, be re- jected by any philosopher. It may only, perhaps, be pretended, that the mind can perceive, in the operations of matter, some farther con- nection between the cause and effect ; and a connection that has not place in the voluntary actions of intelligent beings. Now whether it be so or not, can only appear upon examination ; and it is in- cumbent on these philosophers to make good their assertion, by defining or describing that necessity, and pointing it out to U3 in the operations of material 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 cir- cumstances form, in reality, the whole of that necessity which we con- ceive in matter, and if these circumstances be also universally ac- knowledged 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 §ame time, that we can find nothing farther, in the voluntary ag* ESSAY XXXIX. BY CAVID HUMS. tiohs of the mind : there is no possibility of bringing the question td any determinate issue, while we proceed upon so erroneous a supposi- tion. • The only method of undeceiving us, is to mount up higher ; to examine the narrow extent of science when applied to material causes j and to convince ourselves, that all we know of them, is the constant conjunction and inference above mentioned. W e 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 cir* cumstances and character, 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 conduct and behaviour.* But to proceed in this reconciling project with regard to the question of liberty and necessity; the most coiitentious 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 apphed to voluntary actions ? We cannot surely mean, that actions have so little connection with motives, inclinations, and circumstances, that one does not follow with a certain degree of uniformity from the other, and that one affords no inference by which we can conclude the existence of the other. For these are plain and acknowledged matters of fact. By liberty, then, we can only mean a power of act- ing or not acting according to the detenninations of the will; that is, if we choose to remain at rest, we may ; if we choose to move, we also * The prevalence of the doctrine of hberty 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 certain looseness or indifference, which we feel, in passing, or not passing, from the idea of one object to that of any succeeding one. Now we may observe, that though, in reflecting ow. human actions, we seldom feel such a looseness or indifference, but are commonly able to infer them with considerable certainty from their motives, and from the dispositions of the agent ; yet it frequently happens, that in performing the actions themselves, we are sensible of something like it : and as all resembling 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 ot 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, we persuade ourselves, could at that time have been completed 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 shewing liberty is here the motive of our actions. And it seems certain, that however we may imagine we feel a hberty 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 ac- quai nted with every circumstance of our situation and temper, and the most secret springs of our complexion and disposition. Now this is the very essence of necessity, according to thAVtD ttuMii 465 Men havcj iil general, a much greater propensity to ovfer-vdue than Under-value themselves ; notwithstanding the opinion of Aristotle. [Ethic, ad Nicomachum.] This makes us mure jealous of the excess on the former side, and causes us to regard, with a peculiar indulgence, all tendency to modesty and self-diffidence ; 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 corpulence, personal 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 deformity, men think they can never keep at too great a distance 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 Montai-gne's maxim observed, that one should say as frankly, / have se?zse, I have learnmg^ 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 be- haviour, that one is allowed to do himself justice. Nobody 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 ofSpinola, 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 in- stances of mutual deierence are to be understood in earnest, and that a man would be more estimable for being ignorant of his own merits and accomplishments. A small bias towards modesty, even in the in- ternal sentiment, is favourably regarded, especially in young people ; and a strong bias is required, in the outward behaviour ; but this ex- cludes 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 ac- cuser, Would yotc, says he, have 07i a like occasion^ been guilty of that crime ? By no 7neajis, replied the other. Ajid can you. then imagine^ cried the hero, that Iphicrates would be guilty f [Quinctil. lib. V. cap. 12.] In short, a generous spirit and self-value, well founded, decently disguised, and courageously supported, under dis- tress and calumny, is a great excellency, and seems to derive its merit from the noble elevation of its sentiment, or its immediate 30 466 AN INQUIRY CONCERNING tttE PRINCIPLES OF MORALS. agreeableness to its possessor. In ordinary characters we approve of a bias towards modesty, which is a quaHty 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 disposition. 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 con- versation, 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 in- temperate 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 ambition. 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. For why that impatient desire of applause ; as if you were not justly entitled to it, and might not reasonably 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 ourselves, 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 ap- probation. 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 dis- proportions hurt the eye, and convey a disagreeable sentiment to the spectators, the source of blame and disapprobation. This is that indecorwn which is explained at large by Cicero in his offices. Among the other virtues we may also give Cleanliness a place ; since it naturally renders us agreeable to others, and is no inconsider- able source of love and affection. No one will deny, that the negli- gence 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 distinctions, about ESSAY XLI. tV DAVID HUME. 467 which the learned have involved themselves in such mazes of per- plexity 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 gentleness, 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 ex- plained, yet surely much of it prevails in all our estimation of characters, and forms no inconsiderable part of personal merit. This class of accomplishments, therefore, must be trusted entirely to the blind, but sure testimony of taste and sentiment ; and must be considered 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, or any agreeable quality which he possesses ; although he be not of our acquaintance, nor has ever given us any entertainment by means of these accomplishments. The idea which we form of their effect on his acquaintance has an agreeable influence on our imagination, and gives the sentiment of approbation. This principle enters into all the judgments which we form concerning manners and characters. SECTION IX.~CONCLUSI0N, Part I. — It may justly appear surprising, that any man, in so late an age, should find it requisite to prove, by elaborate reasoning, that Personal Merit consists altogether in the possession of mental qualities, usefitl or agreeable to the person himself^ or to others. It might be expected that this principle would have occurred even to the first rude unpractised inquirers concerning morals, and been received from its own evidence, without any argument or disputation. What- ever is valuable in any kind, so naturally classes itself under the division of useful or agreeable^ the tUile 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 inquiry. And as every thing useful or agreeable must possess these qualities with regard either to the person hhnself or to others^ the complete 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 468 AN INQUIRY CONCERNING THE PRINCIPLES OF MORALS. shadow is cast be not broken and uneven ; nor the surface from which the image is reflected disturbed and confused ; a just figure is imme- diately presented without any art or attention. And it seems a reason- able 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 pane- gyric or satire, any applause or censure of human action and be* haviour. If we observe men, in every intercourse of business or pleasure, in every discourse 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. He is a man of honour and humanity. Every one who has any intercourse with him is sure of fair and kind treatment.* I congratulate you, too, says another, on the promising expectations of this son-in-law; whose assiduous application to the study of laws, whose quick penetration and early knowledge, both of men and business, prognosticate the greatest honours and advancement.f You surprise me, replies a third, when you talk of Cleanthes as a man of business and applica* tion. 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.t You would admire him still more, says a fourth, if you knew him more familiarly. That cheerfulness 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, misfortunes as well as dangers : and by his greatness of mind, was still superior to them.§ The image, gentlemen, which you have here delineated Cleanthes, cried 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 Castig- lione. a philosopher might select this character as a model of perfect virtue. And as every quality, which is useful or agreeable to ourselves or others, is, in common life, allowed to be a part of personal merit ; so AO other will ever be received, where men judge of things by their * Qualities useful to others. t Qualities useful to the person himselt t Qualities immediately agreeable to others, I Qualities immediately agreeable to the person himself. ESSAY XLI. BY DAVID HUME. 469 natural, unprejudiced reason, without the delusive glosses of supersti- tion and false religion. Celibacy, fasting, penance, mortification, self- denial, humility, 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 ad- vance a man's fortune in the world, nor render him a more valuable member of society ; neither qualify him for the entertainment of com- pany, nor increase his power of self-enjoyment ? We observe, on the contrary, that they cross all these desirable ends ; stupify the under- standing and harden the heart, obscure the fancy and sour the temper. We justly, therefore, transfer them to the opposite column, and place them in the catalogue of vices ; nor has any superstition force suffi- cient 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 benevolence or self-love, which prevail in human nature ; a dispute 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 compare them, or draw from them any determinate inference or conclusion. It is sufficient for our present purpose, if it be allowed, what surely, with- out 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 insuffi- cient 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 ser- viceable to mankind above what is pernicious and dangerous. A ^ moral'distinction, therefore, immediately 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 selfishness 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 indissoluble connection together 470 AN INQUIRY CONCERNING THE PRINCIPLES OF MORALS. Avarice, ambition, vanity and all passions vulgarly, though impro- perly, comprised under the denomination of self-love^ 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 com- prehensive, 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 aver- sion, affection and hatred ; but these neither are felt so much in com- mon, nor are so comprehensive, 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 antago- nist^ his adversary^ he is understood to speak the lan^^age of self-love, and to express sentiments pecuHar 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 al3 his audience are to concur with him. He must here, therefore, depart from his private and particular situations, and must choose 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 sympathy. If he mean, therefore, to express, that this man possesses qualities, whose tendency is perni- cious 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, it can alone be the foundation of morals, or of any general system of blame or praise. One man's ambition is not another's ambition ; nor will the same event or object satisfy 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, ESSAY XLI. BY DAVID HUME, 47^ to every one, of censure or approbation. On the contrary, those other passions, commonly denominated selfish, both produce different senti- ments in each individual, according to his particular situation ; and also contemplate the greater part of mankind with the utmost indiffer- ence and unconcern. Whoever has a high regard and esteem for me flatters my vanity ; whoever expresses contempt mortifies and dis- pleases me : but as my name is not 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 countiy or in any age of the world ; I soon carry my eye to the perni- cious 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 quahty or action, of every human being, must, by this means, be ranked under some class or denomination, expressive of general censure or applause. What more, therefore, can we ask to distinguish the sentiments, dependent 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 agree- able to my humanity, however remote the person : but every man, so far removed as neither to cross nor serve my avarice and ambition, is regarded as wholly 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 con- trolled and limited.* * It seems certain, both from reason and experience, that a rude untaught savage regulates chiefly his love and hatred by the ideas of private utility and injury, and has but faint con- ceptions of a general rule or system of behaviour. The man who stands opposite to him is battle, he hates heartily, not only for the present moment, which is almost unavoidable, bul for ever after ; nor is he satisfied v/ithout the most extreme punishment and vengeance 472 AN INQUIRY CONCERNING THE PRINCIPLES OF MORALS. From instances of popular tumults, seditions, factions, panics, and of all passions, which are shared with a multitude, 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 occasion. 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 there affection and discourse allowed sufificient to absolve them. No selfishness, and scarce any philosophy, have there 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 wonder, then, that moral sentiments are found of such influence in life ; though springing from principles, which may appear, at first sight, somewhat small and delicate ? But these principles, we must remark, are social and universal : they form, in a manner, the par/y 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 approba- tion, consequent on it, are thereby roused 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 con- sider how they appear in the eyes of those who approach and regard us. This constant habit of surveying ourselves, as it were, in reflec- tion, 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 conveniences and pleasures sink gradually in their value ; while every inward beauty and moral grace is studiously acquired, and the mind is accom- we, accustomed to society, and to more enlarged reflections, consider that this man is serving his own country and community ; that any man, in the same situation, would do the same ; that we ourselves, in like circumstances, observe a like conduct; that, in general, human society is best supported on such maxims. And by these suppositions and views, we correct, in some measure, our ruder and narrower passions- And though much of our friendship and enmity be still regulated by private considerations of benefit and harm, we pay at least this homage to general rules, which we are accustomed to respect, that we commonly pervert our adversary's conduct, by imputing malice or injustice to him, in order to give vent to those passions which arise from self-love and private interest. When the heart is full of rage, it never wants pretences of this nature ; though sometimes as frivolous, as those from which Horace, being almost crushed by the W\ of a tree, affegts to accuse of parrigide the fir§t planter of U« ESSAY XLI. BY DAVID HUME. 473 plished in every perfection, who can adorn or embellish a rational character. Here is the most perfect morality with which we are acquainted : here is displayed the force of many sympathies. Our moral senti- ment 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 appro- bation of mankind. But, that we may accommodate matters, and remove, if possible, every difficulty, let us allow all these reasonings to be false. Let us allow, that, when we resolve the pleasure, which arises from views of utility, into the sentiments of humanity and sympathy, we have em- braced a wrong hypothesis. 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 cansequences. The pre- ceding dehneation or definition 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, tenderness, friendship, and all the other social virtues 1 Can it possibly be doubted, that industry, dis- cretion, 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 foundation of their merit ? Who can dispute that a mind, which supports a perpetual serenity and cheerful- ness, 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 474 AN INQUIRY CONCERNING THE PRINCIPLES OF MORALS. facetious wit or fxowing affability, of a delicate modesty or decent genteelness of address and manner. I am sensible that nothing can be more unphilosophical than to be positive or dogmatical on any subject ; and that, even if excessive scepticism could be maintained, it would not be more destructive to all just reasoning and inquiry. 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 suspense, 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 and agreeableness of qualities to the person himself possessed of them, or to others, who have any intercourse with him. But when I reflect, that though the bulk and figure of the earth have been measured and delineated, though the motions of the tides have been accounted for, the order and economy of the heavenly bodies subjected to their proper laws, and Infinite itself reduced to calculation ; 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 explained the moral approbation attending merit or virtue, there remains nothing, but briefly to consider our interested obligation to it, and to inquire, whether every man, who has any re- gard 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 advanced principles, which not only, it is hoped, will stand the test of reasoning and inquiry, 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 confess, leads to a practice dangerous and pernicious. Why rake into those corners of nature, which spread a nuisance all around ! Why dig up the pestilence from the pit in which it is buried ! The ingenuity of your researches may be admired ; 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^ ESSAY XLI. BY DAVID HUME. 475 But what philosophical truths can be more advantageous to society than those here dehvered, 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 preference 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 recommends are also the true interest of each indi- vidual ? The pecuHar advantage of the foregoing system seems to be, that it furnishes proper mediums for that purpose. That the virtues which are imrnediately 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 purpose collect arguments to evince, that temper- ance is advantageous, and the excesses of pleasure hurtful 1 When it appears that these excesses are only denominated such because they are hurtful ; and that, if the unlimited use of strong liquors, for in- stance, 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 companionable virtues of good manners and wit, decency and genteelness, 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 capacity, 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 reference to company and 476 AN INQUIRY CONCERNING lilE PRINCIPLES OF MORALS. society ; so no society can be agreeable, or even tolerable, where a man feels his presence unwelcome, and discovers all around him symptoms of disgust and aversion. But why, in the great 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 apprehensive lest those social affections interfere, in a greater or 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 instructed 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 benevo- lence 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 the gratification of his avarice. And it would be difficult to show, why a man is more a loser by a generous action, than by any other method of expense ; since the utmost which he can attain, by the most elaborate selfishness, is the indulgence of some affection. Now if life, without passion, must be altogether insipid and tire- some ; let a man suppose that he has full power of modelling his own disposition, and let him deliberate what appetite or desire he would chuse for the foundation of his happiness and enjoyment. Every affection, he would observe, when gratified by success, gives a satisfac- tion proportioned to its force and violence : but besides this advan- tage, common to all, the immediate feeling of benevolence and friend- ship, humanity and kindness, is sweet, smooth, tender, and agreeable, independent of all fortune and accidents. 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 consciousnessj ESSAY XLI. BY DAVtD HUME* 477 a good reputation ? But of these truths, we may obsen^e, 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 tyhe 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 par- ticular incidents, may think, that an act of iniquity or infidelity will make a considerable addition to his fortune, without causing any con- siderable breach in the social union and confederacy. That honesty is the best policy^ may be a good general rule ; but it is liable to many exceptions. And he, it may, perhaps, be thought, conducts himself with most wisdom, who observes the general rule, and takes advan- tage 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 ap- pear satisfactory and convincing. If his heart rebel not against such pernicious maxims, if he feel no reluctance to the thoughts of villainy or baseness, he has indeed lost a considerable motive to virtue ; and we may expect, that his practice will be answerable to his speculation. 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 review 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, betrayed by their own maxims ; and while they purpose to cheat with moderation and secrecy, a tempting incident occurs, 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 confidence with mankind. But were they ever so secret and successful, the honest man, ff \t has any tincture of philosophy, or even common observation and re- flection, 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 t And in a view to pleasure^ what comparison between the unbou^ht 478 APPENDIX I.— CONCERNING MORAL SENTIMENT. satisfaction of conversation, society, study, even health and the com mon beauties of nature, and above all the peaceful reflection on one^s own conduct : what comparison, I say, between these, and the feverish, empty amusements of luxury and expense ? These natural pleasures, indeed, are really without price ; both because they are below all price in their attainment, and above it in their enjoyment. APPENDIX I.— CONCERNING MORAL SENTIMENT. If the foregoing hypothesis be received, it will now be easy for us to determine the question first started, [Sect. I.] 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 decisions of this kind ; since nothing but that faculty can instruct us in the tendency of qualities and actions, and point out their beneficial consequences to society and to their possessors. In many cases, this is an affair liable to great controversy : 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 particularly re- markable in questions with regard to justice ; as, is, indeed, natural to suppose, from that species of utility which attends this virtue. [Appendix III.] 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 com- bination 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 many occasions, are doubtful, and subject to great discussion and inquiry. 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, ESSAYS BY DAVID HUME. 479 to give the true determination, amidst such intricate doubts arising from obscure or opposite utilities. But though reason, when fully assisted and improved, be suffi- cient to instruct us in the pernicious or useful tendency of qualities and actions ; it is not alone sufficient to produce any moral blame or approba- tion. 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 tendencies. This senti- ment 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 such as are useful and beneficial. This partition between the faculties of understanding and senti- ment, in all moral decisions, seems clear from the preceding 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 suppose 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 appearance 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 senti- ment. 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 return of ill-will or indifference, with ill offices or neglect on the other : anatomise 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 relatiojis. Inquire, 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, there- fore, 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 4So At>t>fiNDt3t I.— CONCERNIMG MORAL SENTlMfiOT** ivihr that the crime of ingratitude is not any particular individual fac^y but arises from a complication of circumstances, which, being presented 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, consists 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 1 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 relation ? 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 contrariety j 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 the one has as many units as the otbe^ ; and if any of these parts be compared to two added to three, u will contain as many units as that compound number. But when you draw thence a comparison to moral relations, I own that I am altogether at a los^ to understand you. A moral action, a crime, such as ingratitude, is a complicated object. Does the morality con- sist in the relation of its parts to each other ? How ? After what manner.'* Specify the relation : be more particular and explicit in your proposi- tions ; 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 the 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 ooral 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 falsehood. 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 hy- pothesis which we embrace is plain. It maintains, that morality is determined by sentiment. It defines virtue to be whatever mental action or ^yality gives to a spectator the pleasing sentiment of ap" ESSAYS BY DAVID HUME. 48t probation; aftd vide 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 consider these separate relations, with all the circumstances and situations of the persons, in order to determine the 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 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, beforehand, with all the objects, and all their relations to each other : and from a com- parison of the whole, fix our choice or approbation. No new fact to be ascertained : no new relation to be discovered, All the circum- stances of the case are supposed to be laid before us, ere we can fix any sentence of blame or approbation. If any material circumstance be yet unknown or doubtful, we must first employ our inquiry or in- tellectual 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 ? 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 approba- tion 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 under- standing, 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 impression of affection or disgust, esteem or contempt, approbation or blame. Hence the great difference between a mistake of fact and one of right; and hence the reason why the one is commonly criminal and not the other. When GEdipus killed Laius, he was ignorant of the relation, and from circumstances, innocent and involuntary, formed erroneous opinions concerning the action which he committed. Buf \\ 482 APPENDIX I.— CONCERNING MORAL S£NtIMENT. when Nero killed Agrippina, all the relations between himself and the person, and all the circumstances of the fact, were previously 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 detestation against him, to which he, himself, in a little time, became insensible ; it is not, that we see any relations, of 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 per- severance in the most enormous crimes. In these sentiments, then, not in a discovery of relations of any kind, do all moral determinations consist. Before we can pretend to form any decision of this kind, every tKing 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 geometrical problems, consists wholly in the perception of relations, and was per- formed entirely by the understanding or intellectual faculties. In all the sciences, our mind, from 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 the sentiment of complacency or disgust, according to the object, and disposition of our organs. Euclid has fully explained all me 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 centre. 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 pro- perties 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 freize, 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 results from the whole, when that complicated figure is presented to an intelligent mind, susceptible to those finer sensations. Till such a specta- tor appear, there is nothing but a figure of such particular dimensions and proportions : from his sentiments alone arise its elegance and beauty ESSAYS BY DAVID tlUMfi. 483 Again attend to Cicero, while he paints the crimes of a Verres or a Cataline ; you must acknowledge that the moral turpitude results, in the same manner, from the contemplation of the whole, when pre- sented 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 compli- cation' of circumstances, you would in vain ask him, in what consists the crime or villainy, which he so vehemently exclaims against : at what time, or on what subject it first began to exist : and what has a few months afterwards become of it, when ever disposition and thought of all the actors is totally altered or annihilated. No satisfactory 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 understanding ; but arises entirely from the sentiment of dis- approbation, which, by the structure of human nature, we unavoidably 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 stands in all the same relations with Nero, when he murdered Agrippina ; and if morality consisted merely in relations, would, no doubt, be equally criminal. V. It appears evident, that the ultimate ends of human actions can never, in any case, be accounted for by reason^ but recommend them- selves entirely to the sentiments and affections of mankind, without any dependence on the intellectual faculties. Ask a man why he uses exercise; he will answer, because he desires to keep his health; if you then inquire, why he desires health; he will readily reply, because sickness is painful. If you push your inquiries farther, and desire a This reason, why he hates pain^ it is impossible he can ever give any. 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 calling. If you ask, why he is anxious on that head; he will answer, because he desires to get money. If you demand. Why f It is the instrument of pleasure y says he. And beyond this it is an absurdity to ask for a reason. It is impossible there can be a progress in inflnitufn; 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, with- out fee or reward, merely for the immediate satisfaction which it 484 APJ»ENt)I3t tl.— OJ" S£LF-L5V£. conveys : it i3 requisite that there should be some sehtiiiieht which it touches ; some internal taste or feeling, or whatever you please to call it, which distinguishes 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 knowledge 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 inclination, 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 supposed, 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 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. APPENDIX II.~OF SELF-LOVE. There is a principle supposed to prevail among many, which is utterly incompatible with all virtue or moral sentiment : 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 confidence ; and that, while all of us, at bottom, pursue only our private interest, we wear these fair dis- guises, in order to put others off their guard, and expose them the more tc 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 ESSAYS BY DAVID HUME. 485 for them from the most careless and precipitate examination. Super- ficial reasoners, indeed, observing many false pretences among man- kind, 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 existence, 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 founda- tion of many a system ; that, whatever affection one may feel, or imagine he feels, for others, no passion is, or can be disinterested ; that the most generous frindship, however sincere, is a modification of self-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 mankind. By a turn of imagination, by a refinement of reflection, 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 senti- ments 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 reflection, as generous and friendly dispositions as any dis- ciple of the austerer schools. And among the modems, 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 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 chemistry, to resolve the elements of this passion ; if I may so speak, into those of another, and ex- plain 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 otherSj and render him serviceable to society ; as I hate or des- APPENDIX II. — OF SELF-LOVE. pise him, who has no regard to any thing beyond his own gratifica- tions and enjo>Tnents. In vain would you suggest, that these characters, though seemingly opposite, are, at bottom the same, and 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 othei 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, cheerful colour of a countenance, inspire me with complacency and pleasure ; even though I learn from philosophy, that all differ- ence of complexion arises from the most minute differences of thickness, in the most minute parts of the skin ; by means of which a superficies is qualified to redect one of the original colours of light, and absorb the others ? But though the question, concerning the universal or partial selfish- ness of man, be not so material, as is usually imagined, to morality and practice, it is certainly of consequence in the speculative science of human nature, and is a proper object of curiosity and inquiry. It may not, therefore, be unsuitable, in this place, to bestow a few reflections upon it.* 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 dispositions 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 distinguished from those of the selfish passions. And as this is the obvious ap- pearance 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 nothing but modifications of the latter. All attempts of 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. * Benevolence naturally divides into two kinds, the general and the particular. The first is, where we have no friendship, or connection, or esteem for the person, but feel only a general sympathy with him, or a compassion for his pains, and a congratulation with his pleasures. The other species of benevolence is founded on an opinion of virtue, on services done us, or on some particular connection. Both these sentiments must be allowed real in human nature ; but whether they will resolve into some nice considerations of self-love, is a question more curious than important. The former sentiment, to wit, that of general bene- volence, or humanity, or sympathy, we shall have occasion frequently to treat of in the course of this inquiry ; smd I assume it as real, from general experience, without any other proo£ ESSAYS BY DAVID HUME. Many able philosophers have shown the insufficiency of these sys- tems. And I shall take for granted what, I believe, the smallest reflection will make evident to every impartial inquirer. But the nature of the subject furnishes the strongest presumption, that no better system will ever, for the future, be invented, in order to account for the origifi of the benevolent from the selfish affections, and reduce all the various emotions of the human mind to a perfect simphcity. The case is not the same in this species of philosophy as in physics. Many an hypothesis in nature, contrary to first appear- ances, has been found, on more accurate scrutiny, solid and satisfac- tory. Instances of this kind are so frequent, that a judicious as well as witty philosopher [Fontenelle], 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 inquiries 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 intention is, indeed, frequently concealed from ourselves, when it is mingled and con- founded with other motive, which the mind, from vanity or self conceit, is desirous of supposing more prevalent: but there is no instance, that a concealment 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, v4thout any mixture of narrow or interested considerations : but a man tk »t grieves for a valuable friend, who needed his patronage and protection ; how 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 thoseof 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 deducticns of self-interest ? Or if we adr ut a disinterested 488 APPENDIX II.— OF SELF-LOVE. 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 goodwill, very distinct from the gratification of an appetite. Tenderness to their offspring, in all sensible beings, is commonly able alone to counter- balance the strongest motives of self-love, and has no manner of dependence on that affection. 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 participa- tion 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 passion or emotion, seems difficult to explain. No satisfactory hypothesis of this kind has yet been discovered ; nor is there the smallest probability, that the future industry of men will 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 simplicity in it, and is more conformable to the analogy of nature, than that which pretends to resolve all friend- ship and humanity into this latter principle. There are bodily wants or appetites acknowledged by every one, which necessarily 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 gratification of these primary appetites arises a pleasure, which may become the object of another species of desire or inclination, that is secondary and interested. In the same manner, there are mental passions, by which we are impelled immediately 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 ^dv^rsary i§ totally indifferent to me. In all ESSAYS BY DAVID HUME. 489 these cases, tli ere 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 happi- ness, 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 happi- ness 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 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 And what a malignant philosophy must it be, that will not allow, to humanity and friendship, the same privileges, which are in- disputably granted to the darker passions of enmity and resentment ? Such a philosophy is more like a satire than a true delineation or de- scription 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.— SOME FARTHER CONSIDERATIONS WITH REGARD TO JUSTICE. The intention of this Appendix is to give some more particular 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 con- currence, 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 sentiments or con- duct of the rest of mankind in like circumstances. A generous man * Animasque in vulnere ponunt. Virgil. Pupi %\ten ngce^t, sui negligens, says Sb;neca of Anger. Pe Irs. J- 490 APPENDIX III.-— CONSIDERATIONS WITH REGARD TO JUSTICE. cheerfully embraces an opportunity 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 in- fluence, is in itself complete and entire, it also excites the moral senti- ment of approbation, without any reflection on farther consequences, and without any more enlarged views of the concurrence or imitation of the other members of society. On the contrary, were the genero As friend or disinterested 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 individual single act ; but arises from the whole scheme or system, concurred in by the whole, or the greater part of 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 individual citizen may frequently, considered in itself, be productive 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 ex- tremely hurtful, while the latter is, to the highest degree, advantageous. Riches, inherited from a parent, are, in a bad man's hand, the instru- ment 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 particular situations. Cyrus, young and unexperienced, considered only the individual 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 of the general, inflexible rules, necessary to support general peace and order in society. The happiness and posperity 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 ESSAYS BY DAVID HUME. 491 of justice and its subdivisions, may be compared to the building of a vault, where each individual stone would, of itself, fall the ground ; nor is the whole fabric supported but by the mutual assistance and com- bination 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 connections of the person concerned, or any particular conse- quences 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 pubhc utility, it is impossible for them to prevent all particular hard- ships, or make beneficial 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 by co7iventio7i 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 public 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 particular act of justice may be hurtful to the public as well as to individuals : it follows, that every man, in embracing that virtue, must have an eye to the whole plan or system, and must expect the con- currence of his fellows in the same conduct 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 pre scribe 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 convention, for common interest, without any promise or contract : thus gold and silver 4-92 APPENDIX III.— CONSIDERATIONS WITH REGARD TO JUSTICE. 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.* The word, natural^ is commonly taken in so many senses, and is of so loose a signification, that it seems vain to dispute whether justice be natural or not. If self-love, if benevolence 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 inclina- tion, 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 exertion of his intellectual faculties, may justly be esteemed natural.f Among all civilized nations, it has been the constant endeavour to remove every thing arbitrary and partial from the decision of property, and to fix the sentence of judges by such general views and considera- tions, 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. Vhen natural reason, therefore, points out no fixed view of public tility, by which a controversy of property can be decided, positive * This theory, concerning the origin of property, and consequently of justice, is, in the main, the same with that hinted at and adopted by Grotius. * Hinc discimus, quae fuerit * causa, ob quam a primaeva communione rerum primo mobilium, deinde et immobihum dis- * cessum est : nimirum quod cum non contenti homines vesci sponte natis, antra habitare, corpora aut nudo agere, aut corticibus arborum ferarumve pellibus vestito, vitje genus 'exquisitus delegissent, industria opus fuit, quam singuli rebus singulis adhiberent : quo * minus autem fructus in commune conferrentur, primum obstitit locorum, in quae homines * discesserunt, distantia, deinde justitise et amoris defectus, per quern fiebat, ut nec in labore, * nec in consumptione fructuum, quae debcbat, aequalitas servaretur. Simul discimus, quo - * modo res in proprietatem iverint ; non animi actu solo, neque enim scire alii poterant, quid * alii suum esse vellent, ut eo abstinerent, et idem velle plures poterant : sed pacto quodam * aut expresso, ut per divisionem, aut tacito, ut per occupationem,' De jure belli et pacis. Lib. ii. cap. 2. sect. 2. art. 4 & 5. t Natural may be opposed, either to what is unusual, miraculous^ or artificial. In the two former senses, justice and property are undoubtedly natural. But as they suppose reason, forethought, design, and a social union and confederacy among men, perhaps that epithet cannot strictly, in the last sense, be applied to them. Had men lived without society, property had never been known, and neither justice nor injustice had ever existed. But society among human creatures had been impossible without reason and forethought. Inferior animals, that unite, are guided by instiiict, wliigh supplies the plaC9 of rc^op. But th€§» disputes are merely verbal I:§§AVS 15Y DAVID HUME. 493 laws are often framed to supply its place, and direct the procedure of all courts of judicature. Where these two fail, as often happens, pre- cedents 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 precedents 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 precedent, by a refined analogy or comparison ; the opposite pleader is not at a loss to find an opposite analogy or comparison : and the preference given by the judge is often founded more on taste and imagination than on any solid argument. Public utility is the genera* object of all courts of judicature ; and this utility, too, requires a stable rule in all controversies : but where several rules, nearly equal and indifferent, present themselves, it is a very slight turn of thought which fixes the decision in favour of either party."^ * That there be a separation or distinction of possessions, and that this separation be steady and constant ; this is absolutely required by the interests of society, and hence the origin of justice and property. What possessions are assigned to particular persons ; this is, generally speaking, pretty indifferent ; and is often determined by very frivolous views and considera- tions. 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 presetit possession, 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 alterations which he produces causes a relation between him and the object, and naturally engages us to annex it to him by the new relation of property. This cause here concurs with the public utility which consists in the encouragement given to industry and labour. Perhaps, too, private humanity towards 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 justice ; since the latter virtue so often contradicts the former ; yet when the rule of separate and constant possession is once formed by the indis- pensable necessities of society, private humanity, and an aversion to the doing a hardship to another, may, in a particular 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 connections of the imagination, and that the relation to a former proprietor begetting a relation to the object, is the cause why the property is transferred to a man after the death of his kinsman. It is true, industry is more encouraged by the transference 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 connections 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 follow 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 impcarcep- tibly ; which sure circumstances that assist the imagination in the conjunction. 494 APPENDIX IV.— Of* SOME VERBAL DISPUTES, 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 an 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 per- petually in my possession : I reckon on the secure enjoyment of it : by depriving me of it, you disappoint my expectations, and doubly displease me, and offend every bystander. It is a pubhc wrong, so far as the rules of equity are violated : 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 other- wise the distinction of mine and thine would be unknown in society : yet there is no question, but the regard to general good is much en- forced 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 private one, no wonder the highest disapprobation attends so iniquitous a behaviour. APPENDIX IV.— 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 controversies of the deepest im- portance and concern. It was in order to avoid altercations, so frivolous and endless, that I endeavoured to state, with the utmost caution, the object of our present inquiry ; and proposed simply to collect, on the 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 Where there is any considerable portion torn at once from one bank and added to another, it becomes not his 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 suffi- ciently join them. In short, we must ever distinguish between the necessity of a separation and constancy m men's possession, and the rules which assign particular objects to particular persons. The first necessity is obvious, strong, and invincible : the latter may depend on a public "tibty more light and frivolous, on the sentiment of private humanity and aversion to piivate bard- ship, on positive laws, on precedents, analogies, and very fine connections and turns of the maginat^5. ASSAYS fiY DAVtt) HUME. 495 fnight arise the least hesitation, I avoided the terms virtue and vice ; because some of those quahties which I classed among the objects of praise receive, in the Enghsh language, the appellation of tale$tts^ 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 inquiry, 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 inquiry, I shall subjoin the four following reflections, which shall contain all that I intend to say on the present subject. I. 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 definition can be given of the one as con- tradistinguished from the other. Were we to say, for instance, that the esteemable 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 appellation, 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. Should we lay hold of the distinction between intellectual and moral endowments, 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, discretion, had also a considerable influence on conduct. The distinction 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 sentiment ; and these alone may be called the genuine virtues : but industry, frugality, temperance, secrecy, perseverance, and many other laudable powers or habits, generally styled 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 perplexity, that the question, being merely verbal, cannot possibly 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. 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 49^ APPENDIX IV.— OF SOME VERBAL DISPUTES. regard nis social qualities, which are, indeed, the most valuable. It is, at the same time, certain that any remarkable defect in courage, tem- perance, economy, 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 ? II. 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 distinction made in our internal esti* mation of them. It seems indeed certain, that the sentiment of con- scious worth, the self-satisfaction proceeding from a review of a man's own conduct and character ; it seems certain, I say, that this senti- ment, which, though the most common of all others, has no proper name in our language,* arises from the endowments 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 conduct, 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 ex- posed by raillery and satire 1 And is not the chief object of vanity, our bravery or learning, our wit or breeding, our eloquence or address, our taste or abilities 1 These we display with care, if not with osten- tation ; 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 commend- ing 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. * The term. Pride, Is commonly taken in a bad sense ; but this sentiment seems indifferent, tnd may be either good or bad, according as it is well or ill founded, and according to the other circumstances which accompany it. The French express this sentiment by the term, amour propre ; but as they also '' express self-love as well as vanity by the same term, thero arises thence a great confusion in Rochefoucault, and many of their moral writers. ESSAYS BY DAVID HUME. 497 Jt. is hard to tell, whether you hurt a man's character most by calling him a knave or a coward, and whether a beastly 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 depends as much upon his good sense and judgment, as upon any other part of his character. Had a man the best intentions in the world, and were the farthest removed from all injustice and violence, he would never be able to make himself 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 good-will, 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 ? 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 sufficient reason for ranking them entirely under different classes and appellations. The character of Cassar and that of Cato, as drawn by Sallust, are both of them virtuous, in the strict- est and most limited sense of the word ; but in a different way : nor are the sentiments entirely the same which arise from them. The one produces love ; the other esteem : the one is amiable ; the othe awful : we should wish to meet the one character in a friend : tht other we should be ambitious of in ourselves. In like manner, the approbation, which attends temperance, or industry, or frugality, 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 endowments, 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*. • Love and esteem are nearly the same passion, and arise from similar causes. The quali* tits, which produce both, are such as communiciite pleasure But where this pleasure is 3a APPENDIX IV.— OF SOME VERBAL DISPUTES. Most people, I believe, will naturally, without premeditation, assent to the definition of the elegant and judicious poet. Virtue (for mere good nature is a fool) Is sense and spirit with humanity.* What pretensions has a man to our generous assistance or good offices, who has dissipated his wealth in profuse expenses, 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. Achaeus, a wise and prudent prince, fell into a fatal snare, which cost him his crown and life, after having used every reasonable pre- caution to guard himself against it. On that account, says the historian, he is a just object of regard and compassion : His betrayers alone of hatred and contempt. [Polyb., lib. viii. cap. 2.] The precipitate flight and improvident negligence of Pompey, 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 majt7zer^ says he, as waiit of cleaiiliiiess^ decency^ or dis- cretion ill a mistress^ are found to alienate our affections. For so he expresses himself, where he talks, not in the character of a philoso- pher, but in that of a statesman and man of the world, to his friend Atticus. [ Lib. ix. epist 10.] But the same Cicero, 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. 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 difl"erent 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. prudence explained in Cicero's Offices^ [Lib. i. cap. 6.] 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 severe and serious ; or where its object is great, and makes a strong impression ; or where it produces any degree of humility and awe : In all these cases, the passion which arises from the pleasure is more properly denominated esteem than love. Benevolence attends both ; but is connected with love in a more eminent degree. There seems to be still a stronger mixture of pride in contempt, than of humility and esteem: and the reason would not be difficult to one who studied accurately the passions. All these various mixtures, and compo- sitions, and appearances of sentiment, form a very curious subject of speculation, but are wide of our present purpose. Throughout this inquiry, we always consider, in general, what qualities are a subject of praise or of censure, without entering into all the minute differences of sentiment which they excite. It is evident, that whatever is contemned, is also disliked, as well as what is hated ; and we here endeavour to take object saccording to their most simple views and appearances. These sciences are but too apt to appear abstract to common readers, even with all the precautions which we can take to clear them from super- fluous speculations, and bring them down to every capacity. ♦ The tsxl of Preserving Health. Book IV. ESSAYS BY DAVID HUME. 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.* We need only peruse the titles of chapters in Aristotle's Ethics to be convinced, that he ranks courage, temperance, magnificence, mag- nanimity, 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 to be con- tinent, appeared to some of the ancients a summary comprehension 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, [Psalm xlix.] when thou dost well unto thyself. I hate a wise man, says the Greek poet, who is not wise to himself* Plutarch is no more cramped by systems in his philosophy than in his history. Where he compares the great men of Greece and Rome, 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 Livy, [Lib. xxi. cap. 4.] is esteemed partial, but allows him many eminent virtues. Never was there a genius, says the historian, more equally fitted for those op- posite offices of commanding and obeying ; and it were, therefore, difficult to determine whether he rendered himself dearer to the general or to the army. To none would Hasdrubal entrust more willingly the conduct of any dangerous enterprise ; 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 : * The following passage of Cicero is worth quoting, as being the most clear and express to our purpose that anything can be imagined, and, in a dispute which is chiefly verbal, must, on account of the author, carry an authority from which there can be no appeal. * Virtus antem, quae est per se, ipsa laudabilis, et sine qua nihil, laudari potest, tamen * habet plures partes, quarum alia est alia ad laudationem aptior. Sunt enim aliae virtutes, * quae videntur in moribus hominum, et quadam comitate ac beneficentia psoitae : alise quse in Mngenii aliqua facultate, aut animi magnitudine ac robore. Nam dementia, justitia, benig- * nitas, fides, fortitudo in periculis communibus, jucunda est auditu in laudationibus. Omnes * enim hae virtutes non tam ipsis, qui eas in se habent, quam generi hominum fructuosa; *putantur. Sapientia et magnitude animi, qua omnes res humanae, tenues et pro nihilo * putantur ; et in cogitando vis quaedam ingenii, et ipsa eloquentia admirationis habet non * minus, jucunditatis minus. Ipsos enim magis videtur, quos laudamus, quam illos, apud *quos laudamus, ornare ac tueri : sed tamen in laudenda jungenda sunt etiam haec genera * virtutum. Ferunt enim aures hominum, cum ilia quae jucunda et grata, turn etiam ilia, quwi 'mirabilia sunt in virtute, laudari.' De Orat. lib. ii. cap. 89. t Mitrw (ro(l>iOT7)U opris 6k avroo ao^pos. Euripioks roo APPENDIX IV.— OF SOME VERBAL DISPUTES. meat and drink he sought as supplies to the necessities of nature, not as gratifications of his voluptuous appetites. Walking or rest he used indiscriminately, by night or by day. — These great Virtues were balanced by great Vices : Inhuman cruelty ; perfidy more ihaLn/fumCj' no truth, no faith, no regard to oaths, promises, or religion. The character of Alexander VI., to be found in Guicciardin, [Lib. i.] is pretty similar, but juster ; and is a proof, that even the moderns, where they speak naturally, hold the same language with the ancients. In this pope, says he, there was a singular capacity and judgment : admirable prudence ; a wonderful talent of persuasion ; and in all mo- mentous enterprises, a diligence and dexterity incredible. But these virtues were infinitely overbalanced by his vices ; no faith, no religion, insatiable avarice, exorbitant ambition, and a more than barbarous cruelty. Polybius, [Lib. xii.] reprehending Timaeus for his partiahty against Agathocles, whom he himself allows to be the most cruel and impious of all tyrants, says : if he took refuge in Syracuse, as asserted by that historian, flying the dirt and smoke, and toil, of his former profession of a potter ; and if, proceeding from such slender beginnings, he be- came master, in a little time, of all Sicily ; brought the Carthaginian state into the utmost danger ; and at last died in old age, and in pos- session of sovereign dignity : must he not be allowed something pro- digious and extraordinary, and to have possessed great talents and capacity for business and action ? His historian, therefore, ought not to have alone related what tended to his reproach and infamy ; but also what might redound to his Praise and Honour. In general, we may observe, that the distinction of voluntary or in- voluntary was little regarded by the ancients in their moral reasonings ; where they frequently treated the question as very doubtful, whether virtue could be taught or not ?* They justly considered, that cowardice, meanness, levity, anxiety, impatience, folly, and many other qualities of the mind, might appear ridiculous and deformed, contemptible and odious, though independent of the will. Nor could it be supposed, at all times, in every man's power to attain every kind of mental, more than of exterior beauty. And here there recurs the fourth reflection which I purposed to make, in suggesting the reason, why modern philosophers have often followed a course, in their moral inquiries, so different from that of the ancients. In later times, philosophy of all kinds, especially ethics, have been more closely united with theology than ever they were ob- served to be among the Heathens ; and as this latter science admits of no terms of composition, but bends every branch of knowledge to its own purpose, without much regard to the phenomena of nature, or * Vid. Plato in Menone, Seneca de etio tap. cap. 31. So also Horace, Viri»^m doctrina ^aret' naiurane donet, Epist. lib. i. ep. x8. ifuwJ^'nes Socraticus, Dia) ESSAYS BY DAVlt) HUM£. $61 to the unbiassed sentiments of the mind, hence reasoning, and even language, have been warped from their natural course, and distinc- tions have been endeavoured to be established, where the difference of the object was, in a manner, imperceptible. Philosophers, or rather divines under that disguise, treating all morals as on a like footingwith civil laws, guarded by the sanctions of reward and punishment, were necessarily led to render this circumstance, of or involuntary^ the foundation of their whole theory. Every one may employ terms in what sense he pleases : but this, in the meantime, must be allowed, that sentiments are every day experienced of blame and praise, which have objects beyond the dominion of the will or choice, and of which it behoves us, if not as moralists, as speculative philosophers at least, to give some satisfactory theory or explication. A blemish, a fault, a vice, a crime ; these expressions seem to denote different degrees of censure and disapprobation, which are however, all of them, at the bottom, pretty nearly of the same kind of species. The explication of one will easily lead us into a just concep- tion of the others ; and it is of greater consequence to attend to things than to verbal appellations. That we owe a duty to ourselves is con- fessed even in the most vulgar system of morals ; and it must be of consequence to examine that duty, in order to see, whether it bears any affinity to that which we owe to society. It is probable that the approbation, attending the observance of both, is of a similar nature, and arises from similar principles ; whatever appellation we may give to either of these excellencies. ADIALOGUE. \ My friend Palamedes, who is as great a rambler in his principles as in his person, and who has run over, by study and travel, almost every region of the intellectual and material world, surprised me lately with a:^ account of a nation, with whom, he told me, he had passed a con- siderable part of his life, and whom he found, in the main, a people extremely civilized and intelligent. There is a country, said he, in the world, called FOURLI, no matter for its longitude or latitude, whose inhabitants have ways of thinking, in many things, particularly in morals, diametrically opposite to ours. When I came among them, I found that I must submit to double pains ; first to learn the meaning of the terms in their language, and then to know the import of those terms, and the praise or blame at- 502 A t)lALOGUE.~MANN£kS AND MORALS IN FOUkLl. tached to them. After a word had been explained to me, and a cha* racter, which it expressed, had been described, I concluded that such an epithet must necessarily be the greatest reproach in the world ; and was extremely surprised to find one in a public company, apply it to a person, with whom he lived in the strictest intimacy and friendship. You fajtcy^ said I, one day, to an acquaintance, that Changuis is your mortal e7iemy : I love to extiitguish gzcarrels; and I must, therefore, tell you, that I heard him talk of you in the most obliging mamier. But to my great astonishment, when I repeated Changuis' words, though I had both remembered and understood them perfectly, I found, that they were taken for the most mortal affront, and that I had very innocently rendered the breach between these persons alto- gether irreparable. As it was my fortune to come among this people on a very advan- tageous footing, I was immediately introduced to the best company ; and being desired by Alcheic to live with him, I readily accepted of his invitation ; as I found him universally esteemed for his personal merit, and indeed regarded by every one in FOURLI as a perfect character. One evening he invited me, as an amusement, to bear him company in a serenade, which he intended to give to GULKI, with whom, he told me, he was extremely enamoured ; and I soon found that his taste was not singular : for we met many of his rivals, who had come on the same errand. I very naturally concluded, that this mistress of his must be one of the finest women in town ; and I already felt a secret inclination to see her, and be acquainted with her. But as the moon began to rise I was much surprised to find, that we were in the midst of the university where GULKI studied : and I was some- what ashamed for having attended my friend on such an errand. I was afterwards told, that Alcheic's choice of GULKI was very much approved of by all the good company in town ; and that it was expected, while he gratified his own passion, he would perform to that young man the same good office, which he had himself owed to Elcouf. It seems Alcheic had been very handsome in his youth, had been courted by many lovers ; but had bestowed his favours chiefly on the sage Elcouf ; to whom he was supposed to owe, in a great measure, the astonishing progress which he had made in philosophy and virtue. It gave me some surprise, that Alcheic's wife (who by-the-bye happened also to be his sister) was nowise scandalized at this species of infidelity. Much about the same time I discovered (for it was not attempted to be kept a secret from me or any body) that Alcheic was a murderer and a parricide, and had put to death an innocent person, the most nearly connected with him, and whom he was bound to protect and ESSAYS BY DAVID HUME. 503 defend by all the ties of nature and humanity. When I asked, with all the caution and deference imaginable, what was his motive foi this action ; he replied coolly, that he was not then so much at ease in his circumstances as he is at present, and that he had acted, in that par- ticular, by the advice of all his friends. Having heard Alcheic's virtue so extremely celebrated, I pretended to join in the general voice of acclamation, and only asked, by way of curiosity, as a stranger, which of all his noble actions was most highly applauded ; and I soon found, that all sentiments were united in giving the preference to the assassination of Usbek. This Usbek had been to the last moment Alcheic's intimate friend, had laid many high obligations upon him, had even saved his life on a certain occasion, and had, by his will, which was found after the murder, made him heir to a considerable part of his fortune. Alcheic, it seems, con- spired with about twenty or thirty more, most of them also USBEK's friends ; and falling altogether on that unhappy man, when he was not aware, they had torn him with a hundred wounds ; and given him that reward for all his past favours and obligations. USBEK, said the general voice of the people, had many great and good qualities : his very vices were shining, magnificent, and generous : but this action of Alcheic's sets him far above Usbek in the eyes of all judges of merit ; and is one of the noblest that ever perhaps the sun shone npon. Another part of Alcheic's conduct, which I also found highly ap- plauded, was his behaviour towards Calish, with whom he was joined in a project or undertaking of some importance. Calish, being a passionate man, gave ALCHEIC, one day, a sound drubbing ; which he took very patiently, waited the return of Calish's good humour, kept still a fair correspondence with him ; and by that means brought the aftair, in which they were joined, to a happy issue, and gained to him- self immortal honour by his remarkable temper and moderation. I have lately received a letter from a correspondent in Fourli, by which I learn, that, since my departure, Alcheic, falling into a bad state of health, has fairly hanged himself ; and has died universally regretted and applauded in that country. So virtuous and noble a life, says each FOURLIAIN, could not be better crowned than by so noble an end ; and Alcheic has proved by this, as well as by all his other actions, what was his constant principle during his life, and what he boasted of near his last moments, that a wise man is scarcely inferior to the great god, VlTZLI. This is the name of the supreme deity among the Fourliains. The notions of this people, continued Palamedes, are as extra- ordinary with regard to good-manners and sociableness, as with regard to morals. My friend Alcheic formed once a party for my entertain- ment, composed of all the prime wits and philosophers of FOURU ; 5o4 A DIALOGUE— ON FOURLI OR ATHENS. and pach of us brought his mess along with him to the place where we assembled. I observed one of them to be worse provided than the rest, and offered hmi a share of my mess, which happened to be a roasted pullet : and I could not but remark, that he and all the rest of the company smiled at my simplicity. I was told that Alcheic had once so much interest with his club as to prevail with them to eat in common, and that he had made use of an artifice for that purpose. He persuaded those, whom he observed to be worst provided, to offer their mess to the company ; after which, the others, who had brought more delicate fare, were ashamed not to make the same offer. This is regarded as so extraordinary an event, that it has since, as I learn, been recorded in the history of Alcheic's life, composed by one of the greatest geniuses of FOURLI. Pray, said I, Palamedes, when you were at FoURLi, did you also learn the art of turning your friends into ridicule, by telling them strange stories, and then laughing at them, if they beheved you 1 I assure you, replied he, had I been disposed to learn such a lesson, there was no place in the world more proper. My friend, so often mentioned, did nothing, from morning to night, but sneer, and banter, and rally ; and you could scarcely ever distinguish, whether he were in jest or earnest. But you think, then, that my story is improbable ; and that I have used, or rather abused the privilege of a traveller. To be sure, said I, you were but in jest. Such barbarous and savage manners are not only incompatible with a civilized, intelligent people, such as you said these were ; but are scarcely compatible with human nature. They exceed all we ever read of, among the Mingrelians and TOPINAMBOUES. Have a care, cried he, have a care ! You are not aware that you are speaking blasphemy, and are abusing your favourites, the Greeks, especially the Athenians, whom I have couched, all along, under these bizarre names I employed. If you consider aright, there is not one stroke of the foregoing character, which might not be found in the man of highest merit at Athens, without diminishing in the least from the brightness of his character. The amours of the Greeks, their marriages,"^ and the exposing of their children, cannot but strike you immediately. The death of Usbek is an exact counterpart to that of Caesar. All to a trifle, said I, interrupting him : you did not mention that Usbek was an usurper. I did not, replied he ; lest you should discover the parallel I aimed at. But even adding this circumstance, we should make no scruple, according to our sentiments of morals, to denominate Brutus and Cassius ungrateful traitors and assassins : though you know, that they • The laws of Athens allowed a man to marry his sister by the father. Solon's law forbidf paederasty to slaves, as being: an act of too great dignity for such mean persons ESSAYS BY DAVin HUME. are, perhaps, the highest characters of all antiquity ; and the Athenians erected statues to them ; which they placed near those of Harmodius and Aristogiton, their own deliverers. And if you think this circum- stance, which you mention, so material to absolve these patriots, I shall compensate it by another, not mentioned, which will equally aggravate their crime. A few days before the execution of their fatal purpose, they all swore fealty to Caesar ; and protesting to hold his person ever sacred, they touched the altar with those hands which they had already armed for his destruction.*^ I need not remind you of the famous and applauded story of Themistocles, and of his patience towards Eurybiades, the Spartan, his commanding officer, who, heated by debate, lifted his cane to him in a council of war (the same thing as if he had cudgelled him), Strike; cries the Athenian, strike; but hear me. You are too good a scholar not to discover the ironical Socrates and his Athenian club in , my last story ; and you will certainly ob- serve, that it is exactly copied from Xenophon, with a variation only of the names. [Mem. Soc. lib. iii. sub fine.] And I think I have fairly made it appear, that an Athenian man of merit might be such a one as with us would pass for incestuous, a parricide, an assassin, an ungrateful perjured traitor, and something else too abominable to be named ; not to mention his rusticity and ill-manners. And having lived in this manner, his death might be entirely suitable : he might conclude the scene by a desperate act of self-murder, and die with the most absurd blasphemies in his mouth. And notwithstanding all this, he shall have statues, if not altars, erected to his memory ; poems and orations shall be composed in his praise ; great sects shall be proud of calling them.selves by his name ; and the most distant pos- terity shall blindly continue their admiration : though were such a one to arise among themselves, they would justly regard him with horror and execration. I might have been aware, replied I, of your artifice. You seem to take pleasure in this topic : and are indeed the only man I ever knew, who was well acquainted with the ancients, and did not ex- tremely admire them. But instead of attacking their philosophy, their eloquence, or poetry, the usual subjects of controversy between us, you now seem to impeach their morals, and accuse them of igno- rance in a science, which is the only one, in my opinion, in which they are not surpassed by the moderns. Geometry, physics, astro- nomy, anatomy, botany, geography, navigation ; in these we justly claim the superiority : but what have we to oppose to their moralists 1 Your representation of things is fallacious. You have no indulgence for the manners and customs of different ages. Would you try a • Appian. Bell. Civ. lib. iii- Suetonius in vita Cxsaris. 5o6 A DIALOGUE.— MODERN DUELLISTS. Greek or Roman by the common law of England ? Here him de- fend himself by his own maxims ; and then pronounce. There are no manners so innocent or reasonable, but may be rendered odious or ridiculous, if measured by a standard, unknown to the persons ; especially, if you employ a little art or eloquence, in aggravating some circumstances, and extenuating others, as best suits the purpose of your discourse. All these artifices may easily be retorted on you. Could I inform the Athenians, for instance, that there was a nation, in which adultery, both active and passive, so to speak, was in the highest vogue and esteem : in which every man of education chose for his mistress a married woman, the wife, perhaps, of his friend and companion ; and valued himself upon these in- famous conquests, as much as if he had been several times a con- queror in boxing or wrestling at the Olympic games : in which every man also took a pride in his tameness and facility with regard to his own wife, and was glad to make friends or gain interest by allowing her to prostitute her charms ; and even, without any such motive, gave her full liberty and indulgence : I ask, what sentiments the Athenians would entertain of such a people ; they who never men- tioned the crime of adultery but in conjunction with robbery and poisoning ? Which would they admire most, the villainy or the mean- ness of such a conduct ? Should I add, that the same people were as proud of their slavery and dependence as the Athenians of their liberty ; and though a man among them were oppressed, disgraced, impoverished, insulted, or imprisoned by the tyrant, he would still regard it as the highest merit to love, serve, and obey him ; and even to die for his smallest glory or satisfaction : these noble Greeks would probably ask me, whether I spoke of a human society, or of some inferior, servile species. It was then I might inform my Athenian audience, that these people, however, wanted not spirit and bravery, If a man, says I, though their intimate friend, should throw out, in a private company, a raillery against them, nearly approaching any of those, with which your generals and demagogues every day regale each other, in the face of the whole city, they never can forgive him ; but in order to revenge themselves, they oblige him immediately to run them through the body, or be himself murdered. And if a man, who is an obsolute stranger to them, should desire them, at the peril of their own life, to cut the throat of their bosom-companion, they immediately obey, and think themselves highly obliged and honoured by the commission. These are their maxims of honour: this is their favourite morality. But though so ready to draw their swords against their friends and countrymen ; no disgrace, no infamy, no pain, no poverty, will ever engage these pc ople to turn the point of it against their own breast ESSAYS BY DAVID HUME. A man of rank would row in the galleys, would beg his bread, would languish in prison, would suffer any tortures ; and still preserve his wretched life. Rather than escape his enemies by a generous contempt of death, he would infamously receive the same death from his enemies, aggravated by their triumphant insults, and by the most exquisite sufferings. It is very usual too, continue I, among this people, to erect jails, where every art of plaguing and tormenting the unhappy prisoners is carefully studied and practised; and in these jails it is usual for a parent voluntarily to shut up several of his children ; in order that another child, whom he owns to have no greater or rather less merit than the rest, may enjoy his whole fortune, and wallow in every kind of voluptuousness and pleasure. Nothing so virtuous in their opinion as this barbarous partiality. But what is, more singular in this whimsical nation, say I to the Athenians, is, that a frolic of yours during the Saturnalia,"^ 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 with- out virtue, are their masters and sovereigns : these they reverence, praise, and magnify: to these they pay the highest deference and respect : 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 detested as an infraction of this rule. You need go no farther, replied Palamedes ; I can easily conjec- ture 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 ^vith 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, con- cerning 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 * The Greeks kept the feast of Saturn or Chronus, as well as the Romans. Lucian. Epist Satutn. 5o8 A DIALOGUE.— ATHENS AND FRANCE. 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 character of any in ancient and modern times ; and while the English flatter themselves that they resemble 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 between 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 examining 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 j-^/zz^ 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 Frenchman of merit certainly resemble each other '( Good sense, knowledge, wit, eloquence, humanity, fidelity, truth, justice, courage, temperance, con- stancy, 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, established principles of morals. The Greek loves, I care not to examine more particularly. 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 recommended, though absurdly, as the source of friendship, sympathy, mutual attachment, and fidelity [Plat. symp. p. 182.] 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. Had you asked a parent at Athens, why he bereaved 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. [Plut. de amore prolis, sub fine.] How is public liberty, the most valuable of all blessings, to be ESSAYS BY DAVID HUME. 509 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 security ? 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 sentiments in this particular. Again, to cast your eye on the picture which I have drawn ot 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. 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 him- self upon his courage, his sense of honour, his fidehty 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 te be forborn. Has the Deity permitted it ? A Frenchman allows, that death is perferable to pain and infamy. You see then, continued I, that the principles upon which men reason in morals are always the same ? though the conclusions 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 con- clusions can be corrected by sounder reasoning and larger experience. Though many ages have elapsed since the fall of Greece and Rome ; though many changes have arrived in religion, language, laws, and customs; none of these revolutions has ever produced any consider- able 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 :t 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 • Epist. lib. i. epist. 7. Also lib. i. ode 3. t Ode 28. Petronius (cap. 86.) joins both these circumstances as beautiea. 510 A DIALOGUE. — INFLUENCE OF DIFFERENT CUSTOMS. one, as a virtue or moral excellence, but on account of its being useful^ or ag7'eeable to a man himself ox X.o 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 differ- ences, ^therefore, in morals, may be reduced to this one general foundation, and be accounted for by the different views which people take of these circumstances. Sometimes men differ in their judgment about the usefulness 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 disorder, the military virtues should be more celebrated than the pacific, and attract more the admiration and attention of mankind. * How * usual is it,' says Tully, ^ to find Cimbrians, 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 Greeks 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 !' [Tusc. Quest, lib. ii.] 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 pro- cured 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 ro Englishman. We are not, therefore, to expect, either the same sentiments, or the same laws in Berne, which prevail in London or Paris. Difterent customs have also some influence as well as different utilities ; and by giving an early bias 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, ESSAYS BY DAVID HUME. 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 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 varia- tion 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 ora- tion of Lysias. [Orat. 33.] 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' sister with Oneter was entirely fraudulent, and that, notwithstanding 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 tnough mese 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. [In Oneterem.] 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 Clytemnestra, 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 tran- sactions and all management of church and state : and no man can expect success, who takes not care to obtain their good graces. Hen. 111., by incurring the displeasure of the fair, endangered his crown, and lost his life, as much as by his indulgence to heresy. Some people are inclined to think, that the best way of adjusting all differences, and of keeping the proper medium between the. agree^ able and the useful qualities of the sex, is to live with them after the manner of the Romans and the English (for the customs of these f wo najtions seem similar in this respect) ; that is, without gallan* SI2 A DIALOGUE. — ARTIFICIAL LIVES AND MANNERS. try*, and without jealousy. By a parity of reason, the customs of the Spaniards and of the ItaHans 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 some- what 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 will 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 naticral effects of such customs. For 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 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 Manner, the Ornaments, the Graces, 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, knowledge, and the other more solid and useful qualities of the human mind. What you insist on, replied Palamedes, may have some founda- tion, when you adhere to the maxims of common life and ordinary con- duct. 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 you reconcile the maxims, on which, in different ages and nations, these are founded ? What do you understand artificial lives and manners.'* said I. 1 explain myself, rephed he. You know, that religion had, in ancient * The gallantry here meant is that of amours and attachments, not that of complaisance^ vhich IF as much paid to the fair sex in England ur attention and curiosity ; and however extraordinary or surprising these objects in themselves, they are passed over, by the raw and ignorant multitude, without much examination or inquiry. 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 earth, his own organs and members ; and would be led to ask, whence this wonderful scene arose ? but a barbarous, necessitous 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 inquiries concerning the cause of those objects, to which, from his infancy, he has been gradually accustomed. On the contrary, the more regular and uniform, that is, the more perfect nature ap- pears, the more is he familiarized to it, and the less inclined to scrutinize and examine it. A monstous birth excites his curiosity, and is deemed a prodigy. U alc^rms him from its novelty ; an^ ESSAYS BY DAVID HUME. immediately sets him a trembling, and sacrificing, and praying. But an animal, complete in all its limbs and organs, is to him 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 question, 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 uninteresting, and which so much exceeds the bounds of his capacity. But farther, if men were at first led into the belief of one superior Being, by reasoning from the frame of nature, they could never possibly leave that belief, in order to embrace polytheism ; but the same principles of reason, which at first produced and diffused over man- kind, 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 specula- tive opinions ; nor is the knowledge of the one propagated 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, resemblance of the original truth on which it was founded. The frail memories of men, their love of exaggeration, their 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 Hercules, 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 preserve 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 impossible, that theism could, from reasoning, have been the primary religion of the human race, and have afterwards, by its corruption, given birth to polytheism, and to all the various superstitions of the hedthen world. Reason, when obvious, prevents these corruptions : SI? THE NATURAL HISTORY OF RELIGION. when abstiuse, it keeps the principles entirely from the knowledjje of the vulgar, who are alone liable to corrupt any principle or opinion. SECTION II. — ORIGIN OF POLYTHEISM. If we would, therefore, indulge our curiosity, in inquiring 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, intelligent 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 wisdom, might conspire in the contrivance and execution of one regular plan ; yet is this a merely arbitrary supposition, which, even if allowed possible, must be confessed neither to be supported by probability nor ne- cessity. 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 imagina- tion, without bestowing any satisfaction 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 supposition. ^ On the other hand, if, leaving the works of nature, we trace the footsteps of Invisible Power in the various and contrary events of human life, we are necessarily led into polytheism and to the ac- knowledgment of several limited and imperfect deities. Storms and tempests ruin what is nourished by the sun. The sun destroys what is fostered by the moisture of dews and rains. War may be favour- able 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 uncertamty, that, if we ESSAYS BY DAVID HUMEU 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 operations of the same god always certain and invariable. To.day ne protects : to-morrow he abandons us. 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 em- braced polytheism, the first ideas of religion arose, not from a con- templation of the works of nature, but from a concern with regard to the events of life, and from the 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 receives the prayers of seamen ; and Mars of warriors, The husbandman cultivates his field under the protection of Ceres ; and the merchant acknowledges the authority of Mercury. 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.* It must necessarily, indeed, be allowed, that, in order to carry men^s attention beyond the present course of things, or lead them into any inference concerning invisible intelHgent power, they must be actuated by some passion which prompts their thought and reflection, some motive which urges their first inquiry. But what passion shall we here have recourse to, for explaining an effect of such mighty consequence ? Not speculative curiosity, surely, or the pure love of truth. That motive is too refined for such gross apprehensions ; and would lead men into inquiries concerning the frame of nature, a subject too large and comprehensive for their narrow capacities. No passions, there- fore, can be supposed to work upon such barbarians, but the ordinary 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. Agitated by hopes and fears of this nature, especially the latter, men scrutinize, with a trembling curiosity, * FragilL et laboriosa mortalitas in partes ista digessit, infirmitatis suae memor, ut por- ' tionibus quisquis coleret, quo maxime indigeret.' Plin. lib. ii. cap. 7. So early as Hesiod's time there were 30,000 deities. Oper et Dier. lib. i. ver. 250. But the task to be performed by these seems still too great for their number. The provinces of the deities were so sub- divided, that there was even a god of Stieezing. A rut. ProbL sect 33, cap. 7. Jie THE NATURAL HISTORY OF RELIGION. the course of future causes, and examine the various and contrary events of human hfe. And in this disordered scene, with eyes still more disordered and astonished, they see the first obscure traces of aivmity. SECTION II. — 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 concealed 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 suspense 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 unexpected, and always unaccountable. These unknown causes^ then, become the constant /)bject of our hope and fear ; and while the passions are kept in per- petual alarm by an anxious expectation of the events, the imagination is equally employed in forming ideas of those powers, on which we have so entire a dependence. Could men anatomize nature, accord- ing 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 produced, about which they are so much concerned. But this philosophy exceeds the comprehension of the ignorant multitude, 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 consider these causes themselves, and the uncertainty of their operation, the less satisfaction do they meet with in their re- searches ; and, however unwilling, they must at last have abandoned so arduous an attempt, were it not for a propensity in human nature, which leads into a system, that gives them some satisfaction. There is an universal tendency among mankind to conceive all beings like themselves, and to transfer to every object those qualities with which they are familiarly acquainted, and of which they are inti- mately 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 prosopopceia 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, without ESSAYS BY DAVID HUME. 521 which they could neither be beautiful nor natural. Nor is a river-god or hamadryad always taken for a mere poetical or imaginary person- age ; but may sometimes enter into the real creed of the ignorant vulgar ; while each grove or field is represented as possessed of a particular gejihcs 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 imme- diately 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 increases in superstition ; 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 super- stitious apprehensions. The gods, says Coriolanus in Dionysius, [Lib. viii.] have an influence in every affair ; but above all in war ; where the event is so uncertain. All human life, especially before the insti- tution of order and good government, being subject to fortuitous accidents ; it is natural that susperstition should prevail every where in barbarous ages, and put men on the most earnest inquiry concern- ing 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 conceptions, 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 S22 THE NATURAL HISTORY OF RELIGION. 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 pre- vailed, and still prevails, among the greatest part of uninstructed mankind."^ 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 much oftener thrown on their knees by the melancholy than by the agreeable passions. Prosperity is easily received as 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 inclination to think of the unknown invisible regions. On the other hand, every disastrous accident alarms us, and sets us on inquiries 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 intelligent powers, on whom our fortune is supposed entirely to depend. No topic is more useful with all popular divines than to display the advantages of affliction, in bringing men to a due sense of reli- gion ; by subduing their confidence and sensuality, which, in times of prosperity, make them forgetful of a Divine Providence. Nor is this topic confined merely to modern religion. The ancients have also employed it. * Fortune has never liberally, without envy,' says a Greek historian, * bestowed an unmixed happiness on mankind ; but with all her gifts has ever conjoined some disastrous circumstance, in order to chastise men into a reverence for the gods, whom, in a con- tinued course of prosperity, they are apt to neglect and forget. [Dio- dorus Siculus lib. iii.] What age or period of life is the most addicted to superstition ? The weakest and most timid. What sex ? The same answer must be given. ' The leaders and examples of every kind of superstition,' says Strabo, [Lib. vii.] 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 ■* The following lines of Euripides are so much to the present purpose, that I cannot forbear quoting them. OvK ca-Tiv ouSev irKTTOv, ovt evdo^iUf Tapayfiov euridcuTes, ws ayy&XTia Our av KaXcos irpaaaovra ^t] irpa^eiu KUKOfS, '2,i^ ESSAYS BY DAVID HUME. 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 pubhc spirit, filial duty, temperance, or integrity ; the moral obligation, in our apprehension, 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 con- siders 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. In restoring a loan, or pay- ing 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 performed, where 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 en- gage him to such austerities. By these distinguished marks of devo- tion, he has now acquired the Divine favour ; and may expect, in recompense, protection and safety in this world, and eternal happiness in the next. Bomilcar, 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 prophecies. Those who undertake the most criminal and most dangerous enter^ prizes are coinmonly the most superstitious; as an ancient historian [Diod. Sic. lib. xv.] remarks on this occasion. Their devotion and spiritual 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;* which he never probably had dreamed of, had he remained a good citizen, and obedient to the laws of his country. SECT. XV.~GENERAL COROLLARY. Though the stupidity of men, barbarous and uninstructed, be so great, that they may not see a Sovereign Author in the more obvious works of nature to which they are so much familiarised ; 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 §ystem| we ♦ Cic. Catil. I SaUttst. de bcUp 552 THE NATURAL HISTORY OF RELIGION. must adopt, with the strongest conviction, the idea of some intelligent 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 contrarities 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; hap- piness and misery, wisdom and folly, virtue and vice. Nothing is pure and entirely of a piece. All advantages are attended with disadvan- tages. 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 melan- choly; the most flattering hopes make way for the severest disap- pointments. And, in general, no course of life has such safety (for happiness is not to be dreamed of) as the temperate and moderate, which maintains, as far as possible, a mediocrity, and a kind of in- sensibility, in every thing. The good, the great, the sublime, the ravishing, are found eminently in the genuine principle of theism. 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 Creator. What a noble privilege is it of human reason to attain the knowledge of the Supreme Being; and, from the visible works of nature, be enabled to infer so sublime a principle as its supreme Creator.^ 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? ESSAYS BY DAVID HUME. 5S3 OF" MIRACLES— PART 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 on the testimony of the apostles, who were eye witnesses to those miracles of our Saviour, by which He proved his divine mission. 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 imme- diate object of his senses. But a weaker evidence can never destroy a stronger ; and therefore, were the doctrine of the real presence ever so clearly revealed in Scripture, it were directly contrary to the rules of just reasoning to give our assent to it. It contradicts sense, though both the Scripture and tradition, on 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 solicitations. I flatter 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 super- stitious 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. Though experience be our only guide in reasoning concerning 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 December, 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 uncertainty, 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 554 OF MIRACLES. are found, in all countries and all ages, to have been constantly t>dn- joined 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 certainty to the lowest species of moral evidence. A wise man, therefore, proportions his belief to the evidence. 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 experiments : He considers which side is supported by the greater number of experiments : To that side he inclines, with doubt and hesitation ; and when at last he fixes his judgement, 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 expec- tation 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 opposite 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 observation 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 connection together, and that all the inferences which we can draw from one to another, are founded merely on our experience of their constant and regular conjunction ; it is evident^ that we ought not to make an exception to this maxim in favour of human testimony, whose connection with any event seems, in itself, as little necessary as any other. 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 falsehood : 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, or noted for false- hood and villany, has no manner of authority with us. ESSAYS BY DAVID HUME. 55$ And as the evidence, derived from witnesses and human testimony, is founded on past experience, so it varies with the experience, and is regarded either as 2. proof ox a probability^ 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 disputes, 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 unavoidable 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 circumstances 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 witnesses ; from the manner of their delivering their testimony ; or from the union of all these circum- stances. We entertain a suspicion concerning any matter of fact, when the witnesses contradict each other ; whea 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 connection which we perceive, ci priori, between testimony and reality, but because we are accustomed to find a con- formity between them. But when the fact attested is such a one as has seldom fallen under our 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 give's 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 contradiction there necessarily arises a counterpoise, and mutual destruction of belief and authority. / should not believe such a story we7 e it told me by Cato, was a proverbial saying in Rome, even during the lifetime of that philosophical 556 OF MIRACLES. patriot.* The incredibility of a fact, it was allowed, might invalidate so great an authority. The Indian prince, who refused to believe the first relations con- cerning 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.f But in order to increase the probability against the testimony of witnesses, let us suppose, that the fact which they affirm, instead of bemg only marvellous, is really miraculous ; and suppose also, that the testimony, considered apart and 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 possibly be imagined. Why is it more than probable, that all men must die ; that lead cannot of itself remain sus- pended 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 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, tl^ere is here a direct and full proof from the nature of the fact against the * Plutarch in vita Catonis. t No Indian, it is evident, could have experience that water did not freeze in cold climates. This is placing nature in a situation quite unknown to him ; and it is impossible for him to tell d priori what will result from it. It is making a new experiment, the consequence of which is always uncertain. One may sometimes conjecture from analogy what will follow ; but still this is but conjecture. And it must be confessed, that, in the present case of freezing, the event follows contrary to the rules of analogy, and is such as a rational Indian would not look for. The operations of cold upon water are not gradual, according to the degrees of cold ; but whenever it comes to the freezing point, the water passes in a moment from the utmost liquidity to perfect hardness. Such an event, therefore, may be denominated extraordinary ^ and requires a pretty strong testimony, to render it credible to people in a warm climate ; But still it is not miraculous, nor contrary to uniform experience of the course of nature, in cases where all the circumstances are the same. The inhabitants of Sumatra have always seen water fluid in their own climate, and the freezing of their rivers ought to be deemed a prodigy : But they never saw water in Muscovy during the winter; a^d therefore theyc^lWOt »-€;£ison?ibJy be posjtive whaj would there be the consequence. I ESSAVS BV DAVID HUME. $57 existence of any miracle ; nor can such a proof be destroyed, or the miracle rendered credible, but by an opposite proof, which is superior* The plain consequence is (and it is a general maxim worthy of our attention), " That no testimony is sufficient to establish a miracle, unless the testimony be of such a kind, that its falsehood would be more miraculous than the fact which it endeavours to establish : And even in that case there is a 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 superiority 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. OF MIRACLES— PART II. 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 show, that we have been a great deal too liberal in our concession, and that there never was a miraculous event established on so full an evidence. For, firsts There is not to be found, in all history, any miracle 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 • Sometimes an event may not, in itself y seem to be contrary to the laws of nature, and yet if it were real, it might, by reason of some circumstances, be denominated a miracle ; because, in fact, it is contrary to these laws. Thus, if a person, claiming a divine authority, should command a sick person to be well, a healthful man to fall down dead, the clouds to pour rain, the winds to blow ; in short, should order many natural events, which immediately follow upon his command ; these might justly be esteemed miracles, because they are really, in this case, contrary to the laws of nature. For if any suspicion remain, that the event and command concurred by accident, there is no miracle and no transgression of the laws of nature. If this suspicion be removed, there is evidently a miracle, and a transgression of these laws ; because nothing can be more contrary to nature than that the voice or command of a man should heav such an influence. A miracle may be accurately defined, a transgression of a law of nature by a particular volition of the Deity ^ or by the interposition of some invisible agent. A miracle may either be discoverable by men or not. This alters not its nature and essence. The raising of a house or ship into the air is a visible miracle. The raising of a feather, when the wind wants ever so little of a force requisite for that purpose, is as real a miracle, though not ■o sensible with regard to us. 5S8 OF MIRACLES, in the eyes of mankind, as to have a great deal to lose in case Of thelf 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 : All which circumstances are requisite to give us a full assurance in the testimony of men. Secondly^ We may observe in human nature a principle, which, if strictly examined, will be found to diminish extremely the assurance which we might, from human testimony, have in any kind of prodigy. The maxim, by which we commonly conduct ourselves in our reason- ings, 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 observations : 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 surprise 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 informed, 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 travellers received, their descriptions of sea and land monsters, their relations of wonderful adventures, strange men, and uncouth manners 1 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 pretensions 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 to canvass his evidence : What judgment they have, they renounce by principle, in these sublime and mysterious subjects : Or if they were ever so willing to employ it, passion and a heated imagination, disturb the regularity of its operations. Their credulity increases his impudence ; and his impudence overpowers their credulity. Eloquence, when at its highest pitch, leaves little room for reason or ESSAYS BV DAVIt) HUME. 559 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 aTully 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. The many instances of forged miracles and prophecies, and super- natural events, which, in all ages, have either been detected by contrary evidence, or which detect themselves by their absurdity, prove suf- ficiently the strong propensity of 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 propagating 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 confirmed by some greater evidence. Do not the same passions, and others still stronger, inchne the generality of mankind to believe and report, with the greatest vehemence and assurance, all religious miracles ? Thirdly^ It forms a strong presumption against all supernatural 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, that people will be found to have received them from ignorant and barbarous ancestors, who transmitted them with that inviolable sanction and authority which always attend received 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 disjointed, and every element per- forms its operations in a different manner from what it does at present. Battles, revolutions, 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 interml^led with them. But as the former grow thinner every page, in propG«.lion 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 mar- vellous ; and that though this inclination may at intervals receive a check from sense and learning, it can never be thoroughly extirpated from human nature. OP MIRACLES. // is strange^ a judicious reader is apt to say, upon the perusal of these wonderfiil historians, that such prodigious 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 now of that 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 false prophet Alexander, who, though now forgotten, was once so famous, to lay the first scene of his impos- tures 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 iUatter at all worth inquiry, have no opportunity of receiving better mformation. The stories come magnified to them by a hundred cir- cumstances. Fools are industrious in propagating the imposture ; while the wise and learned are contented, in general, to deride its absurdity, without informing themselves of the particular facts by which it may be distinctly refuted. And thus the impostor above- mentioned was enabled to proceed, from his ignorant Paphlagonians, to the enlisting of votaries, even among the Grecian philosophers, and men of the most eminent rank and distinction in Rome : Nay, could engage the attention of that sage emperor Marcus Aurelius ; so far as to make him trust the success of a military 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 coun- tries, than if the first scene had been laid in a city renowned for arts and knowledge. The most ignorant and barbarous of these barbarians carry the report abroad. None of their countrymen have a large corre- spondence, or sufficient credit and authority to contradict and beat down the delusion. Men's inclination 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 empire, their sense of the matter ; which, being supported by so great authority, and dis- played by all the force of reason and eloquence, had entirely opened tne eyes of mankind It is true, Lucian, passing by chance through Paphlagonia, had an opportunity of performing this good office. But ESSAYS BY DAVID HUME, though much to be wished, it does not always happen, that every Alexander meets with a Lucian, ready to expose and detect his impostures. I may add as a fourth reason, which diminishes the authority of prodigies, that there is no testimony for any, even those whicl\ have not been expressly detected, that is not opposed by an infinite number of witnesses, so that not only the miracle destroys the credit of testimony, but the testimony destroys itself. To make this the better understood, let us consider, that, in matters of religion, whatever is different is contrary ; and that it is impossible the religions of Ancient Rcme, 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 indirectly, to overthrow every other system. In destroying a rival system, it like- wise destroys the credit of those miracles on which that system was established ; so that all the prodigies 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 cer- tainty as they have for the miracle they relate. The 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 Alex- andria 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 seen m that fine historian where every circumstance seems to add weight to the testimony, and might be displayed at large with all the force of argument and eloquence, if any one were now concerned to enforce the evidence of that exploded and idolatrous * WxsX. lib. V. cap. 8. Suetonius gives nearly the sains account in vita ^'^eso, ■ 36 562 OF MIRACLES. superstition. The gravity, solidity, age, and probity ot so gieat an emperor, who, through the whole course of his life, conversed in a familiar manner with his friends and courtiers, and never affected those extraordinary airs of divinity assumed by Alexander and Demetrius. The historian, a contemporary 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 persons, from whose authority he related the miracle, of established 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 interfiiere^ 7iunc quoque memorant^ postquam 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 false- hood. 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 persecution of his enemies, he passed through Saragossa, the capital of Arragon, where he was shown, in the tathedral, a man, who had served seven years as a door-keeper, and was well known to everybody in town that had ever paid his devotions nt 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 ; 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 believers of the miracle. Here the relater was also contemporary to the sup- posed prodigy, of an incredulous and libertine character, as well as of great genius ; the miracle of so singular a nature as could scarcely admit of a counterfeit, and the witnesses very numerous, and all of them in a manner spectators of the fact to which they gave their testimony. And what adds mightily to the force of the evidence, and may double our surprise on this occasion, is, that the cardinal himself, who relates the story, seems not to give any credit to it, and con- sequently, cannot be suspected of any concurrence in the holy fraud. He considered justly, that it was not requisite, in order to reject a fact of this nature, to be able accurately to disprove the testimony, and to trace its falsehood, 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 ESSAYS BY DAVID HUME. of mankind. He therefore concluded, like a just reasoner, that sucb an evidence carried falsehood upon the very face of it ; and that miracle, supported by any human testimony, was more properly 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 everywhere talked of as the usual effects of that holy sepulchre. But what is more extraordinary, many of the miracles were immediately proved upon the spot, before judges of unquestioned integrity, attested 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 dispersed everywhere ; 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."^ * This book was written by Mons. Montgeron, counsellor or judge of the parliament of Paris, a man of figure and character, who was also a martyr to the cause, and is now said to be somewhere in a dungeon on account of his book. There is another book in three volumes {Recueil des Miracles de FAbbe Paris) giving an account of many of these miracles, and accompanied with prefatory discourses, which are very well written. There runs, however, 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 of 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 conducted the pen of the inspired writers. If these writers, indeed, were to be considered 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 papers, inserted in the 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 pro- moted to the see by the court. Yet twenty-two rectors or cures of Paris, with infinite earnest- ness, 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 discredict these miracles in one instance, that of Mademoi- selle 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 wit- nesses, one hundred 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 affair 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. Heraut, the lieutenant de Police, whose vigilance, penetration, activity, and extensive intelligence, ha v e 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 immediately, and examined the witnesses and subjects of them : But never could reach anything satisfactory against them. In the case of Mademoiselle Thibaut hi5 sent the famous De Sylva to examine her ; who«;e evidence ig very curious. The physician declares, that it was impossible she could have been S64 OF MIRACLES. Where shall we find such a number of circumstances, agreeing to the corroboration of one fact ? And what have we to oppose to such a crowd of witnesses, but 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 Caesarean 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 man- kind, at this distance, have been able to determine between them ? The contrariety is equally strong between the miracles related by Herodotus or Plutarch, and those delivered by Mariana, Bede, or any monkish historian. The wise lend a very academic faith to every report which favours so ill as was proved by witnesses ; because it was impossible she could, in so short a time, have recovered so pcrlectly 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 insufficiency 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 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 Jericho, 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 Chatiilon, a duke and peer of France, of the highest rank and family, gives evidence of a miraculous cure performed 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 strictness of life and manners than the secular clergy of France, particularly the rectors or cures of Paris, who bear testimony to these impostures. The learning, genius, and probity of the gentlemen, 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 extraordinary capacity, is well known. The famous Racine gives an account of this 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 Tournay, 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 prejudiced against the Port-Royal, sent her own physician to examine the miracle, who returned an absolute convert. In short, the supernatural cure was so incon- testible, 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 sagacious and powerful antagonists, and must have hastened the rum of the contrivers. Our divines, who can build up a formidable castle from such despicable materials ; what a prodi- gious 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, Amaud, 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 composed the holy crown, which, &c. ESSAYS BY DAVID HUM£. S6S 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 encounter 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 himself, and entered seriously into the delusion ; whoever 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 avidwn genus auriai- larum^ the gazing populace, receive greedily, without examination, whatever soothes 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 pheno- menon is obvious ; and we judge in conformity to regular experience and observation, when we account for it by the known and natural principles of credulity and delusion. And shall we, rather than have recourse to so natural a solution, allow of a miraculous violation of the most established laws of nature 1 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 judg- ment which they can employ, find themselves often at a loss to dis- tinguish 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 ; especially when men's passions have taken part on either side. In the infancy of new religions, the wise and learned commonly 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 witnesses, 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 knowing, 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 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 * Lucret. 506 OF MIRACLES. 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 subtract 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 subtraction, 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. I beg the limitations here made may be remarked, when I say, that a miracle can never be proved, so as to be the foundation 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 January, 1600 there was a total darkness over the whole earth for eight days : Sup- pose that the tradition of this extraordinary event is sti^l strong and lively among the people : That all travellers, who return from foreign countries, bring us accounts of the same tradition, without the least variation or contradiction : It is evident, that our present philosophers, instead of doubting the fact, ought to receive it as certain, and ought to search for the causes whence it might be derived. The decay, cor- ruption, 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 England should agree, that 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 acknowledged 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 confess that I should be surprised at the concurrence 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 impossibility, of deceiving the world in an affair of such consequence. The wisdom and solid judgment of that renowned queen, with the little or no ESSAYS BY DAVID HUM^ 567 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 circumstance would be a full proof of a cheat and sufficient with all men of sense, not only to make them reject ihr fact, but even reject it without farther examination. Though the Being, to 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. Lord Bacon seems to have embraced the same principles of reason- ing. " We ought (says he) to make a collection or particular history of all monsters and prodigious births or productions, and, in a word, of everything 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, everything that is to be found in the writers of natural magic or alchymy, 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 dangerous 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 related in Scripture ; and not to lose ourselves in too wide a field, let us confine ourselves to such as we find in the Pentatetcch^ which we shall examine according to the principles of these pretended Christians, not as the word or testimony of God himself, but as the production of a mere human writer and * Nov, Org. lib. ii. aph, 29. $68 OP A PARTICULAR PROVIDENCE AND OF A FUTURE STATE. historian. Here then we are first to consider a book, presented to us by a barbarous and ignorant people, written in an age when they were still more barbarous, and in all probability long after the facts which it relates, corroborated by no concurring testimony, and resembling those fabulous accounts which every nation gives of its origin. Upon read- ing 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 present : Of our fall from that state : Of the age of man extended 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 prodigies the most astonishing imaginable : 1 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 authority 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 with- out 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 con- tinued miracle in his own person, which subverts all the principles of his understanding, and gives him a determination to believe what is most contrary to custom and experience. A PARTICULAR PROVIDENCE AND OF A FUTURE STATE. 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 inquiry, 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 ESSAYS BY DAVID HUME. 569 privileges, and chiefly flourishes from ^l .e free opposition of sentiments and argumentation, received its fir. oirth in an age and country of freedom and toleration, and wa:- 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 bigoted jealousy with which the present 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 established religion : And the public encouragementf of pensions and salaries was afforded equally, by the wisest of all the Roman emperors,! 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 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 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 persecutor. Speculative dogmas of rehgion, the present occasions 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 com- posed their sacred tenets of such tales chiefly as were the objects of traditional 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 ques- tion, 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 consequently a providence and a future state, seem to loosen in a great measure the ties of morality, and may be supposed, for that reason, pernicious to the peace of civil society. Luciani ffvYi^r. %i \amO»t, t Id. UiVOVX^. ♦ Id. & Dia y/0 OF A PARTICULAR PROVIDENCE AND OF A FUTURE STATE. I know, replied he, that in fact these persecutions never, in any age, proceeded from calm reason, or from experience of the pernicious con- sequences 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 informers of those days, he could easily have defended his cause, and proved his principles of philosophy to be as salutary 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 extraordinary 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 Epicurus for a moment, and make you stand for the Athenian people, and shall deliver you such a harangue as 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 inquirers. Your deliberations, which of right should be directed to questions of public good, and the interest of the commonwealth, are diverted to the disquisitions of speculative philosophy ; and these magnificent, but perhaps fruitless inquiries, 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 ot worlds. We shall only inquire how far such questions concern the pubhc 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 inquiry. 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 ESSAYS BY DAVID HUME. 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- reasoning, 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. You then, who are my accusers, have acknowledged, that the chief or sole 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 Sillow, that this is an argument drawn from effects to causes. From the order of the work, you infer, that there must have been project 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 phenomena 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 pro- portion 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 counterbalancing 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 license of conjecture, and arbitrarily suppose the existence of qualities and energies without reason or authority. The same rule holds, whether the cause assigned be brute uncon- scious 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 reasoning, 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 work- man to be possessed 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 inference concerning any other design or performance. Such qualities must be somewhat 572 OF A PARTICULAR PROVIDENCE AND OF A FUTURE STATE. beyond what is merely requisite for producing the effect which we examine. Allowing, therefore, the gods to be the authors of the existence or order of the universe ; it follows, that they possess that precise degree of power, intelligence, and benevolence, which appears in their work- manship ; but nothing farther can ever be proved, except we call in the assistance of exaggeration 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 hypothesis ; 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 administration 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 attributes which we ascribe to that deity. The knowledge of the cause being derived solely from the effect, they must be exactly adjusted to each other ; and the one can never refer to anything farther, or be the foundation of any new inference and con- clusion. 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 the 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 I talk of a golden or silver age, which preceded the present state of vice and misery, I hear them with attention and with reverence. But when philosophers, who pretend to neglect authority, and to cultivate reason, hold the same discourse, I pay them not, I own, the sauie obsequious submission and pious deference. I ask, who carried them into the celestial regions ; who admitted them into the council 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 oi. the steps or by the gradual ascent of reason, and by drawing inferences ESSAYS BY DAVID HUME. 573 from effects to causes, I still insist, that they have aided the 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 for- getting that they have no reason to ascribe to these celestial beings any perfection or any attribute, but what can be found in the present world. Hence all the fruitless industry to account for the ill appearances 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 phenomena of the universe : But no just reasoner will ever 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 allowable for you to draw an inference concerning the existence of these causes. In such complicated and sublime subjects, every one should be indulged in the hberty of conjecture and argument. But here you ought to rest. If you come backward, and arguing from your inferred causes, conclude, that any other fact has existed, or will exist, in the course of nature, which may serve as a fuller display of particular attributes ; I must admonish you, that you have departed 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 you could never, with tolerable sense or propriety, add anything 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 gardens ? 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 ? 574 OF A PARTICULAR PROVIDENCE AND OF A FUTURE STATE. I deny a providence, you say, and supreme governor 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 rpen to every one's inquiry and examination. I 'i.cknowledge, 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 pasr 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 sup- positions 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 conduct and deportment in life, is still the same. It is still open for me, as well as you, to regulate my behaviour by my experience of past events. And if you affirm, that, while a Divine providence is allowed, and a supreme distributive justice in the universe, I ought to expect some more particular reward of the good, and p -Tiishment of the bad, beyond the ordinary course of events ; I here t'md 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 that 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 anything 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 Ufe 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 derive it from the present phenomena, it would never point to anything farther, but must be exactly adjusted to chem. That the divinity may possibly be endowed with a.Uributes, which we have never seen exerted ; may be governed by principles of action, which we cannot discover to ESSAYS BY DAVID HUME. be satisfied : All this will freely be allowed. But still this is mere possibility and hypothesis. We never can have reason to i^ifer 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 justice, in our sense of it, to the gods. If you hold a medium between affirmation and negation, by saying, that the justice 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 so far as you see it at present exert itself. Thus I bring the dispute, O 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 those 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 pre- serves order in the universe, we embrace a principle, which is both uncertain and useless. It is uncertain ; because the subject hes 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 inference ; 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, sur- rounded 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 return again, from this inferred cause, to infer new additions to the effect, and conclude, that the building would soon be finished, and receive all the further improvements which art could bestow upon it ? If you 57^ OF A PARTICULAR PROVIDENCE AND OF A FUTURE STATE. saw upon the sea-shore the print of one human foot, you would con- clude, 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 completion 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 hufnan art and contrivance, it is allowable to advance from the effect to the cause, and returning back from the cause, to form new inferences con- cerning the effect, and examine the alterations which it has probably undergone, 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 inclinations have a certain connection 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 proceeded 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 experience and observation. But did we know man only from the single work or production which we examine, it were impossible for us to argue in this manner ; because our knowledge of all the qualities, which we ascribe to him, being in that case derived from the production, it is impossible they could point to anything 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 adapted to it, by which it was produced : But the print of a human foot proves likewise, from our other experience, that there was probably another foot, which also left its impression, 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 argument 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 productions, and is a ESSAYS BY DAVID HUME, S7 single Being in the universe, not comprehended under any species o genus, from whose experienced attributes or qualities, we cau. I) analogy, infer any attribute or quality in Him. As the universe show^ wisdom and goodness, we infer wisdom and goodness. As it shows a particular degree of these perfections, we infer a particular degree oi them, precisely adapted to the effect which we examine. But farther attributes or farther degrees of the same attributes, we can never be authorized to infer or suppose, by any rules of just reasoning. Now, without some such license of supposition, it is impossible for us to argue from the cause, or infer any alteration in the effect- beyond what has immediately fallen under our observation. Greater good produced by this Being must still prove a greater degree of goodness : A more im- partial 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 oi nature ; and consequently, being entirely unsupported by any reason or argument, can never be admitted but as mere conjecture and hypothesis.* The great source of our mistake in this subject, and of the unbounded license of conjecture which we indulge, is, that we tacitly consider our- selves 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 situation, 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 different, and so much superior. In human naturCj there is a certain experienced coherence of designs and inclinations ; so that when, from any fact, we have discovered one intention of any man, it may often be reasonable, from experience, to infer another, and draw a long chain of conclusions concerning 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 * In general, it may, I think, be established as a maxim, that where any cause is known only by its particular effects, it must be impossible to infer any new effects from thai caus° ; since the qualities, which are requisite to produce these new effects along with the former, must either be different, or superior, or of more extensive operation, than those which simply prodaced the effect, whence alone the cause is supposed to be known to us. We can never, therefore, have any reason to suppose the existence of these quaUties. To say, that the new effects proceed only from a continuation of the same energy, which is already known from the first effects, will not remove the difificulty. For even granting this to be the case (which can leldom be supposed), the very continuation and exertion of a like energy (for it is impossible It can be absolutely the same); I say, this exertion of a like energy, in a different period of ipace and time, is a very arbitrary supposition, and what there cannot possibly be any traces of in the effects, from which all our Icnowledge of the cause is origmally derived. Let the inferred cause be exactly proportioned (as it should be) to the known effect ; and it is impossible that it can possess ary qualities, from which new or different eflects* can bf i^ferrecU 37 578 OF A PARTICULAR PROVIDENCE AND OP A FUTURE STATE. 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 perfec- tion. 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 religion, 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 thc:;€ which are furnished by reflections on common life. No new fact can ever be inferred from the religious hypothesis ; no event foreseen or foretold ; no reward or punishment expected or dreaded beyond what is already known by practice and observation ; so that my apology for Epicurus will still appear solid and satisfactory : nor have the political interests of society any connection 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 conchide,that religious 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 you do, but draw many consequences from the belief of a Divine Existence, and suppose that the Deity will 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 rs no enthusiasm among philosophers ; their doctrines are not very alluring to the people ; and no restraint can be put upon their reasonings, but what must be of dangerous consequence to the sciences, and even to the state, by paving the way for persecution and oppression in points where the generality of mankind are more deeply interested and concerned. £ut there occurs to me (continued I), with regard to your main topic, ESSAYS BY DAVID HUME. 579 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 similarity with any other cause or object that has ever fallen under our observation, ll is only when two species of objects are found to be constantly con- joined, that we can infer the 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 conjecture 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 resemblance 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 consequences 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. OF SUPERSTITION AND ENTHUSIASM. That the corruption of the best things produces the worst, is grown into a maxim, and is commonly proved, among other instances, by the pernicious effects of superstition and enthusiasm^ the corruptions of true religion. These two species of false religion, though both pernicious, are yet of a very different, and even of a contrary nature. The mind of man is subject to certain unaccountable terrors and apprehensions, pro- ceeding either from the unhappy situation of private or public affairs, from ill health, from a gloomy and melancholy disposition, or from the concurrence of all these circumstances. In such a state of mind, infinite unknown evils are dreaded from unknown agents ; and where real objects of terror are wanting, the soul, active to its own prejudice, and fostering its predominant inclination, hnds imaginary ones, to whose power and malevolence it sets no limits. As these enemies are S8o OF SUPERSTITION AND ENTHUSIASM. entirely invisible and unknown, the methods taken to appease them are equally unaccountable, and consist in ceremonies, observances, mortifications, sacrifices, presents, or in any practice, however absurd or frivolous, which either folly or knavery recommends to a blind and terrified credulity. Weakness, fear, melancholy, together with igno- rance, are, therefore, the true sources of Superstition. But the mind of man is also subject to an unaccountable elevation and presumption, arising from prosperous success, from luxuriant health, from strong spirits, or from a bold and confident disposition. In such a state of mind, the imagination swells with great, but con- fused conceptions, to which no sublunary beauties or enjoyments can correspond. Everything mortal and perishable vanishes as unworthy of attention. And a full range is given to the fancy in the invisible regions or world of spirits, where the soul is at liberty to indulge itself in every imagination which may best suit its present taste and disposi- tion. Hence arise raptures, transports, and surprising flights of fancy ; and, confidence and presumption still increasing, these raptures, being altogether unaccountable, and seeming quite beyond the reach of our ordinary faculties, are attributed to the immediate inspiration of that Divine Being, who is the object of devotion. In a little time, the inspired person comes to regard himself as a distinguished favourite of the Divinity ; and when this frenzy once takes place, which is the summit of enthusiasm, every whimsy is consecrated : Human reason, and even morality, are rejected as fallacious guides : And the fanatic madman delivers himself over, blindly and without reserve, to the supposed illapses of the spirit, and to inspiration from above. Hope, pride, presumption, a warm imagination, together with ignorance, are therefore the true sources of Enthusiasm. These two species of false religion might afford occasion to many speculations ; but I shall confine myself, at present, to a few reflec- tions concerning their different influence on government and society. My first reflection is. That superstition is favourable to priestly power ^ and enthusiasm not less or rather more contrary to it than sound reason and philosophy. As superstition is founded on fear, sorrow, and a depression of spirits, it represents the m.an to himself in such despicable colours, that he appears unworthy, in his own eyes, of approaching the Divine presence, and naturally has recourse to any other person, whose sanctity of life, or perhaps impudence and cunning, have made him be supposed more favoured by the Divinity. To him the superstitious entrust their devotions : To his care they recommend their prayers, petitions, and sacrifices : And by his means they hope to render their addresses acceptable to their incensed Deity. Hence the origin of Priests, who may justly be regarded as an invention of a timorous and abject superstition, which, ever diffi- dent of itself^ dares not oifer up its devotions^ but ignorantly thinks ESSAYS BY DAVID HUME, to recommend itself to the Divinity by the mediation of his supposed friends and servants. As superstition is a considerable ingredient in almost all religions, even the most fanatical, there being nothing bu^ philosophy able entirely to conquer these unaccountable terrors ; hence it proceeds, that in almost every sect of religion there are priests to be found : But the stronger mixture there is of superstition, the higher is the authority of the priesthood. On the other hand, it may be observed, that all enthusiasts have been free from the yoke of ecclesiastics, and have expressed great independence in their devotion ; with a contempt of forms, ceremo- nies, and traditions. The Quakers are the most egregious, though, at the same time, the most innocent enthusiasts that have yet been known ; and are, perhaps, the only sect that have never admitted priests amongst them. The Ijidependenis^ of all the English sectaries, approach nearest to the Quakers in fanaticism, and in their freedom from priestly bondage. The Presbyterians follow after, at an equal distance in both particulars. In short, this observation is founded in experien.ce ; and will also appear to be founded in reason, if we con- sider, that, as enthusiasm arises from a presumptuous pride and confidence, it thinks itself sufficiently qualified to approach the Divinity without any human mediator. Its rapturous devotions are so fervent, that it even rnid.^ixi^^xX.^^ii actually approach Him by the way of contemplation and inward converse : which makes it neglect all those outward ceremonies and observances, to which the assistance of the priests appears so requisite in the eyes of their supersitious votaries. The fanatic consecrates himself, and bestows on his own person a sacred character, much superior to what forms and ceremonious institutions can confer on any other. My second reflection with regard to these species of false religion is, That religions^ which partake of enthusiasin^ are^ on their first rise^ more furious and violent than those which partake of s7ipc7'stition j ^ut in a little time become more gentle and moderate^ The violence of this species of religion, when excited by novelty, and animated by opposition, appears from numberless instances ; of the Anabaptists ir Germany, the Camisars in France, the Levellers and other fanatics in England, and the Covenanters in Scotland. Enthusiasm being founded on strong spirits, and a presumptuous boldness of character, it naturally begets the most extreme resolutions ; especially after it rises to that height as to inspire the deluded fanatic with the opinion of divine illuminations, and with a contempt for the common rules oi reason, morality, and prudence. It is thus enthusiasm produces the most cruel disorders in human society ; but its fury is like that of thunder and tempest, which exhaust themselves in a little time, and leave the air more calm and serene than before. When the first fire of enthusiasm is spent, men naturally, 582 OF SUPERSTITION AND ENTHUSIASM. in all fanatical sects, sink into the greatest remissness and coolness in sacred matters ; there being no body of men among them, endowed with sufficient authority, whose interest is concerned to support the religious spirit : No rites, no ceremonies, no holy observances, which may enter into the common train of life, and preserve the sacred principles from oblivion. Superstition, on the contrary, steals in gradually and insensibly ; renders men tame and submissive ; is acceptable to the magistrate, and seems inoffensive to the people : Till at last the priest, having firmly established his authority, becomes the tyrant and disturber of human society, by his endless contentions, persecutions, and religious wars. How smoothly did the Romish church advance in her acquisition of power ? But into what dismal convulsions did she throw all Europe, in order to maintain it ? On the other hand, our sectaries, who were formerly such dangerous bigots, are now become very free reasoners ; and the Quakers seem to approach nearly the only regular body of Deists in the universe, the Literati^ or the disciples of Confucius in China.* My third observation on this head is. That stcperstition is an e^iemy to civil liberty^ and enthtisiasin a friend to it. As superstition groans under the dominion of priests, and enthusiasm is destructive of all ecclesiastical power, this sufficiently accounts for the present observa- tion. Not to mention, that enthusiasm, being the infirmity of bold and ambitious tempers, is naturally accompanied with a spirit of liberty ; as superstition, on the contrary, renders men tame and abject, and fits them for slavery. Wc learn from English history, that during the civil wars the Independents and Deists^ though the most opposite in their religious principles ; yet were united in their political ones, and were alike passionate for a commonwealth. And since the origin of Whig and Tory^ the leaders of the Whigs have either been Deists or professed Latititdinarians in their* principles ; that is, friends to toleration, and indifferent to any particular sect of Christians : While the sectaries, who have all a strong tincture of enthusiasm, have always, without exception, concurred with that party in defence of civil liberty. The resemblance in their superstitions long united the high-church Tories and the Roma7i Catholics^ in support of preroga- tive and kingly power ; though experience of the tolerating spirit of the Whigs seems of late to have reconciled the Catholics to that party. The Molinists and Jansenists in France have a thousand unintel- ligible disputes, which are not worthy the reflection of a man of sense : But what principally distinguishes these tv/o sects, and alone merits at- tention, is the different spirit of their religion. The Molinists^ conducted by the Jesuits^ are great friends to superstition, rigid observers o< • Th^ Chines^ Literati have no priests or ecclesiastical establishment. ESSAYS BY DAVID HUME. external forms and ceremonies, and devoted to the authority of the priests, and to tradition. The Jaiiseiiists are enthusiasts, and zealous promoters of the passionate devotion, and of the inward hfe, Httle influenced by authority; and, in a word, but half Catholics. The consequences are exactly conformable to the foregoing reasoning. The Jesinls are the tyrants of the people, and the slaves of the court : And the Jansettists preserve alive the small sparks of the love of liberty, which are to be found in the French nation. These Essays are generally omitted in popular editions of the writings of Hume. But they are so characteristic of his mode of reasoning, and his subtle method of suggesting mora than he chooses to say openly, that the student is deprived by these omissions of very im- portant material for estinjating the intellectual character of the writer, and understanding his method of reasoning. In the essay on " Miracles," tor instance, the concluding sentences con- tain a double meaning, — word, which, in their literal rendering, would seem to express the highest appreciation of faith, as an cnlightener of the understanding, partially concealing a contemptuous sneer at the believer in revealed religion. In the essay on "A Particular Providence and a Future State," he puts arguments which are evidently his own into the mouth of a supposed opponent, in discussion who, of course, has a very easy dialectical victory. The publication of these Essays has, no doubt, been avoided, from a fear that the great literary talent of the writer should mislead the judgment of the reader, and so induce scepti- cism, if not open infidelity. But it seems to be a better course to allow the arguments to be fairly brought into daylight, as their enforced suppression might induce a suspicion that they were really unanswerable, and thereby weaken the very cause we may be most anxious to sustain. We advise our readers carefully to examine the arguments of the writer, and not hurriedly to take for granted all that he assumes to be universally admitted as axioms. His leading arguments are — first, that all our knowledge is dtrived from experience, and that, so derived, it is a sufficient test by which to try evidence ; secondly, that we should inquire whether it is more probable that a certain remarkable and unprecedented event occurred, or that a number of people, on whose testimony we are asked to receive it, were deceived ; and thirdly that the laws of nature are fixed and unchangeable, and therefore a miracle, or act performed in opposition to those laws, is simply impossible. In relation to the first basis on which Hume relies, it should be remembered that before we can depend upon our experimental knowledge as an absolute and unerring test, it must be proved that it is a complete knowledge, having cognizance of all conceivable possibilities, that nothing remains to be known, which might make one side of the evidence stronger and the other weaker. As to the second point, the relative probability of any given event, and of deception on the part of witnesses, that involves possi- bility as well as probability. The first question is, was the event deposed to one possible to have taken place ? If possible, it must have been in accordance with some power exerted — a power of which we know the existence, but not the nature— and, as the power if in existence may be exerted at one time as well as another, thequestionof probability disappears, and the investiga- tion is linked to the inquiry whether the event did or did not occur. The third basis on which Hume relies, that the laws of nature alford the strongest argument against miracles, we will state in his own words. **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 possibly be imagined." In other words, a miracle it an impossibility, because it is a miracle — exactly what it is described to be. The truth is that " unalterable experience " is an absurdity in terms. Our experience, and the knowledge gained from it to-day may, and no doubt will, be altered by the fresh knowledge we acquire from the new experience of to-morrow. Again, our experience has not *' established " these laws. We rely on those laws which we have ourselves defined, as the best explanation we can find of phenomena ; and as these phenomena recur with regularity, we assume that the laws are in constant operation, but we cannot logically infer that they will remain so. Hume was well acquainted with physical science as known in his day. Had he iived a few years longer he might, from the knowledge, for instance, of the correlation of electricity and magnetism, and other cognate facts, have seen reason to modify his conception of " unalterable laws." A somewhat remarkable contradiction in the course of Hume's argument remains to be noted. He assumes that the ready belief accorded to stories of miracles is due to the fact that they were related to the ignorant and unintellectual — " What a TuUy or a Demosthenes 5S4 OF SUPERSTITION AND ENTHUSIASM. could scarcely effect over a Roman or Athenian audience, every Capuchin, every itinerant or station try teacher can perform over the generahty of mankind;" — " marvellous relations .\'hich, being treated with scorn by all the wise and judicious, have at last been abandoned {ven by the vulgar." Yet he afterwards tells us that the impostor, Alexandria, who pretended \o witness most marvellous things in Paphlagonia, found believers among the Grecian philosophers, men of the most eminent rank and distinction in Rome, and that even "the kag Emperor Marcus Aurelius trusted the success of a military expedition to his delusive prophecies." We should remember also, what Hume appears to have ignored, that our belief in the tmth of Christianity does not necessarily depend upon a belief in the recorded miracles, which are not the foundation of the edifice. They were sometimes arguments addressed to individuals to show the power of Jesus, they were more frequently acts of mercy and kindness. Spiritual religion, faith, hope, and charity, have other bases ; and even if Christ had not healed the sick and raised the dead. He would have been none the less the Divine Teacher and the Saviour. As wc have before noted, the dialogue form of the essay on a Divine Providence allows the speak r to h ive all his own way in the argument, and as both sides are not heard, we may rv oroperly decline to give the judgment ia his favour he appears to desire. INDEX. Abaskment, not the natural consequence of Polytheism, 539. Abstraction, what it is, 91, Note. Achians, employed Force in Forming their League, 275. — their Number, 255. Addison, Joseph, quoted, 51, 390. /^schynes quoted, 193, 260. — Socratos quoted, 500. /Etolians, their Number, 255. Agathocles, the Tyrant, his Cruelty, Note, 240, 308. Agreeableness, a Source of Merit, 456. — to Ourself, 456. — to Others, 463. Agriculture, how best en- couraged, 153, 154, 246. Alcoran, its Ethics, 135. Alexander the Great, his Saying to Parmenio, 457. — his Toleration, 537. — his Emulation of Bacchus, 539. Alexandria, its Size and Number of Inhabitants, 258. Allegiance, its Obligation, whence, 279, Allegory has naturally place in Polytheism, 527. Anacreon quoted, 509. Analogies, the sometimes slight, have Influence, in and risprudence, 424, 493. Anaxagoras, Ju- first Theist, and the first accused of Atheism, 526, Note. Angels, modern, the Deities of the Philosophers, 527. Animals, their Reason, 371. Antioch, its Size, 258. Antipater, the Cyrcnian, his Saying, 103. Appian Alexandrinus quoted, 193, 220, 233, 236, 238, 240, 243, 249, 264, 505. Arnobiusquoted,524,529. Ariosto,quoted, 52; his Character, 137. Aristides the Sophist quoted, Note, 257 Aristocracy, Polish Venetian, in what respects different, 15. Aristophanes not impious according to the deas of Antiquity, 524. — quoted, 230. Aristotle quoted, 126, 228, 230, 261, 498, 519, Note. Armstrong, Dr. quoted, 498. Arrian quoted, 74, 207, 245, 537, 540. Atheism, whether possible, 374. Athenseus quoted, 251, 252, 253, Athens, 54, 151, 193, 242, 251, 252, 274. Athenians, on what they chiefly valued themselves, 462. Athenian Man of IMerit, 501. A.ugustine (Saint) his Dogmatism, 544. Au- gustus, his Impiety mixed with Super- stition, 525. — his gross Superstition, 544. his Age compared with that of Camillus, 152. Aunoi, Madame, quoted, iii. Au- relius, Marcus, his Theism, 527 ; his Su- perstition, 546. Austria, House of. Causes of its Decay, 202. Authority of Teachers, useful to check it, 70 Bacon, quoted, 36, 52, 123, 157, 437, 530. Balance of Power, 25, 199. — Of Trade, 184. — Of Property, 25, 32. Banks and Paper Credit, whether advantageous, 168, 189. Bartoli's Plans of ancient Buildings, 257. Bayle quoted, 539- Beauty, why the object of Pride, 393. Be- lipf^ wh&t 337. Bellarmine, Cardinal, his Saying, 539, Benevolence, 49. — Dis- interested zeal, 484. — its kinds, 486. — a Virtue, 411. — from its Utility, 413. — from its Agreeableness, 461. Benti- voglio quoted, 124, Berkeley, Dr., 90, Note. — quoted, 123. Berne, the Canton of, its Treasure. 193- Boccace quoted, 104. Boileau quoted, 458. Bolingbroke, Lord, quoted, 21, 30. Bou- lainvilliers (^uo€ed, 532. Brasidas, Sayisg of, 540. Brumoy, 524. Caesar quoted, 236, 264, — Note, 524. — his Account of the Number slaughtered in his Wars, 249, Note. Cambyses, his Extravagance, 541. Capitolinus quoted, 282. Carlisle, Earl of, quoted, 77. Cartes, Des, quoted, T45, 351, Note. Carthage, its Size and Numbei of its Inhabitants, 261. Carthaginians, their human Sacri- fices, 269, Note. Catholics led into Ab- surdities, 542. Cato de re rustica, quoted, 231. — of Utica, his speech to Csesar, 161. Cause and Effect its Ideas, whence, 322,327; Its Definition, Note, 354. Causes moral, how far they contribute to national Characters, 117. — physical, how far, 123. Causation, a Reason of Association, 321, 339. Cavalier Party, 43. Cervantes, his Merit, 202. - - quoted, 113. Chaifte, what, 342 ; its influence in Society, 64. Chaisctcrs, national, 117. Charles XII. of Sweden, his Character, 462. Chastity, its Merit, whence, 431. Cheer- fulness, its Merit, whence, 456. China, its Excellence and Defects, 70. Cicero quoted, 16, 53, 56, 57, 58, 103, 206, 227, 239, 245, 251, 257, 266, 268, Note, 275, 412, 414, 440, 510, 543, 544, 547, 552. City, Reasons which limit the greatness of every City, 261. Cleanliness, its Merit, 466. Clergy, why no Friends to Liberty, 41. Cold, greater in ancient Times, 261, 262. Colonesi and Orsini, Parties in Modern Rome, 36. Columella quoted, 183, 226, 229, 232, 233, 263, 266, 223, Note. Comitia centuriata et tributa, their different Powers, 220. Commerce, its Advantages. 151, foreign, its advantages, 155, 156. Commonwealth, perfect Idea of it, 298. Companionable Qualities, 463. Compari- son, its Effect, 46, necessary* to forming the taste, 142. Comte, Pere le, quoted, 524. Conde, Prince of, a Saying of his, 69. Congreve, his Character, 114. Con- junctival frequent, constant, the only cir- cumst(_25Ce from which we know cause and effect, 350. 352, 355. Connection neces- sary, our idea of it, 343. Constantinc, Emperor, his Innovations, 206. Constitu- cion, British, 21, 33. Contiguity, a Reason of Association, 319, 337. Contrfic^, 586 INDEX. Original, ayo. Conventions, whether the Source of Justice, 49. Conviction, strongest, but not more general, in Theism, 541, 542, Corn distributed in Rome, 257, 258. Corneille, Character of, 114. Corpus juris civilis quoted, 239, 253, Note. Cou- rage, how far National, 125. — merit, whence, 459. Country Party, 22, 41, 42. Creation or Formation of the World enters not into the primitive Religion, 527. Credit, public, its Abuses, 207, 208. Curtius, Quintus, quoted, 126, 207, 258, Note, 523, 529. Custom or Habit the source of experimental Reasoning, 333. — the great Guide of Life, 334. Cust05is, some remarkable ones, 217. Cyrus boasts of his Drunkenness, 126. Darius Hystaspes records his Ability in drinking on his Tombstone, 126. Data- mes, the only Barbarian, a General, 163. Decency, its Merit, whence, 466. Debt, public, its advantages, 209. — its dis- advantages, 209, 210. Delicacy of Passion, how hurtful, 9. — of Taste, how advan- tageous, 9, 10, II, what it is, 139, whence its Merit, 462. Democracy without a Representative, hurtful, 14, 15. Demos- thenes his Character, 60, quoted, 60, 193, 200, 217, 218, 227, 230, 236, 245, 252, 261, Note, 242. Desire, Aversion, 394. Diodorus Siculus his Character, 221, Note. — Superstitious, yet not a Theist, 525. -- Quoted, 126, 152, 193, 200, 236, 237, 240, 241, 242, 244, 245, 246, 248, 250, 251, 254, 255, 258, 262, Note, 264, Note, 269, Note, 308, 414, 522, 524, 525, 550, 552. Diogenes Laertius, quoted, 248, 529. — the Cynic, his Character, 222, 223, Dion Casi>ius, quoted, 184. Dionysius Haly- carnassaeus quoted, 215, Note, 113, 521, 527. — the Tyrant, his Massacres, 240. — his Army, 152, 250. Discretion, its Merit, whence, 460. Division of Pro- perty, useful, 237. Dom.estic Situation of Ancients and Moderns, 225, 226. Dorians and lonians, 125. Dryden, John, quoted, 118, 543, Dubos, Abbe, quoted, 128, 187, 261, 267. Eclectics, the, a Sect, 71. Egyptians, why Persecutors, 537. Egyptian Religion, a Difficulty in it, 544. — and Jewish resembling, 543. Eloquence, the value of, 55. Empires, great, are destructive, 204. Energy, its Idea, 344, 345. English, their national Character, whence, 122. Envy, whence it arises, 399. Epaminondas, his Character, 453, Note. Epictetus, his Idea of Virtue, 499, hi:, superstition, 546. Epicurus, why he took himself to Philosophy, 526. Ergastula, very frequent anciently, 226, Euclid treats not of the Beauty of the Circle. 97. Euripides quoted, 522. Europe, its Advantages from its Situation, 71. Evidence, natural and moral, appear to be of the same kind, 367. Exchange helps to keep the Balance of Trade, 186, — difficult to know, whether for or against » Nation, 199. Exiles io Greece, how numerous, 240. Experience, Source of all our Reasoning with regard to Fact, 323. — why we reason from Experience, 327, 329. — often the same with what we call Reason, 334, Note, the Exposing of Children, 234, approved of by Seneca, ih'd. Fact, Matters of, one Object of Reason, 322. Factions, violent and bloody, among the Ancients, 239. Fairies modern, equivalent to the vulgar Deities of An- tiquity, 523. Fame, why desired, 394. Fenelon, Abp., the Ethics of, 134. Flattery, its influence in Religion, 531. Florus quoted, 233. Flux and Reflux of Theism and Polytheism, 535. Fontaine, la, Mons., quoted, 512. Fonte- nelle. Censure of his Pastorals, 115. — quoted, it, 103, 129, 487, 524. French Manof Merit, 455. — their first ques- tion with regard to a stranger, 463. Fre- gusi and Adorni, Parties of Genoa, 36. Frugality, whence, 449. Funding, the dangerous Tendency of, 208. Gallantry of Civility, 75. Gamesters and Sailors why superstitious, 521. Gaul, Number of its Inhabitants, 264. Gee, Mr., quoted, 184. General Rules, their influence, 299, 431. Genoa, its Go- vernment and Bank, 20. Getes, immortal, their Faith, 534. Georgius Lcontinus, his Eloquence, 60, Note. Golden Age not susceptible of Justice, 419. Good Sense, how far essential to Taste, 143. Government, origin of, 26. Per- petual Struggle between Authority and Liberty in all Governments, 27. Violent Innovations dangerous to Government. 277. Sometimes prove happy in the Issue, instanced in the Reign of Henry VIII. and Charles I., 278. Greece, its Advantages from its Situation, 71, its whole Military Force, 256. — Num- bers of its Inhabitants, 263. Grotius quoted, 492, Note. Guelf and Ghibelline Parties, 37. Guicciar- din quoted, 162. Gustavus Vasa, 41. Hardouin, Pere, 258. Harrington's Oceana censured, 300. — quoted, 32, 52, 299. Heliogabalus, a conic Stone, 529. Henry IV. of France, his Character, 462. — a Saying of his, 216, Note, Henry the IVthand Vllth of England, their Title, 275. Helvetia, its Inhabitants, 265. — Hereditary Right, how important, 292. Herer.y, Appellation rests commonly on the Side of Reason : Examples, 540. Hero-worship, 528. Herodian quoted, 258, 265. Herodotus quoted, 245, 251, 255, 459> 524, 534, 537. Hertha, Goddess of the Saxons, 530. Hesiod, not a Theist properly speaking, 525. — Inconsistency m his Theology, 533. — quoted, 231, 5-5, 528, 533, 519, Note. « Hiero, King of Syracuse, his Policy, 20.?, Hirtius quoted, 240. Homer his character, 138. His Ethics, 459, Inconsistency of his Theology, 533, quoted, 231, 524, 528, 533. Homer and INDEX. Hcsiod, canonical Books of ancient Pa- ganism, 525, Honesty the best Policy 477. Hope and Fear defended, 385, 386, Horace quoted, 52, 66, 74, 78, 114, 147, 229, 261, 546, Note, 388, 438, 500, 509. Hostis, its Signification in old Latin, 152, Human Life, general Idea of it, 107. — Nature, its dignity, 45. Humility, its Causes, 390. Husbandmen, what Pro- portion they bear to Manufacturers, 151. Hutchinson, Mr. quoted, 214. Hyde de Religione veterum Persarum, quoted, 524, 537. Ideas, their Association, 319, 337. ^ — Their Origin, 316. Idolatry, draws its Origin from Polytheism, 528. Ignorance of Causes were the Origin of Polytheism, 520. Immaculate Conception, a popular Opinion, 532. Impressions, what, 316. Incest, whence its Crime, 431. Industry, its Merit, whence, 449. Instructions to Members, 25. Interest, private, how far the foundation of Government, 18, public, ibid. Interest, its Lowness, whence, 177, useful to society, 180. lonians and Dorians, Tribes of Greeks, 125. Iphicrates, a Saying of his, 465. Irish, their Idea of Merit, 459. Isocrates quoted, 230, 241, 242, Italians, Cause of their Effeminacy, 163. Italy, ancient and modern, the Number of its Inhabitants, 266. Joy, Grief, explained, 385, Note. Julian quoted, 249. Justice, Source of its Merit, 416, — farther explained, 489. Justin, quoted, 256, 266. Justinian quoted, 78. Juvenal quoted, 74, 124, 233, 262, 267. Lampridus quoted, 248. Laws of the Twelve Tables, 66. Laws of Justice, whence derived, 422. — Of Nature, 429. Louis XIV. Numbers of his Armies, 162. Liberty and Necessity, a Dispute of Words, 356. Liberty, civil, its Advantages, 50, 66, 67. Liberty of the Press, why pecu- liar to Great Britain, 12, 13. Lipsius, Justus, quoted, 231. Livy, a sincere Religionist, quoted, 21, 37, 121, 152, 193, 198, 236, 240, 246, 499, 549. Locke, Mr., quoted, 52, 283, 341, 346, 389, 3i9,Note, 351, Note. Longinus quoted, 57, 59, 457, 524. Lovestein Party in Holland, 41. Love and Hatred, whence, 398. Lucan quoted, 233. Lucian quoted, 104, 251, Note 108, Note, 451, 507, 524, 546, 549. Lucretius, his Character, 114, quoted, 528. Luxury, its different Senses, 159, its advantages, 160, 161, its Disadvantages, 165, 166. Luxurious Ages most happy, 159, 161, most virtuous, i6i. Lysias, Genius of his Eloquence, 62, quoted, 239, 240, 245, 249, 251, 252, 254. Machiavel, his Reflection on Christianity, 539, quoted, 18, 19, 50, 146, 300, 449, 542. Magians, their Faith, 533. Maillet, Mon- sieur, his Account of E^^pt, quoted, 233, 263. Malice, whence it is derived, 399. Mandeville, Dr. quoted, 141. Manilius quoted, 524. Martial quoted, 229, 233, 267, Mary, Virgin, became a deity among the Catholics, 532. Massacres, ancient^ enumerated from Diodorus Siculus, 240, Note. Mathematics, their Foundation, 380, Note, their Advantages, 343. Mau- rice, Prince of Orange, hiis Saying, 465. Melon, Monsieur, quoted, 151, 171, Note. • Memory, its Merit, whence derived, 451.^ Menander quoted, 118, Note. Merit, personal, how the Olsject of Pride, 391. — Delineated, 467. Metaphysics, Science of, 311, 312. Mine, Thine, 424. Mixed Affections, 388. Modesty, whence its Merit, 463. Moliere, 78. Monarchy, elective, hereditary, which preferable, 16. Monarchy and - Republic, their advantages and disadvan- tages with regard to the Arts, 72, 73. Money, its continued Increase advan- tageous, 169. _ Its Diffusion advantageous, 169. Montaigne quoted, 499. Monte- squieu quoted, 224, 267, 425, Note. Monu- mentum Ancyrianum quoted, 257. Morals, their Standard, 134. — Not fluctuating, 509. Moral Causes have chief Influence on Populousness, 225. Muscovites, their National Manners, 77. Nature, State of, described, 419. imagi nary, 921, Note. Natural, in what sense Justice is natural, 492, Note. Navigation, ancient, how imperfect, 527. Necessity, its Definition, 357. Negroes, their Character, 123, Note Nepos, Cor- nelius, quoted, 230. Neri and Bianchi, Parties in Florence, 36. Newton, Sir L, his Rule of philosophizing, 429. — , Locke, Clarke, Arians and Socinians, 341, Note. Nicholas, Saint, became a Deity among the the Muscovites, 532. Nisus, or strong Endeavour, not the Origin of the idea of Power, 340, Note. Northern Nations, their swarms were no proof of more Populousness, 264. Obedience, passive, 285, Obligation, inte- rested, to Virtue, 474 Olympiodorus quoted, 258 Opinion, Public, the real Foundation of Government, 23. Orange, Family of, their Partizans, 41. Oratoribus, Dialog, de, quoted, 124. Ostracism, Athenain, Petalysm, Syracusan, character of, 208. Ovid quoted, 65, 74, 326, 262, 263, 524, 525, Painters, modern, unhappy in their Sub- jects, 1-33. Paper Credit and Banks, whether advantageous, 168, 189, 202, Parliament, how far it should be inde- pendent, 30. Parnel, Dr., his Character as a Writer, 116. Parties in General, 36, real, 38. — of Great Britain, 40. Pascal, his Character, 513. Passions, their kinds, 385, their Objections and Causes, 290. Paterculus quoted, 193, 249, 266. Pathetic and Sublime, 462. Pausanius quoted, 255. Pay, proportion existing between Officers and Soldiers in ancient Army, 236. Pericles, his eloquence, 62, Peripatetics, their Mediums, 446. Persecution, whence 588 INDEX. derived, 39, 40, naturally attends the Principle of Unity of God, 537, Persia, ancient, whether possessed of an Aris- tocracy, 308. Personify, to, natural, and the Origin of Polytheism, 520. Petrarch, quoted, 230. Petronius, 229, 262, 509 Philip of Macedon, his Character in Demos- thenes, 459. — , his Occupation in the In- fo nal Regions, 104. Philip II. of Spain, 54. Philosophy, the two Kinds of it, the ob- vious and abstruse, 309. Physical Causes, small Influence of, on Populousness, 514. Pindar, his Scholiast, quoted, 192. Plato, quoted, 50, 207, 251, 283, 420, Note, 526, Note. Plautus, quoted, 252. Pliny the Elder quoted, 77, 131, 175, 193, 232, 259, 260, 518, 39, Note, 337, Note, 257, Note, 519, Note, 536, Note. — tbe Younger, his house, 257, quoted, 77, yS3, 527. Plutarch quoted, 74. 75. 102. 103. lio, 126, 169, 184, 207, 216, 217, 218, 220, 230, 233, 234, 237, 239, 240, 244, 249, 250, 268, 412, 442, 458, 508, 527, 537, 539, 549. — a Passage of his examined, 267. Politeness, whence its Merit, 463. PoHtics, a Science. 14. Political Customs of Ancients and Moderns compared, 234. Pollia and Papiria, Roman Tribes, their Animosity, 36. Polybius quoted, 17, 74, 175, 194, 201, 202, 236, 249, 255, 262, 263, 275. 435, 450, 498, 500, 31, Note, 152, Note. Polygamy, its Disadvantages, 107. Polytheism, the primitive Religion, 518, its Origin, 524. Pompey, his Supersti- tion, 544. Pope, Mr., his Character, 114, quoted, 14, 102, 112, 308. Power, what its Idea, 345, 355, Note. Practice, how useful to Taste, 141. Preju- dice, how hurtful to Taste, 142. Pres- byterians, their character, 41. Presence, real, 542. Pressing Seamen, 222. Priest, his Character, 117. Prior, Mr., quoted, 81. Pride, whence it arises, 390. Proba- bility, what, 341. Promise, what, and whence its Obligation ; not the Origin of Government, 272. Proof, what, 341. Property, its Equality impracticable, 423, defended, 425. — why the Source of Pride, 394. Protestant Succession, its Advantages and Disadvantages, 292. Provinces, under what Government were they most oppressed, 16. Pyrrhus, his Saying of the Romans. 163. Quintilian quoted, 54, 59, ri6, 441, 465, 546. 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By Thomas Carlyle. With an Introduction by Frederick Harrison. PROMETHEUS BOUND, AND OTHER POEMS. By Elizabeth Barrett Browning. With an Introduction by Alice Meynell. BELLS AND POMEGRANATES, AND OTHER POEMS. By Robert Browning. With an Introduction by Thos, J. Wise. BELLS AND POMEGRANATES. {Semtd Series.) By Robert Browning. CRANFORD. By Mrs. Gaskell. With an Introduction by W. Robertson Nicoll, LL.D. THE OPIUM EATER. By Thomas de Quincey. With an Introduction by Richard le Gallienne. THE AUTOCRAT OF THE BREAKFAST TABLE. By Oliver Wendell Holmes. With an Introduction by Andrew Lang. London: WARD, LOCK & CO., Limited, Salisbury Square, E.C. THE Minerva Library (NEW SERIES.) Large crown Svo, art Imen, extra gilt^fiUly Illitstrated^ 2s. Volume I. A FAMOUS WORK, NOW FOR THE FIRST TIME ISSUED AT A POPUIAR PRICE. Missionary Travels and Researches in SOUTH AFRICA. Including a sketch of six- teen years' residence in the Interior of Africa, and a journey from the Cape of Good Hope to Loanda on the West Coast ; thence across the Continent, down the River Zambesi, to the Eastern Ocean. With Portrait and full-page Plates. By David Livingstone, ll.d., d.cl. FOR the first time the possession of the above famous work is placed within the means of everybody. The public is sure to avail itself of this opportunity, for never was there a time when the subjects touched upon, and the countries visited by this great traveller, were more full of interest to the intelligent reader. Dr. Livingstone possessed wonderful power of observation, and a most retentive memory. Everything he saw is described in this fascinating volume, and, as a result, we get a picture of South Africa — the country, the people, their habits and customs, the wild animals, the vegetable and mineral pro- ducts, &c. — which is as fresh now, and as full of interest, as when it was first written. The book possesses wonderful interest as the record of the achievements of the pioneer of modern African exploration, and as a faithful and minute record of the affairs, customs, and people of the Africa of forty years ago. Beyond this, the book has a fascination and value of its own, as the auto- biography of a great and good man, who made the names of Christian and Englishman honoured wherever he went. The book is in fact the history of his life's work, and how much pains and labour have been put into it may be imagined by his own statement, that he ** would rather cross the African Continent than undertake to write another book." 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