fflm ■I ^m,r f Hft/*f K»! m SI ■ "■' JiHi illli IBB ffdBRrS SB — ■ ■•■.■"■ ■ ;*v :.'''■•■.''»■ ' , % ■cT- ,^V A, : ^ ^ / <: %. A A~ - 8 « ^b , * - ° N c « * 'S ^ ■ ♦ % V W < ^ IB. " »* C^ ^ y lOO. 0^ J * * «£ ' ^ o ^ v* u"* * c5 ^ ^ '' * 8 THE Ethics of Hobbes AS CONTAINED IN Selections from his Works \ \ WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY E. HERSHEY SNEATH, Ph.D. ASSISTANT PROFESSOR OF PHILOSOPHY IN YALE UNIVERSITY BOSTON, U.S. GINN & COMPANY, PUB] We atbensettm JJress 1898 2nd COPY/"* C ^Sfi^ £0i 1898. VV^I, 5620 Copyright, 1898, by E. HERSHEY SNEATH ALL RIGHTS RESERVED PREFACE The ethical and political philosophy of Hobbes are so intimately related that they cannot really be separated. In consequence of this, the extracts from his writings, which form the major part of this volume, have been chosen with reference to a study of both. To this end Parts I. and II. of Leviathan, and Chapters VI. and VII. of De Corpore Politico, have been selected. The extracts from the De Corpore Politico deal with the main subject discussed in Part III. of Leviathan, but in a much more summary manner ; hence the substitution. The book thus constructed is designed for use in classes in the History of Ethics and the History of Political Science, where these subjects are studied according to the method contemplated by the "Series" to which this book belongs. Portions of Part I. of Leviathan, which deal with the Psychology and Logic of Hobbes, have been retained for the purpose of adapting the book also for use in courses in the History of Philosophy. Chapters I.-IX. deal chiefly with these sub- jects, and may be omitted by the student who is merely interested in the ethical and political speculations of Hobbes, especially since the psychological basis of these speculations is mainly contained in the chapters following. The text of this volume is based on Sir Wm. Molesworth's VI EDITOR'S PROSPECTUS. prevailed in the past. Instruction in the History of Ethics, like instruction in the History of Philosophy, has largely been based on text-books or lectures giving expositions of, and information about, the various systems. Such methods, although serviceable, are not as stimulating and helpful as those which put the student in direct contact with the text of the author, enabling him to study the system itself rather than to study about the system. Undoubtedly the best plan would be to have the student read the entire work of the author, but all teachers will probably concede the impracticability of this in undergraduate work, if a num- ber of systems is to be studied, which is usually desirable. Only inferior, in my judgment, to the best, but impracticable plan is the plan of the "Ethical Series," — to study selec- tions or extracts from the original works, embodying the substance of the system. The " Series " makes provision for such work in a convenient and comparatively inexpen- sive manner. That the plan of instruction on which the " Series" is based is in the interest of better scholarship, I am assured by my own experience, and by that of many other teachers in the leading colleges of the country, with whom I have communicated. It is with the earnest hope of facilitating instruction and study in the History of Ethics that this Series is issued. E. HERSHEY SNEATH. Yale University. TABLE OF CONTENTS PAGE Bibliography . . . . xi Introduction i I. Biographical Sketch i II. Exposition of the Ethics of Hobbes . . .11 III. Considerations in Studying the Ethics of Hobbes -35 IV. Influence of the Speculations of Hobbes . 39 Selections . . 45 FROM "LEVIATHAN." PART I. — OF MAN. CHAPTER I. Of Sense 47 II. Of Imagination . 49 III. Of the Consequence or Train of Imaginations 55 IV. Of Speech 61 V. Of Reason and Science 71 VI. Of the Interior Beginnings of Voluntary Motions; commonly called the Passions; and the Speeches by which they are expressed . 78 VII. Of the Ends, or Resolutions of Discourse . 90 VIII. Of the Virtues commonly called Intellectual, and their contrary Defects .... 93 IX. Of the Several Subjects of Knowledge . . 106 X. Of Power, Worth, Dignity, Honour, and Worthiness * > 107 I2 6 vin TABLE OF CONTENTS. CHAPTER PAGE XI. Of the difference of Manners . . . .118 XII. Of Religion XIII. Of the Natural Condition of Mankind as con- cerning their Felicity, and Misery . . 139 XIV. Of the First and Second Natural Laws, and of Contracts 145 XV. Of other Laws of Nature 157 XVI. Of Persons, Authors, and Things Personated . 171 - PART II. — OF COMMONWEALTH. XVII. Of the Causes, Generation, and Definition of a Commonwealth 177 XVIII. Of the Rights of Sovereigns by Institution . 182 XIX. Of the Several Kinds of Commonwealth by Institution, and of Succession to the Sover- eign Power 192 XX. Of Dominion Paternal, and Despotical . . 203 XXI. Of the Liberty of Subjects 213 XXII. Of Systems Subject, Political, and Private . 224 XXIII. Of the Public Ministers of Sovereign Power . 238 XXIV. Of the Nutrition, and Procreation of a Com- monwealth 243 XXV. Of Counsel 250 XXVI. Of Civil Laws 259 XXVII. Of Crimes, Excuses, and Extenuations . . 281 XXVIII. Of Punishments and Rewards .... 298 XXIX. Of those things that weaken, or tend to the Dissolution of a Commonwealth . . . 307 XXX. Of the Office of the Sovereign Representative 319 XXXI. Of the Kingdom of God by Nature . . . 336 TABLE OF CONTENTS. IX FROM "DE CORPORE POLITICO." PART II. CHAPTER PAGE VI. A Difficulty concerning Absolute Subjection to Man, arising from our Absolute Subjection to God Almighty, Propounded, etc 353 VII. The Question Propounded, Who are the Magis- trates in the Kingdom of Christ, etc. 369 BIBLIOGRAPHY. On the Life of Hobbes. i. T. Hobbes ; or dictated by Hobbes to T. Rymer, T. Hobbes Malmesburiensis Vita (written in Latin). 2. R. Blackbourne, Vitae Hobbianae Auctarium (written in Latin). 3. T. Hobbes, Thomae Hobbes Malmesburiensis Vita Carmine Expressa (written in Latin verse), 1679-80. [The above accounts of the life of Hobbes were published together in 1 68 1, by R. Blackbourne. They are all contained in Wm. Molesworth's edition of Hobbes's Latin Works referred to below, Vol. I.] 4. J. Aubrey, Life of Th. Hobbes of Malmesbury, printed in his Letters, and Lives of Eminent Men, 1813. 5. G. C. Robertson, Hobbes, Philadelphia and Edinburgh, 1886. 6. F. Tonnies, Hobbes, Leben und Lehre, Stuttgart, 1896. II. Works of Hobbes. 1. Gul. Molesworth, Thomae Hobbes Malmesburiensis Opera Philosophica quae Latine scripsit omnia in unum cor- pus nunc primum collecta, Londini, 1839. 2. Sir Wm. Molesworth, The English Works of Thomas Hobbes of Malmesbury ; now first collected and edited by Sir William Molesworth, Bart, London, 1841, xil BIBLIOGRAPHY. 3. For information concerning the various early editions of the individual works of Hobbes, refer to the Vitae Hobbianae Auctarium, by R. Blackbourne, Latin Works, Vol. I., pp. lxv ff. 4. For a list of the various translations of individual works of Hobbes, consult the Bibliography appended to G. C. Robertson's article on Hobbes in the Encyclopaedia Britannica, 9th ed. 5. The ethical and political philosophy of Hobbes is contained mainly in the following works : De Cive, which appeared later under the title of Philosophical Rudiments concerning Government and Society. Human Nature ; or, The Fundamental Elements of Policy. De Corpore Politico ; or, The Elements of Law, Moral and Politic. Leviathan ; or, the Matter, Form and Power of a Common- wealth, Ecclesiastical and Civil. Other works bearing on his ethical and political philosophy are : De Homine. Of Liberty and Necessity. Questions concerning Liberty, Necessity and Chance. Dialogue of the Common Laws. Behemoth : The History of the Causes of the Civil Wars of England, and of the Counsels and Artifices by which they were carried on from the year 1640 to 1660. III. Expository and Critical Works. For a list of such works published shortly after the appearance of Hobbes's Political Treatises, consult Molesworth's edition of the Latin Works, Vol. I., pp. lxii-lxxx. Other expository and critical works are as follows : 1. Sir R. Filmer, Observations upon Mr. Hobbes's Leviathan, etc., 1652. BIBLIOGRAPHY. xni 2. T. Tenison, The Creed of Mr. Hobbes, examined in a feigned Conference between him and a Student of Divinity, London, 1670-71. 3. J. Eachard, Mr. Hobbes's State of Nature considered in a Dialogue between Philautus and Timothy, London, 1672; also, Some Opinions of Mr. Hobbes considered in a Second Dialogue, London, 1673. 4. R. Cumberland, De Legibus Naturae Disquisitio Philo- sophica, etc., London, 1672. English ed. by J. Maxwell, London, 1 714-15. 5. E. Hide (Lord Clarendon), Brief Survey of the dangerous and pernicious Errors to Church and State in Mr. Hobbes's book entitled Leviathan, London, 1674. 6. J. Bramhall, Castigations of Mr. Hobbes, etc. ; also, The Catching of Leviathan, Works, Dublin, 1676. Works published in the Library of Anglo-Catholic Theology. 7. R. Cudworth, The True Intellectual System of the Uni- verse, London, 1678; also, Treatise concerning Eternal and Immutable Morality, London, 1 731. 8. A. A. Cooper (Lord Shaftesbury), Characteristics of Men, Manners, Opinions, and Times, Vol. II., 171 1. London, I7I4-I5- 9. J. Butler, Sermons, London, 1726. 10. S. Clarke, A Demonstration of the Being and Attributes of God, etc. ; also, A Discourse concerning the unchangeable Obligations of Natural Religion, and the Truth and Cer- tainty of the Christian Revelation, Works, Dublin, 1734. n. Wm. Warburton, Divine Legation of Moses, London, 1738 ; with Hurd's Preface, 10th ed., London, 1846. 12. James Mackintosh, Dissertation on the Progress of Ethical Philosophy, chiefly during the 17th and 18th Centuries, American ed., Philadelphia, 1832, § IV. 13. Henry Hallam, Introduction to the Literature of Europe, 1839, VoL III-j chap. 4. 14. B. Disraeli, Miscellanies of Literature, New York, 1841, Vol. II., pp. 247-294. XIV BIBLIOGRAPHY. 15. Lambert Welthysen, De principiis juris et decori, disser- tatio epistolica, continens apologiam pro tractatu clarissimi Hobbesii de Cive, Amstelodami. 1851. 16. Wm. Whewell, History of Moral Philosophy in England, London, 1852, Lect. II. 17. Robert Blakey, The History of Political Literature, London, 1855, Vol. II., §3, chap. 2. 18. Paul Janet, Histoire de la Philosophic Moral et Politique, Paris, i860, Tome II., Livre 4, chaps. 1 and 2. 19. Th. Jouffroy, Introduction to Ethics, trans, by W. H. Channing, Boston, 1867, Lect. XI. 20. A. Bain, Mental and Moral Philosophy, London, 1868, pp. 543-556. 21. John Hunt, Religious Thought in England, etc., London, 1870, Vol. I., chap. VI. 22. Henry Calderwood, Hand-Book of Moral Philosophy, London, 1872, Div. II., chap. 2. 23. John Tulloch, Rational Theology and Christian Philosophy in England in the Seventeenth Century, Edinburgh and London, 1872, Vol. II., pp. 25-30 ; also pp. 293- 299. 24. Francis Lieber, Manual of Political Ethics, Philadelphia and London, 1875, Vol. I., Bk. II., chap. 8. 25. Sir H. S. Maine, Lectures on the Early History of Institu- tions, London, 1875, Lects. XII. and XIII. 26. T. D. Woolsey, Political Science; or, The State, etc., New York, 1878, Vol. I., Pt. II., chap. 1, § 62. 27. Holland, Elements of Jurisprudence, Oxford, 1880. 28. Sir F. Pollock, Spinoza, His Life and Philosophy, London, 1880, chap. X.; also, An Introduction to the History of the Science of Politics, London and New York, 1890, Pts. II. and III. 29. G. S. Morris, British Thought and Thinkers, Chicago, 1880, chap. VI. 30. L. Carran, La Morale Utilitaire, Paris, Pt. I., Lvr. I., § 3, chap. I. BIBLIOGRAPHY. XV 31. F. Jodl, Geschichte der Ethik in der Neueren Philosophic, Stuttgart, 1882, I. Band, IV. Cap. 32. J. K. Bluntschli, The Theory of the State, trans, by D. G. Ritchie and others, Oxford, 1885, Bk. IV., chaps. 6 and 9. 33. J. Martineau, Types of Ethical Theory, 2d ed., Oxford and New York, 1886, Vol. II., Bk. II., chap. 1. 34. W. L. Courtney, Constructive Ethics, London, 1886, Pt. II., Bk. I., chap. 2. 35. G. C. Robertson, Hobbes (Blackwood's Phil. Classics), Edinburgh, 1886 ; also, Article on Hobbes in Encyclo- paedia Britannica, Vol. XII. 36. H. Sidgwickj/, Outlines of the History of Ethics, 2d ed., London arid New York, 1888, pp. 162-169. 37. F. Tonnies, Preface and Critical Notes to Hobbes's The Elements of Law, Natural and Political, etc., with extracts from unpublished MSS. of Hobbes, London, 1888; also Hobbes, Leben und Lehre, Stuttgart, 1896. 38. J. Bonar, Philosophy and Political Economy in some of their Historical Relations, London and New York, 1893, Bk. II., chap. 3, and other references. 39. D. G. Ritchie, Darwin and Hegel, London and New York, 1893, chaps. VII. and VIII. ; also, various references in Natural Rights, London and New York, 1895. 40. G. Lyon, La Philosophic de Hobbes, Paris, 1893. 41. Willoughby, The State, New York, 1896, chaps. IV. and V. 42. J. Watson, Hedonistic Theories, Glasgow, London, and New York, 1895, chap. IV. IV. The following works on the History of Philosophy may be consulted with advantage : 1. Buhle, Geschichte der Neueren Philosophic, Gottingen, 1802, Vol. III., pp. 223-325. 2. J. D. Morrel, History of Modern Philosophy, 2d ed., London, 1847. xvi BIBLIOGRAPHY. 3. M. Ad. Franck, Dictionnaire des Sciences Philosophiques, 1875, "Hobbes," p. 718. 4. K. Fischer, Francis Bacon und seine Nachfolger, Leipzig, 1875, III. Band, II. Cap. 5. L. Noack, Historisch-biographisches Handworterbuch zur Geschichte der Philosophic, Leipzig, 1879, "Hobbes," p. 388. 6. G. H. Lewes, The Biographical History of Philosophy, New York, 1883, Vol. II., pp. 495-505. 7. J. E. Erdmann, A History of Philosophy, edited by W. S. Hough, London and New York, 1890, Vol. I., pp. 706-721. 8. B. C. Burt, A History of Modern Philosophy, Chicago, 1892, Vol. I., pp. 77-87. 9. R. Falckenberg, History of Modern Philosophy, trans, by A. C. Armstrong, jr., New York, 1893, pp. 71-79. 10. W. Windelband, A History of Philosophy, trans, by J. H. Tufts, New York and London, 1893, Pt. IV., chap. 2. 11. A. Weber, History of Philosophy, trans, by F. Thilly, New York, 1896, pp. 300-5. V. The following works may be consulted with reference to the subject of the relation of Hobbes's Ethical and Political Philosophy to the political conditions of his time : 1. L. v. Ranke, History of England, Oxford, 1875, Vol. III., Bk. XL, chap. 1, also Bk. XV., chap. 12. 2. D. Masson, The Life of John Milton : Narrated in connection with the Political, Ecclesiastical and Literary History of his Time, London, 1881-94. Consult the "Index Vol- ume." 3. S. R. Gardiner, History of the Commonwealth and Protec- torate, London and New York, 1894-97, Vol. I., chaps. 2 and 7, also Vol. II., chaps. 18 and 24. INTRODUCTION. i. Biographical Sketch. Thomas Hobbes was born in Westport, England, April 5, 1588. In his metrical autobiography he refers to his birth as follows : Natus erat noster servator Homo-Deus annos Mille et quingentos, octo quoque undecies. Stabat et Hispanis in portubus inclyta classis Hostilis, nostro mox peritura mari: Primo vere; dies et quintus inibat Aprilis: I Ho vermiculus tempore nascor ego, In Malmesburia. He was the son of Rev. Thomas Hobbes, vicar of Charl- ton and Westport. When four years of age he was sent to school at Westport. Four years later he went to Malmes- bury School, and shortly afterward attended a private school in Westport. In 1602-3 ne entered Magdalen Hall, Oxford, receiving his bachelor's degree Feb. 5, 1607-8. These five years spent at Oxford were years of great politi- cal and ecclesiastical strife, and undoubtedly had much to do in determining the future conduct of Thomas Hobbes. The curriculum was still dominated by scholas- tic influences and had very little attraction for him. In the year of his graduation he was engaged by William Cavendish, afterward Earl of Devonshire, as companion for 2 INTRODUCTION. his eldest son. In 1610 Hobbes went to the Continent with his young master. He was especially impressed dur- ing his travels by the great interest manifested in the study of physical science. Returning to England, the next eight- een years find him devoting himself to classical study. Availing himself of the advantages afforded by the library of the Earl of Devonshire, he made a careful study of the Greek poets and historians. The outcome of these studies was a translation of Thucydides, published in 1628; also a translation of Homer. His relation to distinguished men of letters constitutes another interesting feature of this period of his life. Through his master he became acquainted with Lord Bacon, who found in him a very congenial acquaintance. He also associated with Edward Herbert, later Baron of Cherbury, founder of the deistic movement in England ; also with Ben Jonson and Sir Robert Ayton. In 1628 his companion and master, the young earl, died. This caused a decided change in the affairs of Hobbes. After remaining several months with the family of his late master, in 1629 he accepted an invitation to go to the Con- tinent as traveling tutor to Sir Gervase Clifford's son. During this visit abroad Hobbes was for the first time brought into contact with Euclid's Elements. This fact is of great interest when we remember the prevalence of the mathematical method involved in the philosophy of nature of the time and the influence of this method on Hobbes's later philosophical thinking. He also at this time became more or less interested in the subject of motion, which was receiving much attention in scientific circles. In 1631, while studying in Paris, he accepted an invitation to become tutor to the young son of his late master, the Earl of Dev- onshire. In 1634, in company with the young earl, he made his third visit to the Continent. They traveled through France and Italy, finally returning to France. Hobbes took up his abode in Paris, where he remained INTR OD UC TION. 3 eight months. This third visit was one of exceptional interest to him. In Italy he became intimately acquainted with the renowned Galileo. There also he met Beregardus. In such company his interest in physical science was greatly quickened and his knowledge of recent scientific discoveries and investigations greatly enlarged. After returning to Paris, through the kind offices of Pere Marsenne, he was admitted to a circle of scientific men. To fully appreciate the effect of association with these men of science on Hobbes's future thinking, we must take into consideration the nature of the new philosophy which was being promul- gated at that time. Galileo had discovered the laws of motion and had announced all physical phenomena to be explainable on the basis of moving matter and its laws. This explanation had been quite generally accepted by scien- tific men. It resulted in the mechanical conception of na- ture which not only dominated the physical science of the time but also greatly influenced the philosophy of nature of the leading continental philosophers of the seventeenth cen- tury. This view of nature greatly interested Hobbes, and it was not long before, in his own mind, he was applying the principles of the mechanical philosophy to other phenom- ena than those of nature. He soon beheld all phenomena, physical, mental, and social, comprehended in one general system and explainable on the basis of motion and its laws. As Falckenberg says with reference to Hobbes's philoso- phy : " Mechanism applied to the world gives materialism ; applied to knowledge, sensationalism of a mathematical type ; applied to the will, determinism ; to morality and the state, ethical and political naturalism." 1 In 1637 he returned to England. He found his native country becoming more and more involved in political and ecclesiastical strife. The estrangement between the king and Parliament was becoming more decided ; the controver- 1 History of Modern Philosophy, trans., p. 72. 4 INTR OD UC TION. sies concerning the relations between civil and spiritual power w r ere becoming more intense. In 1640 he wrote a "little treatise," expressing his political views. In it he attempted to vindicate the supremacy of the royal preroga- tive. The " little treatise " was circulated rather freely in manuscript form, and, according to Hobbes's own opinion, he incurred the hostility of the leaders of Parliament by it. He continued to ventilate his political views, and, feeling himself in danger, he fled to Paris, where, rejoining the scientific circle, he remained eleven years. In 1641 he wrote the De Cive in Latin, a work treating of the origin, nature, and power of civil government. In this work the absoluteness of sovereignty is advocated. Only a small number of copies was printed in 1642. The next three years were spent largely in scientific study. In 1647 a new edition of the De Cive was published in Amster- dam, bearing the title Ehmenta Philosophica de Cive, the date of dedication being 1641-46. The Preface to this edition indicates the circumstances which impelled not only its publication but doubtless also the publication of the previous edition. He says, in the " Preface to the Reader " of the Philo- sophical Rudiments conce?-ni?ig Government and Society, which is an English translation of the De Cive : "I was study- ing Philosophy for my mind sake, and I had gathered together its first elements in all kinds ; and having digested them into three sections by degrees, I thought to have written them, so as in the first I would have treated of Body and its general properties ; in the second, of Man and his special faculties and affections ; in the third, of Civil Government and the duties of subjects. Wherefore the first section would have contained the First Philosophy, and certain elements of Physic ; in it we would have considered the reasons of Time, Place, Cause, Power, Relation, Propor- tion, Quantity, Figure, and Motion. In the second we INTR OD UC TION. 5 would have been conversant about Imagination, Memory, Intellect, Ratiocination, Appetite, Will, Good and Evil, Hon- est and Dishonest. . . . Whilst I contrive, order, pen- sively and slowly compose these matters (for I do only reason, I dispute not) ; it so happens in the interim, that my country, some few years before the Civil Wars did rage, was boiling hot with questions concerning the rights of dominion, and the obedience due from subjects, the true forerunners of an approaching war ; and was the cause which, all those other matters deferred, ripened and plucked from me this third part. Therefore it happens that what was last in order, is yet come forth first in time. And the rather because I saw that, grounded on its own principles sufficiently known by experience, it would not stand in need of the former sections. 1 In 1646 he was appointed instructor in mathematics to the Prince of Wales, who was then in Paris. In 1650, after the Revolution, his "little treatise," previously referred to, was published in two parts. The first part was entitled Human Nature, or The Fundamental Elements of Policy. The second part, published later, was entitled De Corpore Politico, or The Elements of Law, Moral and Politic. A translation of the De Cive, under the title Philosophical Rudiments concerning Government and Society, followed in 1 65 1. According to Aubrey's papers, this translation was made by Hobbes himself. This same year witnessed the publication of his Leviathan, which was really projected as early as 1642 and written in the interim. The full title of the work is Leviathan ; or, The Matter, Form, and Power of a Commonwealth, Ecclesiastical and Civil. In it Hobbes represents the commonwealth to be an artifi- cial man ; " though of greater stature and strength than the natural, for whose protection and defence it was intended." In it, he says, " the sovereignty is an artificial soul, as 1 See also De Cive, Praefatio ad Lectores. 6 INTR OD UC TION. giving life and motion to the whole body ; the magis- trates, and other officers of judicature and execution, arti- ficial joints; reward and punishment, by which fastened to the seat of the sovereignty every joint and member is moved to perform his duty, are the nerves, that do the same in the body natural ; the wealth and riches of all the particular members, are the strength ; salus popnli, the people's safety, its business ; counsellors, by whom all things needful for it to know are suggested unto it, are the memory ; equity, and laws, an artificial reason and will; concord, health; sedition, sickness; and civil war, death. Lastly, the pacts and covenants, by which the parts of this body politic were at first made, set together and united, resemble that fiat, or the let us make man, pronounced by God in the creation." 1 The description of this commonwealth or artificial man involves the considera- tion of the following : " First, the matter thereof, and the artificer ; both which is man. Secondly, how, and by what covenants it is made ; what are the rights and just power or authority of a sovereign ; and what it is that preserveth or dissolveth it. Thirdly, what is a Christian common- wealth. Lastly, what is the kingdom of darkness." 2 A copy of the Leviathan, beautifully written on vellum, was presented to the young prince, later Charles II. 3 Robertson interestingly and accurately describes the effect produced by this famous work of Hobbes. He says : "The effect of the book at home will appear through all Hobbes's later years. Abroad, it soon brought about a great change in his own position. That he himself con- sidered his personal loyalty impeached by anything he had penned could not be more completely disproved than it is. As he had made no secret beforehand of his wish to return 1 Leviathan, Int. 2 Ibid. 3 A description of this manuscript copy is given in the January num- ber of the Gentleman's Magazine for 1813. INTRODUCTION. 7 home, so he now showed no unseemly haste to be gone, but for months still continued to share the fortunes and mix in the society of the royalist exiles. Nay, when the young king of the Scots escaped to Paris (about the end of Octo- ber) after the defeat at Worcester, Hobbes felt himself at perfect liberty to present to the royal fugitive, fresh from the crushing disaster, a specially prepared manuscript copy of his book, 'engrossed' (says Clarendon) 'in vellum in a marvellous fair hand' — an odd proceeding in a conscious traitor. But if he thought that he still stood where he had stood before, there were others that thought differently. It is, indeed, sufficiently absurd to find Clarendon declaring, in almost the same breath with his mention of the gift to the king, that the book was written to support Cromwell's usurpation. This particular charge, afterward commonly current, though refuted by Clarendon's own admission, could not have occurred to any one as early as 1651, when Cromwell was still the servant of the Rump. Nothing, how- ever, could be more natural than that a book like Levia- than should awake suspicion and dislike in the minds of royalists, then at the lowest depths of despair. The^exiled clergy in particular, rendered critical by misfortune, and meeting in the book much that jarred upon their honest religious convictions, much, also, that was incomprehensible to their unreasonable loyalty, and, above all, a vein of deep distrust of clerical ambition with an imposing scheme for the utter subjection of spiritual to civil authority, could not but be affected to indignation in every fiber of their being. Accordingly, as different accounts agree in stating, some of them lost no time in working upon the mind of the prince on his return, and for the moment they were able to prevail upon his easy nature. When Hobbes, soon after making his present, sought to pay his respects in person to his former pupil, he was denied the royal presence, and was told by the Marquis of Ormond that he lay under grave 8 INTR OD UC TWA'. charges of disloyalty and atheism. Thus deprived of the prince's protection, Hobbes, ever full of fears, at once saw himself exposed to a twofold peril. The royalist party, he well knew, counted in its ranks desperadoes who could slay — who had newly slain two defenceless envoys of the com- monwealth, Doreslaus at The Hague, and Ascham at Madrid. And there was another danger not to be slighted even by a man less prone to terror. The French clerical authorities, made aware of the contents of Leviathan, and exasperated by such an open and unsparing assault (no longer a masked attack, as in the De Cive) on the Papal system, were mov- ing (as Clarendon again bears confirmatory witness) to arraign the foreign offender. No course seemed left to Hobbes but sudden and secret flight. After a self-imposed exile of eleven years, cast out in the end by his own party, and a fugitive from religious hate, he could turn only to his native country, which he had been so ready to desert, and seek protection from the revolutionary government which he had sacrificed everything to oppose." 1 In 1 65 1 Hobbes returned to England. He took up his abode in London and devoted himself mainly to literary work. In 1655 he published De Corpore, containing, for the most part, his views on First Philosophy and Physics. In 1656 an English translation of De Corpore appeared with an appendix of "Six Lessons" written in connection with a mathematical controversy with Professor John Wallis. In 1658 he published De Ho7iiine, a psychological treatise, the major portion of which is devoted to optics. He had already, as we have seen, published his works De Cive and Leviathan, so that his philosophical system was now essentially developed. It represented in this prac- tically complete form essentially what he had in mind as indicated in the preface to the De Cive, part of which has already been quoted, viz. : the division of Philosophy 1 Hobbes, pp. 71-73. INTR OD UC TION. 9 into three parts; Part I, treating of "Body and its general properties "; Part II, treating of " Man and his special fac- ulties and affections''; and Part III, treating of "Civil Government and the duties of subjects." Hobbes remained in England from 165 1, the time of his return from France, until 1679, the date of his death. Daring C r om well's- - rule he lived peacefully, having sub- mitted to the government. After the Restoration in 1660, the king, Charles II., his former pupil, who had been alienated from Hobbes by charges of disloyalty and athe- ism made by others against him, again granted his favor to Hobbes. He was made welcome at the court and was granted a pension by the king. His path, however, was not altogether smooth. He experienced much annoyance at the hands of the clergy, who took exceptions to his religious and ecclesiastical views — especially as contained in the Leviathan. Furthermore, this closing period of his life brought him into a number of controversies involv- ing much unpleasantness. One of these was with Dr. Bramhall, Bishop of Londonderry. In 1654, in answer to a discourse of the bishop's, he published his work entitled Of Liberty and Necessity, the subject of the controversy being especially the question of the freedom of the will. The controversy continued, and in 1656 Hobbes published Questio?is concerning Liberty, Necessity, a?id Chance, again in answer to the bishop. The position on this question taken by Hobbes in this controversy is defined in the following words : " I conceive that nothing taketh beginning from itself, but from the action of some other immediate agent without itself. And that therefore, when first a man hath an appetite or will to something, to which immediately before he had no appetite nor will, the cause of his will is not the will itself, but something else not in his own dispos- ing. So that whereas it is out of controversy, that of voluntary actions the will is the fiecessary cause, and by I o INTR OD UC TION. this, which is said, the will is also caused by other things whereof it disposeth not, it followeth, that voluntary actions have all of them necessary causes, and therefore are neces- sitated." x Another controversy, bitter and undignified in character, which extended through a number of years almost to the time of his death, was a mathematical controversy with John Wallis, Savilian Professor of Geometry at Oxford. In this contest Hobbes met more than his match, and was undoubtedly defeated. Wallis, in his Elenchus and other writings, revealed the inconsistencies and fallacies involved in the mathematical reasoning of Hobbes. About a dozen works were brought forth by Hobbes in connection with this long and rather useless controversy. In 1668 a Latin edition of his collected works was published in Amsterdam. In this edition the Leviathan was considerably modified. In 1675 an English trans- lation of the Iliad and Odyssey was published by him. Another work belonging to this closing period of his life was the Behemoth : the History of the Causes of the Civil Wars of England, and of the Counsels and Artifices by which they were carried on from the year 1640 to 1660. The authorized edition of this work was not published before 1679, shortly after his death. Some works also of a minor character belong to this period. These works, together with the controversial writings referred -to above, are evi- dence sufficient that the last twenty-five years of Hobbes's life constitute a period of great literary activity, evincing a good deal of mental vigor. The closing years of his life, 1675-79, were spent with the family of the Earl of Devonshire at Hardwick and Chadsworth. In October, 1679, ^ e became ill, and on December 4 of the same year death closed the long and varied career of Thomas Hobbes. 1 Of Liberty and Necessity \ p. 274. INTR OB UC TION. 1 1 II. Exposition of the Ethics of Hobbes. There can be very little reasonable doubt that Hobbes himself regarded his ethical philosophy as a constituent part of his philosophical system. His philosophical system is divided into three parts. In the first part, physical phe- nomena are treated under the head of "Body." In the second part, mental phenomena are treated under the head of " Man." In the third part, social or political phenomena are treated under the head of "The State." In this system social or political phenomena are regarded as dependent on the mental constitution of man ; hence the State, com- posed as it is of human individuals, has its foundation in human nature. Mental phenomena in turn are dependent on physical phenomena, inasmuch as all mental processes arise from sensations, which are merely the mental aspect of motions in the human body, which motions are occa- sioned by external bodies pressing upon the organs of sense. 1 These external bodies are explainable also in terms of motion. We have, then, " Body " as "the first term of a series leading up to Society or the State through Man. Man, since his nature contains the ground of civil institu- tions, stands out from among all other natural bodies. The State is not simply to be viewed in its existent form as body politic, but rather as it comes into being — the product of human wit for the satisfaction of human wants. Thus, between Nature and Society the bridge is Man ; and hence the profounder disposition of the whole work of the philosopher as a progression from Body (which remains natural) through Man to Citizen." 2 Although the last 1 Leviathan, Pt. I., chap. I. This mental aspect of bodily action Hobbes calls "appearance " and "fancy." See also Human Nature, chap. II., and Elements of Philosophy, Pt. IV., chap. I. 2 Hobbes^ Robertson, p. 45, 1 2 INTR OD UC TTON. part of this comprehensive system was developed before and, to a certain extent, independently of the first part, which contains Hobbes's views on " First Philosophy and Physics/' owing to conditions mentioned below, still, a study of the mental history of Hobbes, already briefly alluded to, and the following confession on the part of Hobbes himself are sufficient grounds for believing that he regarded his ethico-political philosophy as a part of a com- plete philosophical system such as has been described above. On this point Hobbes says : " I was studying Philosophy for my mind sake, and I had gathered together its first elements in all kinds ; and having digested them into three sections by degrees, I thought to have written them, so as in the first I would have treated of body and its general properties ; in the second, of man and his special faculties and affections ; in the third, of civil govern- ment and the duties of subjects. Wherefore, the first sec- tion would have contained the first philosophy, and certain elements of physic ; in it we would have considered the reasons of time, place, cause, power, relation, proportion, quantity, figure, and motion. In the second, we would have been conversant about imagination, memory, intellect, ratiocinatiofi, appetite, will, good a7id evil, honest and dishonest, and the like. . . . Whilst I contrive, order, pensively and slowly compose these matters (for I do only reason, I dis- pute not) ; it so happens in the interim, that my country, some few years before the Civil Wars did rage, was boiling hot with questions concerning the rights of dominion, and the obedience due from subjects ; the true forerunners of an approaching war ; and was the cause which, all those other matters deferred, ripened and plucked from me this third part. Therefore, it happens that what was last in order, is yet come forth first in time." 1 Of course, in a 1 Philosophical Rudiments concerning Government and Society, Pref- ace to the Reader ; also De Owe, Praefatio ad Lectores. INTR 01) UC TION. 1 3 study of the ethical theory of Hobbes, we are more espe- cially concerned with the second and third parts of his phil- osophical system, which parts are very intimately related, and for a good understanding of which a knowledge of the first part is really not necessary. It is in the treatment of the origin and regulation of the State that his ethical theory is developed, and, as has just been stated, the State has its foundation in human nature. It is, therefore, very essential to a full understanding of his ethical theory to be acquainted with his view of human nature. Hobbes's conception of human nature is thoroughly ego- istic. In his psychological analysis he finds naught but self-regarding feelings impelling man's activity. Even those emotions of pity, reverence, love, etc., which seem to be altruistic in their nature, are ultimately explainable from an egoistic point of view, as the following definitions indi- cate : " Grief 1 for the calamity of another, is pity ; and ariseth from the imagination that the like calamity may befall himself ; and therefore is called also compassion, and in the phrase of this present time a fellow-feeling." \ This is stated still more broadly elsewhere : " Pity is imagination or fiction of future calamity to ourselves, pro- ceeding from the sense of another man's calamity. But when it #ghteth on such as we think have not deserved the same, the compassion is greater, because then there appear- eth more probabilif^ that the same may happen to us: for, the evil that happeneth to an innocent man, may happen to every man." 2 The same self-interest is present in his defi- nition of reverence : " Reverence is the conception we have concerning another, that he hath the power to do unto us both good and hurt, but not the will to do us hurt." 3 Again, in his conception of love we see his thorough-going ego- ism : "There is yet another passion sometimes called love, 1 Leviathan, Pt. I., chap. VI. 2 Human Nature, chap. IX. 3 Ibid., chap. VIII. 1 4 INTRO D UCTION. but more properly called good will or charity. There can be no greater argument to a man, of his own power, than to find himself able not only to accomplish his own desires, but also to assist other men in theirs : and this is that con- ception wherein consisteth charity. In which, first, is con- tained that natural affection of parents to their children . . . as also, that affection wherewith men seek to assist those that adhere unto them." * The affection which leads us to give help unto strangers is prompted by a desire to purchase their friendship, or, because of fear, to purchase peace. Thus, from the foregoing, it will be seen that, if we exam- ine the feelings which impel men to activity, we shall find all of them to be self-regarding in their nature. The same egoistic view of human nature manifests itself in Hobbes's conception of will. Will is "the last appetite in deliberat- ing " j " " an d of all voluntary acts the object is to every man his own good." 3 This explanation of the object of all vol- untary acts occurs in his account of why we give gifts. It is apparent, then, from his treatment of the " passions " and the will, that he regards man as thoroughly selfish — prompted in all that he does by motives of private interest. Bearing his views of human nature in mind, we shall gain a much more intelligent conception of his ethical theory than we should were we to study this theory independently of its psychological basis ; for it is really on this egoistic psy- chology that he constructs his theory. The "good" towards which man's selfish nature constantly inclines him is the good of self-preservation. 4 This "good " men recog- 1 Human A r ature, chap. IX. 2 Leviathan, Pt. I., chap. VI. 3 Leviathan, Pt. I., chap. XV. 4 He sometimes includes in his conception of this "good" "the means of so preserving life as not to be weary of it." Again, he speaks sometimes as if he really considered self-preservation and pleasure, as the ultimate good for which men really strive. Leviathan, Pt. I., chaps. VI., XIII., and XV. ; Human Nature, chap. VII. ; De Corp. Pol., Pt. I., chap. IV. Professor Sidgwick says : "There is, however, a noticeable — though perhaps unconscious — discrepancy between INTRO D UCTION. 1 5 nize to be best attained through the State — hence its organ- ization, which, with its regulation, he explains as follows : Men with respect to physical and mental ability are born essentially equal. At least, there is so much native equal- ity among men " as that though there be one man some- times manifestly stronger in body, or of quicker mind than another ; yet when all is reckoned together, the difference between man, and man, is not so considerable, as that one man can thereupon claim to himself any benefit, to which another may not pretend, as well as he." x Now, out of this essential equality of ability arises an equality of hope with reference to the attainment of ends ; hence, when the same thing is desired by any two men, which cannot, however, be possessed by both, enmity arises between them. The outcome is, that in the pursuit of these ends, which concern self-preservation and commodious living, men attempt the subjugation or destruction of one another.'- Hence, in a state of nature, where society is not organized in the form of the State, men are in a condition of war. Every man is against every man. In such a state of nature the life of man is " solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short." 3 Furthermore, under such circumstances, there is no such thing as justice or injustice, right or wrong. These Hobbes's theory of the ends that men naturally seek and his standard for determining their natural rights. This latter is never Pleasure simply, but always Preservation — though on occasion he enlarges the notion of 'preservation ' into 'preservation of life so as not to be weary of it.' " — Outlines of the History of Ethics, pp. 164-5. 1 Leviathan, Pt. I., chap. XIII.; also, De Corp. Pol., Pt. I., chap. I.; also, Philosophical Rudiments, chap. I. 2 Ibid. 3 Bluntschli {The Theory of the State, p. 267, trans.) says: "But these expressions of Hobbes (and Spinoza) are to be understood rather as a logical statement of what would be the condition of man apart from civil society, .than as distinctly implying a historical theory. They err from ignoring history rather than from asserting false history. The word ' natural ' is used merely in the negative sense of ' non-civil ' or ' non-political.' " Still Hobbes, while disclaiming a belief that there was ever a time when this state of nature as a state of mutual warfare universally existed, distinctly says, " there are many places where they 1 6 INTR OB UC TION. are nonentities where civil law does not exist. They are the creatures of the State. Where civil government does not exist there is no mine and thine distinct from each other. That is mine which I can acquire and keep against the strength and wit of others. 1 From such a horrible condition of things as the state of nature presents, men emerge by means of their passions and reason. Men possess certain " passions " which incline them to peace, such as the fear of death, a desire of the things necessary for commodious living, and a hope of attain- ing them by industry. Men also possess " reason " which dictates the means by which this peace may be secured. Reason dictates certain articles of peace on which men may agree, which articles Hobbes calls "Laws of Nature." 2 Of these laws he mentions twenty or more, only three of which, live so now," and refers to " the savage people in many places in Amer- ica." Leviathan, Pt. I., chap. XIII. This conception of man as essen- tially anti-social in his nature is contrary to the conception taken by many historians and anthropologists. Tylor, Anthropology, chap. XVI.; Bagehot, Physics and Politics, p. 136; Sir Henry Maine, Ancient Law, p. 126; Ratzel, The History of Mankind, trans., Vol. I, § 12, seem to think that the evidence warrants the opposite view. Also McLennan, Primitive Marriage, chap. VIII., 1st ed., who holds the tribe rather than the family to be the original " social unit," says : "All the evidence we have goes to show that men were from the beginning gregarious." He says : " The geological record exhibits them in groups," and that " this testimony is confirmed by all history. We hear nothing in the most ancient times of individuals except as being members of groups." If this be so, it indicates the essential sociality of man. This testi- mony is confirmed also by psychology. A true psychological analysis reveals social feelings which are constitutional with man. Such critics of Hobbes as Cumberland, Shaftesbury, and Butler specially empha- sized this point in their opposition to him. 1 Leviathan, Pt. I., chap. XIII.; also De Corp. Pol., Pt. I., chap. I.; also Philosophical Rudiments, chap. I. 2 Leviathan, Pt. I., chap. XIII. ; also De Corp. Pol., Pt. I., chap. II.; also Philosophical Rudiments, chap. II. The reader will find an inter- esting chapter, "On the History of the Idea of 'Nature 'in Law and Politics " in Professor Ritchie's work on Nattiral Rights, chap. II. See also Maine's Ancient Law, chaps. III. and IV. ; also Woolsey, Political Science, Vol. I., Pt. I., chap. III.; also Salmond, Law Quar- terly Reviezu, April, 1895; also Willoughby, The State, chap. V. INTR OB UC TION. 1 7 however, it is necessary to note here. The first or funda- mental law of nature is " to seek peace, and follow it." But joined to this law as the second part of a general rule of reason is what is called "the sum of the right of nature," which may be designated as the imperative of self-preserva- tion, which Hobbes expresses in these words : " by all means we can, to defend our selves.'" x The right of nature which every one possesses in a state of nature is the right to use every means at one's command to preserve one's life — even another man's body. In short, in a state of nature every one has a right to everything. " And because the condition of man ... is a condition of war of every one against every one ; in which case every one is governed by his own reason ; and there is nothing he can make use of that may not be a help unto him, in preserving his life against his enemies ; it followeth, that in such a condition, every man has a right to everything; even to one another's body." 2 This right of nature is still more baldly stated elsewhere : " Every man by nature hath right to all things, that is to say, to do what- soever he listeth to whom he listeth, to possess, use, and enjoy all things he will and can." 3 Now, of course, the out- come of every man's possessing a right to everything is a state of insecurity, and, as man desires life and " the means of so preserving life as not to be weary of it|" it becomes a principle, or " general rule of reason," " that every man, ought to endeavour peace as far as he has hope of attaining it ; and when he camiot obtain it, that he may seek, and use, all helps and advantages of 'war '." 4 In the preceding explanation of the fundamental law of nature, one cannot fail to note the ego- istic motive underlying it, — the self-preservation of the in- dividual and the enjoyment of life. 1 Leviathan, Pt. I., chap. XIV.; also Philosophical Rudiments, chap. II. 2 Leviathan, Pt. I., chap. XIV. 3 De Corp. Pol., Pt. I., chap. I. In this connection Hobbes says : " that irresistible might, in the state of nature, is right." 4 Leviathan, Pt. I., chap. XIV. 1 8 INTRODUCTION. The second law of nature is derived from the fundamental law and reads as follows : " that a man be willing, when others are so too, as far forth, as for peace, and defence of Iwiiself he shall think it ?iecessary ; to lay down this right to all things, and be contented with so much liberty against other men, as he would allow other me?i against himself." l The reason for this law he thinks apparent, for so long as every man enjoys the right of doing anything he likes, so long is the condition of mutual warfare continued. However, if other men will not consent to lay down their right to all things, also, then there is no reason why he should, for that would subject him to the prey of others, which is not obligatory upon him. Hobbes calls this the Golden Rule of the Gospel : Whatsoever yon reqirire that others should do to you, that do ye to them. 2 To fully understand this second law, we must find out what Hobbes means by laying down a right to all things. Every man in a state of nature having a right to all things, A, in laying down this right to B, or to B, C, D, and others, simply removes the hindrances which, in asserting his right, he would place in the way of B or others in seeking their right to all things. This does not mean that A gives to B or others a right which they were not in possession of before, for in a state of nature every man has a right to all things. It simply means that A stands out of the way of B or others, so that they may enjoy their right to all things without hindrance on the part of A, who originally has the right also to all things. A man may lay down a right in 1 Leviathan, Pt. I., chap. XIV.; also De Corp. Pol., Pt. I., chap. II.; also Philosophical Rudiments, chap. II. 2 The careful student of Christian ethics would hardly admit the identity of the Golden Rule and Hobbes's second law of nature. The Golden Rule, neither in letter nor in spirit, can be interpreted with such qualifications as are embodied in Hobbes's second law. It does not read nor mean that we should do unto others, when they are willing to reciprocate, whatsoever we would have them do unto us. Neither does it give as the underlying motive of obedience to the command, self-defence and self -enjoyment. INTR OB UC TION. 1 9 two ways : by simply renouncing it, caring not to whom the benefits of such a renouncement may accrue ; and by trans- ference, intending that the benefits should accrue to some particular person or persons. After a man abandons his right in either manner, he is then obliged not to hinder those to whom it has been surrendered from enjoying the advantages accruing, ^he reason why a man lays down his right is in consideration of a like performance on the part of another or others or for some good which he hopes to attain. This is evident because it is a voluntary act, " and of the voluntary acts of every man the object is some good to himself." And the "good" which he hopes to attain by such a renunciation or transferrence of rights " is nothing else but the security of a man's person in his life, and in the means of so preserving life as not to be weary of it." l Here the egoism of Hobbes, which his psychological analysis revealed, forms the basis of his doctrine of laying down of rights, which lies at the foundation of his theory of the genesis and development of the State. Then follows his explanation of contract, which is the mutual transferrence of rights. When one of the contract- ing parties performs his part of the contract, and permits the other party to postpone performing his part until some specified time, trusting him meanwhile, then we have a cove- nant. This brings us to the third important law of nature: " that men perform their covenants made" If they do not, then the covenants are of no account, and all men, still possessing the right to all things, will continue in a state of war. This law Hobbes calls " the fountain and original of justice." 2 There are other laws of nature, also, such as equity, gratitude, modesty, mercy, etc., all of which may be summed up in one, viz. : Do not that to another, which thou 1 Leviathan, Pt. I., chap. XV. 2 Ibid.; also De Corp. Pol., Pt. I., chap. III.; also Philosophical Rudi- ments, chap. III. 2 o INTR OB UC TION. wouldest not have done to thyself} These laws of nature, which are the dictates of reason with reference to peace, are always obligatory upon man in foro interno, but not always obligatory in foro externo. That is, they always "bind to a desire they should take place," but not always "to the putting them in act." This is so because "he that should be modest, and tractable, and perform all he prom- ises, in such time, and place, where no man else should do so, should but make himself a prey to others, and procure his own certain ruin, contrary to the ground of all laws of nature, which tend to nature's preservation. And again, he that having sufficient security, that others shall observe the same laws towards him, observes them not himself, seeketh not peace, but war ; and consequently the destruc- tion of his nature by violence." 2 Furthermore, the laws which bind in foro interno may be violated not only by act- ing contrary to them, but also when the act is in conformity to them but the purpose back of the act is in opposition to them. In such a case as this we have a breach of the law because the obligation is in foro interno. 3 Again, these laws of nature are eternal and unchangeable ; " for injustice, ingratitude, arrogance, pride, iniquity, acception of persons, and the rest, can never be made lawful. For it can never be that war shall preserve life, and peace destroy it." 4 The three laws of nature which have been explained above are absolutely essential if man is to emerge from a state of nature, which is a state of war, into a state of peace, in which security of person and the means of enjoy- ing life are to be attained. It is on these three laws that the commonwealth, which exists for the attainment of these ends, is founded. The genesis and development of the commonwealth Hobbes describes as follows : The reason why men lay down their liberty and assume the restraints of a commonwealth is " the foresight of their own preserva- 1 Leviathan, chap. XV. 2 Ibid. 3 Ibid. 4 Ibid. INTR OD UC TION. 2 I tion, and a more contented life thereby." 1 The common- wealth is necessary for the realization of these ends, because they are not to be realized merely by entering into covenants, but by pel-forming them. However, it is not in accordance with our natural passions to perform such covenants. We, therefore, need some common power, possessed both of authority and means to cause men, through their fear of punishment, to keep their covenants. Such a common power may be established in the following manner : A large number of individuals may assemble together and " confer all their power and strength upon one man, or upon one assembly of men, ... to bear their person ; and every one to own and acknowledge himself to be author of what- soever he that so beareth their person shall act, or cause to be acted, in those things which concern the common peace and safety ; and therein to submit their wills every one to his will, and their judgments to his judgment." 2 That is, every man must completely surrender his natural right to all things to one common power, so that the commands, decisions, and acts of this power must be regarded by every man as his own. This Hobbes calls real unity ; and a multitude thus united he calls a commonwealth. It is the great Leviathan. Or, speaking reverently, it is "that mortal god to which we owe under the immortal God, our peace and defence." In such a representative man (Hobbes here drops the words "or assembly of men " 3 ) consists the 1 Leviathan, Pt. II., chap. XVII. 2 Ibid. ; also De Corp. Pol., Pt. I., chap. VI.; also Philosophical Rudi- ments, chap. V. 3 Of the various forms of government Hobbes undoubtedly had a decided preference for a monarchy. Sir Henry Maine says: "When with a keenness of intuition and lucidity of statement which have never been rivaled, he has made out a case for the universal theoretical exist- ence of sovereignty, it becomes clear that he has, to say the least, a strong preference for monarchies over aristocracies and democracies, or (to use the phraseology of the school which he founded) for individual over corporate sovereignty. Those of his intellectual followers who would have repudiated his politics have often asserted that he has been 2 2 INTR OD UC TION. essence of the commonwealth, which may be denned as " one person, of whose acts a great multitude, by mutual cove- nants one with another, have made themselves every one the author, to the end he may use the strength and means of them all, as he shall think expedient, for their peace and common defence." 1 Such a common power is the sovereign. Those who have thus surrendered their rights are the subjects ; and the kind of commonwealth thus denned is a political commonwealth, or a commonwealth by institution, 2 as dis- tinguished from a commonwealth by acquisition, which is based not on mutual covenant, but on natural force. The " rights " of the sovereign as sovereign are derived from the "institution of the commonwealth." Among misunderstood, and, no doubt, some superficial readers have supposed that he was pointing at despotism when he was really referring to the essentially unqualified power of the Sovereign, whatever the form of the sovereignty. But I do not think it can in candour be denied that his strong dislike of the Long Parliament and of the English Common Law, as the great instrument of resistance to the Stuart kings, has occa- sionally coloured the language which he uses in examining the nature of Sovereignty, Law, and Anarchy." — Early History of Institutions, Lee. XII. However, notwithstanding his decided preference for a monarchical form of government, Hobbes says, after pointing out the nature of monarchy, aristocracy, and democracy, that " of the three sorts, which is the best, is not to be disputed, where any one of them is already established ; but the present ought always to be preferred, maintained, and accounted best ; because it is against both the law of nature, and the divine positive law, to do anything tending to the sub- version thereof." — Leviathan, Pt. III., chap. XLII. 1 Leviathan, Pt. II., chap. XVII. How widely removed is this con- ception of the origin of the State from that of Aristotle. The Greek philosopher regarded man as constitutionally political. He says : " "ApdpwTros 4>vaei ttoXctlkov Z&ov." Grotius also says that the " appetite for society " is a " property peculiar to man." 2 Mr. Ritchie {Natural Rights, p. n) calls attention to the fact that " while Hobbes does not seem to ascribe any historical character to the social contract, which is at the basis of all political society, and while Rousseau expressly disclaims the attempt to offer an historical explana- tion {Contrat Social, I., c. I.) of how governments came into exist- ence, Locke seeks to give historical proofs of the origin of political society by means of contract, referring to the cases of Rome and Venice {Treatise of Civil Goverimient, II., § 102), and speaks of the state of nature as a golden age in the past." INTR OD UC TION. 2 3 these rights the following may be mentioned : In the first place, he has a right to the loyalty of his subjects, to the extent that no change of authority should be effected with- out his consent. His subjects may not establish a new cov- enant among themselves to render obedience to another ; because, were one man to dissent from such action, then all others participating in such disobedience would break their covenant with this man, which would be injustice. It would also be injustice to the sovereign, for his sover- eignty was given to him by every man implicated in the covenant by which the commonwealth was formed, and, therefore, to depose the sovereign is to take from him "that which is his own." Again, if any one attempting to depose the sovereign were to be killed or punished for such an attempt by the sovereign, this would be merely self-punishment, for previously he has made himself author of the sovereign's action. And since self-punishment is unjust, to depose the sovereign would be unjust from this point of view. In the second place, the sovereign cannot be guilty of a breach of covenant with his subjects, because he has made no covenant with them. The covenant simply exists between his subjects. Hence, " none of his subjects, by any pretence of forfeiture, can be freed from his sub- jection." 1 In the next place, the sovereign's acts are to be regarded as just, for everything he does was authorized by his subjects when the commonwealth was formed ; hence, his actions are really the actions of his subjects. 2 Again, the sovereign may not be put to death or punished in any manner by his subjects. For this would be punishing another for our own actions, inasmuch as the actions of the sovereign are the actions of the subject, by virtue of the covenant by which sovereignty was established. 3 The sovereign has also the right to judge of " the means of peace and defence " of his subjects, " and also of the 1 Leviathan, Pt. II., chap. XVIII. 2 Ibid. 3 Ibid . 2 4 INTR OD UC TIOiV. hindrances and disturbances of the same," and to do whatsoever he may deem to be necessary for the preserva- tion of peace and security, or " the recovery of the same " when lost. 1 Furthermore, it belongs to sovereignty to judge "of what opinions and doctrines are averse and what conducive to peace " ; to determine the rules of pro- priety, " or meum and tuum, and of good, evil, lawful and unlawful in the actions of subjects." These rules of pro- priety "are the civil laws." 2 The right of judicature belongs also to sovereignty ; i.e., sovereignty has the right to hear and to decide " all controversies which may arise concerning law, either civil or natural, or concerning fact." 3 The sovereign power possesses the right to make war and peace with foreign nations, and is generalissimo of the army of the commonwealth. 4 The sovereign power has the right to choose " all counsellors, ministers, magis- trates, and officers" of the commonwealth, "both in peace and war." 5 In the sovereign is vested the power to re- ward and punish the subject; and also to "give titles of honor ; and to appoint what order of place and dignity each man shall hold ; and what signs of respect in public or private meetings they shall give to one another." 6 All of the foregoing rights belong to the sovereign power. They are of the very essence of sovereignty. They are "incommunicable and inseparable." 7 Thus we see that with reference to his subjects the sovereign is supreme. His will, in a sense, is the measure of all things to his subjects. "As, for example ; of what is to be called right, what good, what virtue, what much, what little, what meum and tuum, what a pound, what a quart, &c." 8 1 Leviathan, Pt. II., chap. XVIII. 2 Ibid. a Ibid. 4 Ibid. 5 Ibid. 6 Ibid. 7 Ibid. On the subject of the " rights of the sovereign," consult also De Corp. Pol., Pt. II., chap. I.; also Philosophical Rudiments, chap. VI. 8 De Corp. Pol, Pt. II., chap. X.; see also Leviathan, Pt. II., chap XVIII. INTR ODUC TION. 2 5 Even the claims of the individual conscience are not to be regarded when they are in opposition to the will of the sovereign. He says : " I observe the diseases of a com- monwealth, that proceed from the poison of seditious doc- trines, whereof one is, That every private ?nan is judge of good and evil actions." And again, ''Another doctrine repugnant to civil society, is, that whatsoever a man does against his conscience, is sin • and it dependeth on the presumption of making himself judge of good and evil. . . . Therefore, though he that is subject to no civil law, sinneth in all he does against his conscience, because he has no other rule to follow but his own reason ; yet it is not so with him that lives in a commonwealth ; because the law is the public conscience by which he hath already undertaken to be guided." 2 Of course the sovereign's power does not extend to the feelings, opinions, and beliefs of men, for these he cannot reach. It only extends to the manifestation of these in external conduct. The sover- eign's will is the measure of all things to the individual, so far as his external conduct is concerned, within the limits indicated by the covenant. This absoluteness of the sovereign pertains not only to things civil, but also to things religious. There is no church exercising authority independent of the State. The State indeed is the church. The " civil sovereign is the supreme pastor, to whose charge the whole flock of his sub- jects is committed." All other pastors get their authority from him. In a commonwealth, as supreme pastor, the sovereign has authority to preach, to baptize, to consecrate temples and pastors to the service of God. He has supreme power in matters of policy and religion and can make what laws he deems fit for the government of his subjects. He has the right to determine what doctrines are to be taught and who is to teach them. If in things 1 Leviathan, Pt. II., chap. XXIX. 26 INTR OD UC TION. religious the sovereign hands over the government of his subjects to a pope, or a supreme pastor, or an " assembly of pastors," these then exercise their charge not jure divino, but jure civili, — not in God's right, but in the right of the sovereign. Whereas, the sovereign himself performs his office as supreme pastor jure divino. The sovereign, then, is supreme in things religious with reference to the government of his subjects. 1 But here again appears the question of the individual conscience. We have seen that in things civil ex- ternal actions in defiance of the sovereign's will cannot be tolerated on the ground of the claims of the individual conscience. Is this so also in matters of religion ? Hobbes's position on this difficult question is admirably stated by Professor Robertson as follows : " It is impossible that the state by any machinery of instruction or of penalties should control the thoughts and feelings of the subject. On the subject's side, with freedom of thought left ever un- touched, the claim of anything that can be called conscience to override the sovereign's commands must be at once rejected. This is plain so far as temporal affairs are con- cerned ; for the laws of nature enjoin civil obedience as the elementary condition of human welfare. In case of reli- gion, if natural religion is meant, it is not otherwise, because the law of nature is but another name for the law of God ; if revealed religion, everything depends upon a true under- standing of its import. Now what, according to Scripture, is really necessary for salvation ? Only the confession that Jesus is the Christ, with whatever is involved therein, but excluding all the vain dogmas invented by church doc- tors under the influence of pagan philosophy. The sover- eign power which utters any command trenching on the religious sphere is either Christian or it is not. If Chris- tian, it will not go against the fundamental tenet. What- ever it enjoins is, therefore, either indifferent, or is likely 1 Leviathan, Pt. III., chap. XLIL; also De Corp. Pol., Pt. II., chap. VI. INTR OD UC TION. 2 7 to have as much Scriptural warrant as can be adduced for the opinions of private men or for the injunctions of any pretended universal church ; not to say that some determi- nation of controversial points in religion is necessary. In either case, the subject may safely follow its command, more especially as no mental assent — only outward con- formity — is extorted ; and would do wrong not to follow it, because otherwise civil anarchy must result. If, on the other hand, the sovereign power is not professedly Chris- tian, the subject cannot indeed be expected, in a case where something is required involving damnation, to obey man rather than God. Let him then be ready, if need be, to lay down his life, expecting the reward in heaven of his martyrdom ; but in any case let him not resist a power which, whether Christian or not, is divinely appointed, since it has its origin in reason uttering the law of nature, which is the law of God." 1 But although the sovereign is in no way subject to the people of a commonwealth, nor in any manner subject to the civil laws, he is, however, subject to the law of nature ; and is accountable to God, who is author of the law of nature, for his conduct. 2 The duty to which he is obliged by the law of nature is to secure the end for which sover- eignty was established: "the procuration of the safety of the people" " By safety here, is not meant a bare preser- vation, but also all other contentments of life, which every man by lawful industry, without danger, or hurt to the commonwealth, shall acquire to himself." 3 This is to be done mainly "by a general providence contained in public instruction, both of doctrine and example ; and in the mak- ing and executing of good laws, to which individual persons may apply their own cases." 4 It is contrary to the duty of 1 Hobbes, Edinburgh, 1886, pp. 1 54-55- 2 Leviathan, Pt. II., chaps. XXIX. and XXX. 3 Ibid.; also Be Corp. Pol., chap. IX. 4 Leviathan, Pt. II., chap. XXX. 28 INTRODUCTION. the sovereign to transfer or to relinquish his rights, because this would mean the dissolution of the commonwealth and a return to a state of nature, which is a state of war, which is the greatest evil possible to life. The sovereign must maintain his rights in their entirety. Again, it is contrary to his duty to allow the people to be in ignorance or wrongly informed in regard to the grounds of his rights, because through ignorance and wrong information men are seduced and influenced to resistance when the common- wealth calls for their use and exercise. The sovereign, then, is under obligation only to the law of nature — accountable only to God who is the author of this law. 1 The measure of his obligation is determined by the end for which sover- eignty is established. But with this absoluteness of the sovereign goes a certain "liberty" of the subject. Because, "whensoever a man transferreth his right, or renounceth it ; it is either in con- sideration of some right reciprocally transferred to himself ; or for some other good he hopeth for thereby. For it is a voluntary act : and of the voluntary acts of every man, the object is some good to himself. And therefore there be some rights, which no man can be understood by any words, or other signs, to have abandoned, or transferred. As first a man cannot lay down the right of resisting thern, that assault him by force, to take away his life ; because he can- not be understood to aim thereby, at any good to himself. The same may be said of wounds, and chains, and impris- onment." 2 Not, then, having renounced all rights by his submission to the sovereign, a certain amount of "liberty" is his while subject to the sovereign. That is to say, there are some things " which, though commanded by the sover- 1 The right of nature, whereby God reigneth over men, and punisheth those that break his laws, is to be derived, not from his creating them, as if he required obedience as of gratitude for bis benefits; but from his irresistible power. — Leviathan, Pt. II., chap. XXXI. 2 Leviathan, Pt. I., chap. XIV. INTR 0£> UC TION. 29 eign, he may, nevertheless, without injustice refuse to do." A man is at liberty to disobey the command of the sover- eign, though justly condemned, "to kill, wound, or maim himself" ; or, when he is commanded, "not to resist those that assault him ; or to abstain from the use of food, air, medicine, or any other thing, without which he cannot live." l He is not under obligation, when guilty of crime, to confess it when interrogated by the sovereign, unless assured of pardon. Neither is he under obligation to yield obedi- ence to the sovereign's command, to "execute any danger- ous or dishonorable office," if disobedience does not frus- trate the end for which sovereign power was established. And, finally, when the sovereign power is no longer able to protect the subject, then the subject's obligation to the sovereign ceases. In short, man's chief end is self-preser- vation. For the better realization of this end he forsakes a state of nature and becomes a member of the common- wealth according to the manner already described. When the State, whether justly or unjustly, seeks to destroy or injure him, then man has the right to resist the State. He has entered into no covenant which obliges him to submit to death or injury of the character described above ; but, rather, into a covenant whereby security of life and person may better be attained than in a state of nature. In his " act of submission " he has not surrendered all rights, but only a right to all things. He has given up only those rights which, if retained, would make against "the peace of man- kind " which the laws of nature dictate to be essential for the security of his person ; but has retained the right to defend himself against death, wounds, imprisonment, etc., even in defiance of the command of the sovereign. And if sovereignty fails in its power to protect the subject — to procure his safety — then the subject is no longer under obligation to the sovereign, for no man can relinquish the 1 Leviathan, Pt. II., chap. XXI. 3° INTRODUCTION. right which he has by nature to protect himself when there is no one else to protect him. 1 To the liberty of the sub- ject mentioned above must also be added the freedom to govern himself as he pleases in all of those things concern- ing which the sovereign has made no provision in the form of laws for the regulation of the conduct of his sub- jects. We notice, then, in what precedes that there are two parts to the ethical philosophy of Hobbes. He speaks of a morality founded on reason and a morality founded on the will of the sovereign. These two aspects of his ethical teaching have not always been recognized by students of his system. A number of his critics, if con- scious of this twofold division at all, have at least treated Hobbes in their criticism as though he simply taught a positive, institutional, political morality, — a morality founded on the will of the sovereign. That Hobbes by his inconsistencies and his baldness of statement has sometimes furnished grounds for such an interpretation no one familiar with his works can deny. He says, for example : " The desires, and other passions of man, are in themselves no sin. No more are the actions, that proceed from those passions, till they know a law that forbids them : which till laws be made they cannot know : nor can any law be made, till they have agreed upon the person that shall make it." 2 He speaks here, of course, of civil law, and not of law im- posed upon man by his moral personality. Again, he says, speaking of men in a state of nature : " The notions of right and wrong, justice and injustice have there no place. Where there is no common power, there is no law : where no law, no injustice. Force, and fraud, are in war the two cardinal virtues. Justice, and injustice are none of the faculties, neither of the body, nor mind. ]f they were, they 1 Leviathan, Pt. II., chap. XXI. 2 Leviathan, Pt. I., chap. XIII. INTR OD UC TION. 3 1 might be in a man that were alone in the world, as well as his senses, and passions. They are qualities, that relate to men in society, not in solitude. It is consequent also to the same condition, that there be no propriety, no dominion, no mine and thine distinct ; but only that to be every man's, that he can get ; and for so long, as he can keep it." 1 Here, at least, the surface interpretation of his teaching would indicate that right and wrong are merely the creatures of the sovereign's fiat. In the De Cive his words are essentially the same : " Doctrinas de justo et injusto, bono et malo, praeter leges in unaquaque civitate constitutas authenticas esse nullas." And also in the following : "Ad civitatem pertinet etiam Christianam quid sit justitia, quid injustitia, sive peccatum contra justitiam determinare." Once more he says : "pleasure therefore, or delight, is the appar- ence or sense of good ; ... Of pleasures or delights, some arise from the sense of an object present ; and those may be called pleasure of sense; the word sensual, as it is used by those only that condemn them, having no place till there be laws." 2 He speaks here again of civil laws. But while these statements and others like them, which are numerous in the writings of Hobbes, seem to furnish some ground for the interpretation of Hobbes as teaching merely an institu- tional morality, no careful student of his ethical philosophy can fail to recognize that Hobbes emphatically taught a morality of reason which is antecedent to and independent of a political morality. This is evident from his general teaching concerning "the laws of nature," which, accord- ing to Hobbes, are obligatory upon man as man. " A law of nature, lex naturalis, is a precept or general rule, found out by reason, by which a man is forbidden to do that, which is destructive of his life, or taketh away the means of preserving the same ; and to omit that, by which he 1 Leviathan, Pt. I., chap. XIII. 2 Ibid., chap. VI. 3 2 INTR OD UC TION. thinketh it may be best preserved." 1 We have already seen that these "laws of nature," according to Hobbes, are always binding inforo interno. They are not always bind- ing in foro externo, as, for example, when others do not obey them, and we, by yielding obedience to them under such circumstances, would subject ourselves to the prey of others. We have also seen that the laws are immutable and eternal. Hobbes further tells us that " he that is subject to no civil law " sins " in all he does against his conscience, because he has no other rule to follow but his own reason." 2 Again, he says : " Every man by natural passion, calleth that good which pleaseth him for the present, or so far forth as he can foresee ; and in like manner, that which displeaseth him, evil. And therefore he that foreseeth the whole way to his preservation, which is the end that every one by nature aimeth at, must also call it good, and the contrary evil. And this is that good and evil, which not every man in passion calleth so, but all men by reason. And there- fore the fulfilling of all these laws is good in reason, and the breaking of them evil. And so also the habit, or disposition, or intention to fulfill them good ; and the neglect of them evil." 3 Again, he says: "And seeing that the laws of nature concern the conscience, not he only breaketh them that doth any action contrary, but also he whose action is conformable to them, in case he thinketh it contrary. For though the action chance to be right, yet in his judgment he despiseth the law." 4 Thus we see that Hobbes believed in a morality independent of and antecedent to the will of the sovereign, in an eternal and immutable morality which is binding upon the conscience of man. A morality founded upon reason. To ignore this aspect of Hobbes's teaching, in criticising his ethical philosophy, is manifestly unjust. But we have also seen that he teaches an institutional i Leviathan., Pt. I., chap. XIV. 2 Ibid., Pt. II., chap. XXIX. 3 De Corp. Pol, Pt. I., chap. IV. i Ibid. INTR OD UC TION. 3 3 morality to which apparently the scruples of the individual conscience must give way — the sovereign's will being the measure of virtue, good and evil, right and wrong. Is there any consistency in such teaching ? Are not these two aspects of Hobbes's ethical philosophy positively antithetical ? These questions can best be answered by examining more closely the nature of the two kinds (if we may so speak) of morality of which Hobbes treats. The morality of reason may be described as follows : Every man's chief good is self-preservation, and every man is obliged by the laws of nature (the morality of reason) to do those things which reason dictates to be the best means for the attainment of this end, and to refrain from those things which he thinks may make against this good. He is, therefore, in the first place, under moral obligation to preserve himself even against himself. The man as reason must preserve himself against the man as passion. Be- cause the man as passion seeks his own destruction, which of course is against the man's chief good, — self-preserva- tion. On this point Hobbes says, after unfolding the laws of nature with reference to the preservation " of men in multitudes," that "there be other things tending to the destruction of particular men ; as drunkenness, and all other parts of intemperance ; which may therefore also be reck- oned amongst those things which the law of nature hath forbidden ; but are not necessary to be mentioned, nor are pertinent enough to this place." 1 But, in the second place, man is under moral obligation, i.e., is obligated by a law of his rational nature, to seek and maintain his chief good, — self-preservation, — against the assaults actual or possible of other men. And whatever is necessary for the accom- plishment of this task, even though it involve the destruc- tion of the goods and bodies of other men, his rational nature commands. And what is commanded by his rational 1 Leviathan, chap. XV. 3 4 INTR OD UC TION. nature is morally right. This is undoubtedly what Hobbes means when he says that in a state of nature there is no right or wrong, justice or injustice. He means, not that there is ho moral law for the individual with reference to himself. As a being whose chief good is self-preservation, he is under obligation to his rational nature to use the best means, so far as his knowledge goes, to realize this good. But he owes nothing to anybody else. Others have no moral claims upon him. He may use any man in any manner possible to attain his own end, — self-preservation. Indeed, reason obliges him to do so. In such an endeavor to realize the end one cannot do wrong, or be unjust to another. This is the ethics of reason which is man's sole guide in a state of nature. But the ethics of reason in- volves something more. Man's rational nature dictates that the good which is his chief end cannot be attained in a state of nature ; for such a state is one of continual war in which man's chief good is threatened. It can best be attained in a society organized under government, — in a commonwealth where men surrender their right to all things (the exercise of which on the part of all men endangers the safety of each) to a sovereign whose office is to secure them this good. Hence, reason dictates that men should take upon themselves the government of themselves according to the dictates of political morality, the nature of which consists in submission to the sovereign's will as the measure of all things, even of right and wrong, good and evil, to the extent indicated by the covenant by which the commonwealth was founded, because in this way they can best realize the end to which they are ordained by nature. In other words, the morality of reason binds man to "put on " the institutional morality, because the morality of reason has to do with the means of man's self-preservation, and reason points out that existence in a commonwealth, with all the surrender that this implies, is a better means INTR OD UC TION. 3 5 to this end than is existence in a state of nature in which a man has a right to all things. The State, then, is a moral institution. It subserves a moral purpose, — " the procu- ration of the safety of the people." It rests upon moral laws, — the laws of nature or the laws of reason. Outward submission to all that the State decrees, as long as it accom- plishes the end for which it is established, is the most moral thing a man can do. The will of the sovereign, inasmuch as it makes for peace, which makes for the preservation of men, is morally binding. The sovereign's commands, in that they make for peace, are rational. And what is thus rational is morally obligatory. Thus we see that the relation between the two aspects of Hobbes's ethical philos- ophy is not an artificial, but an exceedingly natural one. In fact, there is really only one kind of morality, — the morality of reason ; and the political morality, founded on the will of the sovereign, is, in the final analysis, merely a form of the morality of reason. III. Considerations in Studying the Ethics of Hobbes. To fully appreciate the ethical and political philosophy of Hobbes, we must take into consideration the nature of the man as it affected his speculations. Hobbes was a creature of fear. He himself says, speaking of his birth and disposition, " I was the victim of unjust time, and along with me numerous ills were also born. For the report was spread abroad among our towns that with that fleet [the Spanish Armada] the last day of our nation was at hand. And then my mother conceived such fear that she gave birth to twins, myself and Fear. Hence it is, as I believe, that I detest my country's enemies, and love peace, in the company of the Muses and pleasant 3 6 INTR OD UC TION. companions." 1 This fear, which held Hobbes in its vice- like grip, did not simply manifest itself in a detestation of his country's enemies and in a general inclination for peace, but in an almost constant concern with regard to his personal safety and in an almost morbid terror of death. This anxiety for his personal safety and horrible fear of death, intensified by the uncertain and troublous condition of the times, had a tendency to beget in him a general distrust of men, so that the unworthy conceptions of human nature which underlie his ethical and political philosophy must be studied in the light of this fact. A second thing which must be taken into consideration in studying the ethical and political philosophy of Hobbes is the character of the times in which he lived. Hardly any fact is more familiar to the student of the history of speculative thought than the influence of an age upon the reflective thought of that age. Speculative thinkers do not escape the effects of environment. Hobbes is no exception to the rule. He lived in one of the most unset- tled and stormy periods of English history. It was a period of confusion and strife. The State was torn with political and ecclesiastical contentions. Parliament con- tended with the Crown. The Church contended with the State- Politics had bred a number of hostile factions. The Church had split into a variety of warring sects. So that Hobbes lived almost constantly in an atmosphere of strife. Such a condition of things undoubtedly had its influence upon him, both in suggesting for consideration problems of an ethico-political character as well as affect- ing his thought in the solution of the same. Studying his ethical and political philosophy in the light of the condi- tions under which he reflected and wrote, one can, in a measure, at least, understand how he was led to form a conception of human nature so utterly selfish and unsocial. 1 Quoted from Morris's British Thought and Thinkers, chap. VI. INTR OB UC 770 AT. 3 7 It would be extravagant, of course, to suppose that his conclusions concerning the nature of men revealed in his psychological analysis were merely the product of his sur- roundings. But, on the other hand, it would be erroneous to suppose they were merely the result of self-examination, as he informs us, 1 or of speculations born of "the den." Hobbes, to a very large extent, dealt with human nature as he constantly observed it in the men of his time. He did not so much deal with human nature in the abstract as in the concrete ; not so much with man as with men ; and with men as they came under his observation. And what an exhibition of human nature did these men afford. As one has said, " the men by whom he was surrounded were distrustful of each other. Anarchy, as he judged, had gained the ascendency. In the civil wars men had returned to the state of nature. Hobbes saw them as chil- d?-en of wrath, hateful and hating each other." 2 This sel- fishness and unsociality, so manifest in his day, undoubtedly appealed to Hobbes as of the very essence of human nature. And with such a conception of the essential nature of men we can further understand how Hobbes was led to form what many of his critics regarded as extreme and danger- ous views of the nature of sovereignty. What, human nature being the Ishmaelitish thing the age is constantly demonstrating it to be, is to help men out of this state of strife ? Nothing, thought Hobbes, but the establishment of a supreme authority, possessed of sufficient power to compel men, through fear of penalty, to live like creatures of " reason " rather than like creatures of " passion." This, and this only, is the means by which men are to emerge from a state of nature which is a state of war, into a state of peace which is a state of safety and contentment. This, and this only, is the means by which men, who are already 1 Introduction to the Leviathan. 2 Hunt, Religious Thought in England, Vol. I., p. 385. 3 8 INTR OD UC TION. members of an organized society, can be kept from relaps- ing into a state of nature. A sovereign power is necessary for peace, and the sovereign power must be sovereign. It must be the measure of all things necessary for the " pro- curation of the safety of the people." Another point to be considered in an attempt to properly understand the practical philosophy of Hobbes is its rela- tion to preceding and contemporary thought. Concerning the former, there is comparatively little to be said. Hobbes was not an erudite man. He was wont to say that had he read as much as others he would be as ignorant as they. Still, he was more or less acquainted with the works of some of his predecessors in these departments of thought. This is undoubtedly true with reference to Aristotle. He was acquainted with both the Ethics and Politics of the Greek philosopher, and had no respect for either. He criticises some of the positions taken by Aristotle in the Politics} It is quite probable also that he was familiar with the views of Bodin, as expressed in his somewhat famous work entitled Six Livres de la Republique, and was to a certain extent influenced by them. 2 Concerning his relation to contemporary thought, it may be said, that the age of Hobbes was signalized by a decided revolt against scholasticism, and especially against the scholastic conceptions and methods of studying nature. The phi- losophy of nature which had long prevailed was dominated by the conceptions of Aristotle. Physical phenomena were explained from the standpoint of final causes. Against this method of dealing with nature the new philosophy set itself. It pursued a different course. The scientific mind had begun to appreciate the value of mathematics for the explanation of physical phenomena. As a result, mechan- 1 Leviathan, Pt. IV., chap. XLVI. 2 Cf. Dunning, Jean Bodin on Sovereignty, &c, Pol. Science Quar., Vol. XL, No. i." INTRODUCTION. 39 ism rather than final cause was the principle applied in accounting for the constitution and construction of things. Greatly impressed by the mechanical conception of nature, Hobbes not only made use of the principle of mechanism in the explanation of so-called physical phenomena, but ex- tended it beyond the sphere of physical science into the domain of psychological, social, political, and ethical phe- nomena ; and, as before stated, quoting the words of Falckenberg, " Mechanism applied to the world gives mate- rialism ; applied to knowledge, sensationalism of a mechan- ical type ; applied to the will, determinism ; to morality and the State, ethical and political naturalism." It is indeed in the application of this principle of mechanism, which he had received from his age, to the explanation of ethical and political life, resulting in "ethical and political naturalism," that much of Hobbes's historical significance as a writer on ethical and political subjects lies. One of the principal reasons why he is called the father of modern ethics is his treatment of ethics from this naturalistic stand- point, and thus he proves to be the first to liberate ethics from the domination of theology. Even Bacon, who stands out so conspicuously as the foe of scholasticism, did not succeed in freeing ethics entirely from theology. Indeed, he acknowledges " that a great part of the law moral is of that perfection whereunto the light of nature cannot aspire." The "light of nature" is simply "sufficient to check the vice, not to inform the duty." x We are dependent on revelation for the latter. IV. Influence of the Speculations of Hobbes. The doctrines of Hobbes exerted a marked influence on contemporary and subsequent thought. Warburton says : 1 Sidgwick, Outlines of the History of Ethics, p. 158. 40 IXTRODUCTION. " The philosopher of Malmesbury was the terror of the last age, as Tindal and Collins have been of this. The press sweat with controversy ; and every young churchman mili- tant would needs try his arms in thundering upon Hobbes's steel cap." Mackintosh says: "The answers to the Leviathan would form a library." In the ethical field the opposition moved along two lines. In the first place, his institutional morality, which made the sovereign's will the measure of right and wrong, called forth specially the opposition of Cudworth and Clarke. In opposition to it, they proclaimed an eternal and immutable morality, founded on the nature of things. Moral relations are not the creations of the sovereign's will or the result of legis- lative enactment. They are antecedent to and independ- ent of the sovereign's will or civil law. They are inherent in the very nature of things. In the second place, Hobbes's theory of constitutional egoism, which, as we have seen, underlies his theory of morality, met with very vigorous opposition. These opponents of Hobbes met him on his own ground. That is, they entered into a psychological analysis of man, endeavoring to show that such an analysis reveals not a constitutional egoism, as Hobbes claims, but rather that man is by nature social and capable of altruistic conduct. Among the first, if not the first, to meet Hobbes on these grounds was Richard Cumberland. In his De Legibus Natitrae Disquisitio Philosophica, he contends that man by nature is social, and, therefore, a state of nature is not one of mutual warfare. This is plainly indicated both in the bodily and mental constitution of man. He also regards the universal good, instead of the individual's good, as the great end of conduct for rational beings. Indeed, he holds that the good of each is absolutely dependent upon the "good of all." Shaftesbury was another writer who opposed Hobbes, mainly on psychological grounds. In his treatise, enti- TNTR OD UC TION. 4 * tied An Inquiry concerning Virtue, or Merit, he . endeavors to show that an analysis of man reveals the fact that he has "natural affections " which impel him to activity for the public good, as well as self-affections which impel him to seek his own private good. Bishop Butler, also, even more strongly than Shaftesbury, attempts to refute the psychological egoism of Hobbes. In his famous Sermons on Human Nature he endeavors to establish the thesis "that there are as real and the same kind of indications in human nature, that we were made for society and to do good to our fellow-creatures ; as that we were intended to take care of our own life and health and private good ; and that the same objections lie against one of these assertions, as against the other." This psychological treatment of ethics, which resulted from Hobbes founding moral relations ultimately on the essential constitution of man, has largely characterized English ethics from that day to the present time. 1 In the field of political speculative thought we find the influence of Hobbes's speculations very manifest. In Great Britain, Clarenden, in his Brief Views and Survey of the Dangerous and Pernicious Errors to Church and State, in Mr. Hobbes's Book entitled "Leviathan," vigorously opposed the theory of Hobbes concerning sovereignty. The sovereign's absolute independence of his subjects was an especially objectionable feature of Hobbes's theory in the opinion of Clarenden. On the Continent the influ- ence of Hobbes's speculations are manifest, especially in the writings of Spinoza and Rousseau. Spinoza, both in his Tractatus Theologico-Politicus and his Tractatus Politicus, adopts a number of the cardinal features of the theory of Hobbes concerning the organization of the common- wealth. 2 He agrees with Hobbes in his conception of 1 Cf. Robertson, Hobbes, chap. IX. 2 For an excellent comparison between the main features of the political theories of Hobbes and Spinoza, consult Sir F. Pollock's Spi- 42 IXTRODUCTIOX. men in a state of nature. "Homines ex natura hostes," 1 says Spinoza. Again, he is in agreement with Hobbes with regard to the motive which impels men to organize the State. It is the motive of self-preservation. He differs from Hobbes, however, in his views on the form of govern- ment. In the Tractatus I'heologico- Politicus, he favors a democratic form of government. Later, in his Iractatus Politicus, he inclines to an aristocracy. Rousseau, in his Discourse sur Vinegalite des conditions pariun ks homines, as well as in his Conirat Social, reveals the influence of the English thinker. He adheres to the social contract theory, but differs materially from Hobbes in his application of it. 2 Later, the influence of Hobbes's political philosophy may be found in the writings of Bentham and Austin. Speaking of Spinoza's "philosophy of law and government," Pollock noza : His Life and Philosophy, chap. X. See also Spinoza's Works, edited by Bruder, Vol. II., Epist. I., p. 298. for Spinoza's conception of the difference between some of his views and those of Hobbes. 1 Tractatus Politicus, chap. II., § 14. 2 Bluntschli gives a rather interesting comparison between Hobbes, Locke, and Rousseau in their application of this theory. " It should be noted," he says, "that the Theory of Contract is applied in quite different ways by Hobbes, Locke, and Rousseau. According to Hobbes {Leviathan, chap. XVII.), men only pass from 'the state of nature ' to the social state by surrendering their rights to a sovereign (one, few, or many); Locke {Treatises on Government, Bk. II., §6) supposes rights, e.g., of liberty and property, to exist in a state of nature ; by the 'original compact ' a form of government is instituted to secure these rights (chap. VIII.). According to Rousseau, men pass from the state of nature to the social state by the social contract (as in Hobbes's theory), but the sovereign to whom each surrenders his rights is 'the people,' so that each is sovereign as well as subject (Contr. Soc, I., C. 6). This sovereignty is inalienable (II., C. 1); a government is not insti- tuted by a contract (III., C. 16), as in Locke's theory; the govern- ment is only the minister of the General Will. Thus, according to Hobbes, a revolution against the de facto government, which he identi- fies with the sovereign, implies a return to the state of nature, anarchy, and is quite unjustifiable. Accoi'ding to Locke, a revolution may be justifiable where the government has ceased to fulfill its part of the contract, i.e., to protect personal rights. According to Rousseau, a revo- lution would be only a change of ministry." — The Theory of the State, 6th ed., trans., Bk. IV., chap. IX. For a brief account of the develop- INTR OD UC TION. 43 it belongs to " the general doctrine characteristic of the English school of jurisprudence.'' He then adds: " This doctrine was first clearly given out by Hobbes, then taken up after a long interval by Bentham, then carried on with additions into a new generation by Austin ; it has in our own time been endowed, by the work of Sir Henry Maine and others, with the breadth and flexibility that were wanting in its earlier stages, and is now accepted, with more or less development and modification, by nearly all English writers who pay any serious attention to the scientific study of law." 1 ment of the social contract theory in the eighteenth century, see F. Pol- lock's History of the Science of Politics, pp. 65-92. Willoughby gives a brief history of the theory in The State, chap. IV. For a criticism of the theory, consult Bluntschli, loc. cit. ; Woolsey, Political Science, Vol. I., Pt. II., chap. II.; Willoughby, op. cit., chap. V. The principal argu- ments urged against the theory are, that it is conducive to anarchy ; that it lacks historical foundation ; and that it is illogical. 1 Spinoza : His Life and Philosophy, chap. X. On this point, see also Robertson, Hobbes, chap. X. LEVIATHAN -SELECTIONS. PART I. — OF MAN CHAPTER I. Of Sense. Concerning the thoughts of man, I will consider them first singly, and afterwards in train, or dependence upon one another. Singly, they are every one a " representa- tion " or "appearance," of some quality, or other acci- dent of a body without us, which is commonly called an "object." Which object worketh on the eyes, ears, and other parts of a man's body ; and by diversity of working, produceth diversity of appearances. The original of them all, is that which we call "sense," for there is no conception in a man's mind, which hath not at first, totally, or by parts, been begotten upon the organs of sense. The rest are derived from that original. To know the natural cause of sense, is not very neces- sary to the business now in hand ; and I have elsewhere written of the same at large. Nevertheless, to fill each part of my present method, I will briefly deliver the same in this place. The cause of sense, is the external body, or object, which presseth the organ proper to each sense, either immediately, as in the taste and touch ; or mediately, as in seeing, hearing, and smelling ; which pressure, by the mediation of the nerves, and other strings and membranes of the body, continued inwards to the brain and heart, 40 OF MAN. causeth there a resistance, or counter-pressure, or endeavour of the heart to deliver itself, which endeavour, because " outward," seemeth to be some matter without. And this "seeming," or "fancy," is that which men call "sense"; and consisteth, as to the eye, in a "light," or " colour fig- ured " ; to the ear, in a " sound " ; to the nostril, in an " odour " ; to the tongue and palate, in a " savour " ; and to the rest of the body, in "heat," " cold," " hardness," "soft- ness," and such other qualities as we discern by "feeling." All which qualities, called "sensible," are in the object, that causeth them, but so many several motions of the matter, by which it presseth our organs diversely. Neither in us that are pressed, are they anything else, but divers motions ; for motion produceth nothing but motion. But their appearance to us is fancy, the same waking, that dreaming. And as pressing, rubbing, or striking the eye, makes us fancy a light ; and pressing the ear, produceth a din ; so do the bodies also we see, or hear, produce the same by their strong, though unobserved action. For if those colours and sounds were in the bodies, or objects that cause them, they could not be severed from them, as by glasses, and in echoes by reflection, we see they are; where we know the thing we see is in one place, the appearance in another. And though at some certain distance, the real and very object seem invested with the fancy it begets in us ; yet still the object is one thing, the image or fancy is another. So that sense, in all cases, is nothing else but original fancy, caused, as I have said, by the pressure, that is, by the motion, of external things upon our eyes, ears, and other organs thereunto ordained. But the philosophy-schools, through all the universities of Christendom, grounded upon certain texts of Aristotle, teach another doctrine, and say, for the cause of " vision," that the thing seen, sendeth forth on every side a " visible species," in English, a "visible show," "apparition," or OF IMAGINATION. 49 "aspect," or " a being seen"; the receiving whereof into the eye, is "seeing." And for the cause of "hearing," that the thing heard, sendeth forth an "audible species," that is an "audible aspect," or "audible being seen"; which entering at the ear, maketh " hearing." Nay, for the cause of "understanding " also, they say the thing understood, send- eth forth an "intelligible species," that is, an "intelligible being seen "; which, coming into the understanding, makes us understand. I say not this, as disproving the use of universities ; but because I am to speak hereafter of their office in a commonwealth, I must let you see on all occa- sions by the way, what things would be amended in them ; amongst which the frequency of insignificant speech is one. CHAPTER II. Of Imagination. That when a thing lies still, unless somewhat else stir it, it will lie still for ever, is a truth that no man doubts of. But that when a thing is in motion, it will eternally be in motion, unless somewhat else stay it, though the reason be the same, namely, that nothing can change itself, is not so easily assented to. For men measure, not only other men, but all other things, by themselves ; and because they find themselves subject after motion to pain, and lassitude, think everything else grows weary of motion, and seeks repose of its own accord ; little considering, whether it be not some other motion, wherein that desire of rest they find in themselves, consisteth. From hence it is, that the schools say, heavy bodies fall downwards, out of an appe- tite to rest, and to conserve their nature in that place which is most proper for them ; ascribing appetite, and knowledge of what is good for their conservation, which is more than man has, to things inanimate, absurdly. 50 OF MAN. When a body is once in motion, it moveth, unless some- thing else hinder it, eternally ; and whatsoever hindreth it, cannot in an instant, but in time, and by degrees, quite extinguish it ; and as we see in the water, though the wind cease, the waves give not over rolling for a long time after : so also it happeneth in that motion, which is made in the internal parts of a man, then, when he sees, dreams, &c. For after the object is removed, or the eye shut, we still retain an image of the thing seen, though more obscure than when we see it. And this is it, the Latins call " imagi- nation," from the image made in seeing; and apply the same, though improperly, to all the other senses. But the Greeks call it "fancy" ; which signifies "appearance," and is as proper to one sense, as to another. " Imagination " therefore is nothing but "decaying sense " ; and is found in men, and many other living creatures, as well sleeping, as waking. The decay of sense in men waking, is not the decay of the motion made in sense ; but an obscuring of it, in such manner as the light of the sun obscureth the light of the stars ; which stars do no less exercise their virtue, by which they are visible, in the day than in the night. But because amongst many strokes, which our eyes, ears, and other organs receive from external bodies, the predominant only is sensible ; therefore, the light of the sun being pre- dominant, we are not affected with the action of the stars. And any object being removed from our eyes, though the impression it made in us remain, yet other objects more present succeeding, and working on us, the imagination of the past is obscured, and made weak, as the voice of a man is in the noise of the day. From whence it followeth, that the longer the time is, after the sight or sense of any object, the weaker is the imagination. For the continual change of man's body destroys in time the parts which in sense were moved : so that distance of time, and of place, OF IMAGINATION. 51 hath one and the same effect in us. For as at a great dis- tance of place, that which we look at appears dim, and without distinction of the smaller parts ; and as voices grow weak, and inarticulate ; so also, after great distance of time, our imagination of the past is weak ; and we lose, for example, of cities we have seen, many particular streets, and of actions, many particular circumstances. This "de- caying sense," when we would express the thing itself, I mean "fancy" itself, we call "imagination," as I said before : but when we would express the decay, and signify that the sense is fading, old, and past, it is called "mem- ory." So that imagination and memory are but one thing, which for divers considerations hath divers names. Much memory, or memory of many things, is called " ex- perience." Again, imagination being only of those things which have been formerly perceived by sense, either all at once, or by parts at several times ; the former, which is the imagining the whole object as it was presented to the sense, is "simple" imagination, as when one imagineth a man, or horse, which he hath seen before. The other is "compounded " ; as when, from the sight of a man at one time, and of a horse at another, we conceive in our mind a Centaur. So when a man compoundeth the image of his own person with the image of the actions of another man, as when a man imagines himself a Hercules or an Alexan- der, which happeneth often to them that are much taken with reading of romances, it is a compound imagination, and properly but a fiction of the mind. There be also other imaginations that rise in men, though waking, from the great impression made in sense : as from gazing upon the sun, the impression leaves an image of the sun before our eyes a long time after ; and from being long and vehe- mently attent upon geometrical figures, a man shall in the dark, though awake, have the images of lines and angles before his eyes ; which kind of fancy hath no particular 52 OF MAN. name, as being a thing that doth not commonly fall into men's discourse. The imaginations of them that sleep are those we call "dreams." And these also, as all other imaginations, have been before, either totally or by parcels, in the sense. And because in sense, the brain and nerves, which are the necessary organs of sense, are so benumbed in sleep, as not easily to be moved by the action of external objects, there can happen in sleep no imagination, and therefore no dream, but what proceeds from the agitation of the inward parts of man's body ; which inward parts, for the connec- tion they have with the brain, and other organs, when they be distempered, do keep the same in motion ; whereby the imaginations there formerly made, appear as if a man were waking ; saving that the organs of sense being now be- numbed, so as there is no new object, which can ' master and obscure them with a more vigorous impression, a dream must needs be more clear, in this silence of sense, than our waking thoughts. And hence it cometh to pass, that it is a hard matter, and by many thought impos- sible, to distinguish exactly between sense and dreaming. For my part, when I consider that in dreams I do not often nor constantly think of the same persons, places, objects, and actions, that I do waking ; nor remember so long a train of coherent thoughts, dreaming, as at other times ; and because waking I often observe the absurd- ity of dreams, but never dream of the absurdities of my waking thoughts ; I am well satisfied, that being awake, I know I dream not, though when I dream I think myself awake. And seeing dreams are caused by the distemper of some of the inward parts of the body, divers distempers must needs cause different dreams. And hence it is that lying cold breedeth dreams of fear, and raiseth the thought and image of some fearful object, the motion from the brain to OF IMAGINATION. 53 the inner parts and from the inner parts to the brain being reciprocal ; and that as anger causeth heat in some parts of the body when we are awake, so when we sleep the over- heating of the same parts causeth anger, and raiseth up in the brain the imagination of an enemy. In the same man- ner, as natural kindness, when we are awake, causeth desire, and desire makes heat in certain other parts of the body ; so also too much heat in those parts, while we sleep, rais- eth in the brain an imagination of some kindness shown. In sum, our dreams are the reverse of our waking imagina- tions ; the motion when we are awake beginning at one end, and when we dream at another. The most difficult discerning of a man's dream, from his waking thoughts, is then, when by some accident we observe not that we have slept : which is easy to happen to a man full of fearful thoughts, and whose conscience is much troubled ; and that sleepeth, without the circumstances of going to bed or putting off his clothes, as one that noddeth in a chair. For he that taketh pains, and industriously lays himself to sleep, in case any uncouth and exorbitant fancy come unto him, cannot easily think it other than a dream. We read of Marcus Brutus, (one that had his life given him by Julius Caesar, and was also his favourite, and notwithstanding murdered him), how at Philippi, the night before he gave battle to Augustus Caesar, he saw a fearful apparition, which is commonly related by historians as a vision ; but considering the circumstances, one may easily judge to have been but a short dream. For sitting in his tent, pensive and troubled with the horror of his rash act, it was not hard for him, slumbering in the cold, to dream of that which most affrighted him ; which fear, as by de- grees it made him wake, so also it must needs make the ap- parition by degrees to vanish ; and having no assurance that he slept, he could have no cause to think it a dream, or anything but a vision. And this is no very rare acci- 54 OF MAN. dent ; for even they that be perfectly awake, if they be timorous and superstitious, possessed with fearful tales, and alone in the dark, are subject to the like fancies, and believe they see spirits and dead men's ghosts walking in churchyards ; whereas it is either their fancy only, or else the knavery of such persons as make use of such super- stitious fear, to pass disguised in the night, to places they would not be known to haunt. From this ignorance of how to distinguish dreams, and other strong fancies, from vision and sense, did arise the greatest part of the religion of the Gentiles in time past, that worshipped satyrs, fawns, nymphs, and the like ; and now-a-days the opinion that rude people have of fairies, ghosts, and goblins, and of the power of witches. For as for witches, I think not that their witchcraft is any real power ; but yet that they are justly punished, for the false belief they have that they can do such mischief, joined with their purpose to do it if they can ; their trade being nearer to a new religion than to a craft or science. And for fairies, and walking ghosts, the opinion of them has, I think, been on purpose either taught or not confuted, to keep in credit the use of exorcism, of crosses, of holy water, and other such inventions of ghostly men. Nevertheless, there is no doubt, but God can make unnatural apparitions ; but that he does it so often, as men need to fear such things, more than they fear the stay or change of the course of nature, which he also can stay, and change, is no point of Christian faith. But evil men under pretext that God can do any thing, are so bold as to say any thing when it serves their turn, though they think it untrue ; it is the part of a wise man, to believe them no farther, than right reason makes that which they say, appear credible. If this superstitious fear of spirits were taken away, and with it, prognostics from dreams, false prophecies, and many other things depending thereon, by which crafty TRAIN OF IMAGINATIONS. 55 ambitious persons abuse the simple people, men would be much more fitted than they are for civil obedience. And this ought to be the work of the schools : but they rather nourish such doctrine. For, not knowing what imagination or the senses are, what they receive, they teach : some saying, that imaginations rise of themselves, and have no cause ; others, that they rise most commonly from the will ; and that good thoughts are blown (inspired) into a man by God, and evil thoughts by the devil ; or that good thoughts are poured (infused) into a man by God, and evil ones by the devil. Some say the senses receive the species of things, and deliver them to the common sense ; and the common sense delivers them over to the fancy, and the fancy to the memory, and the memory to the judgment, like handing of things from one to another, with many words making nothing understood. The imagination that is raised in man, or any other crea- ture indued with the faculty of imagining, by words, or other voluntary signs, is that we generally call "understanding"; and is common to man and beast. For a dog by custom will understand the call, or the rating of his master ; and so will many other beasts. That understanding which is pecul- iar to man, is the understanding not only his will, but his conceptions and thoughts, by the sequel and contexture of the names of things into affirmations, negations, and other forms of speech ; and of this kind of understanding I shall speak hereafter. CHAPTER III. Of the Consequence or Train of Imaginations. By "consequence," or "train" of thoughts, I understand that succession of one thought to another, which is called, to distinguish it from discourse in words, " mental discourse." 56 OF MAN. When a man thinketh on anything whatsoever, his next thought after, is not altogether so casual as it seems to be. Not every thought to every thought succeeds indifferently. But as we have no imagination, whereof we have not for- merly had sense, in whole, or in parts; so we have no transi- tion from one imagination to another, whereof we never had the like before in our senses. The reason whereof is this. All fancies are motions within us, relics of those made in the sense : and those motions that immediately succeeded one another in the sense, continue also together after sense : insomuch as the former coming again to take place, and be predominant, the latter followeth, by coherence of the matter moved, in such manner, as water upon a plane table is drawn which way any one part of it is guided by the finger. But because in sense, to one and the same thing perceived, sometimes one thing, sometimes another suc- ceedeth, it comes to pass in time, that in the' imagining of anything, there is no certainty what we shall imagine next; only this is certain, it shall be something that succeeded the same before, at one time or another. This train of thoughts, or mental discourse, is of two sorts. The first is "unguided," "without design," and inconstant ; wherein there is no passionate thought, to govern and direct those that follow, to itself, as the end and scope of some desire, or other passion : in which case the thoughts are said to wander, and seem impertinent one to another, as in a dream. Such are commonly the thoughts of men, that are not only without company, but also without care of anything ; though even then their thoughts are as busy as at other times, but without harmony ; as the sound which a lute out of tune would yield to any man ; or in tune, to one that could not play. And yet in this wild ranging of the mind, a man may oft-times perceive the way of it, and the dependence of one thought upon another. For in a discourse of our present civil war, what could seem more TRAIN OF IMAGINATIONS. 57 impertinent, than to ask, as one did, what was the value of a Roman penny ? Yet the coherence to me was manifest enough. For the thought of the war, introduced the thought of the delivering up the king to his enemies ; the thought of that, brought in the thought of the delivering up of Christ ; and that again the thought of the thirty pence, which was the price of that treason ; and thence easily followed that malicious question, and all this in a moment of time ; for thought is quick. The second is more constant ; as being " regulated " by some desire, and design. For the impression made by such things as we desire, or fear, is strong, and permanent, or, if it cease for a time, of quick return : so strong it is some- times, as to hinder and break our sleep. From desire, ariseth the thought of some means we have seen produce the like of that which we aim at ; and from the thought of that, the thought of means to that mean ; and so continu- ally, till we come to some beginning within our own power. And because the end, by the greatness of the impression, comes often to mind, in case our thoughts begin to wander, they are quickly again reduced into the way : which ob- served by one of the seven wise men, made him give men this precept, which is now worn out, Respice jiiiem ; that is to say, in all your actions, look often upon what you would have, as the thing that directs all your thoughts in the way to attain it. The train of regulated thoughts is of two kinds ; one, when of an effect imagined we seek the causes, or means that produce it : and this is common to man and beast. The other is, when imagining anything whatsoever, we seek all the possible effects, that can by it be produced ; that is to say, we imagine what we can do with it, when we have it. Of which I have not at any time seen any sign, but in man only ; for this is a curiosity hardly incident to the nature of any living creature that has no other passion but sensual, 58 OF MAN. such as are hunger, thirst, lust, and anger. In sum, the discourse of the mind, when it is governed by design, is nothing but "seeking," or the faculty of invention, which the Latins called sagacitas, and solertia; a hunting out of the causes, of some effect, present or past ; or of the effects, of some present or past cause. Sometimes a man seeks what he hath lost ; and from that place, and time, wherein he misses it, his mind runs back, from place to place, and time to time, to find where, and when he had it ; that is to say, to find some certain, and limited time and place, in which to begin a method of seeking. Again, from thence, his thoughts run over the same places and times, to find what action, or other occasion might make him lose it. This we call "remembrance," or calling to mind: the Latins call it "reminiscentia," as it were a "re-conning" of our former actions. Sometimes a man knows a place determinate, within the compass whereof he is to seek ; and then his thoughts run over all the parts thereof, in the same manner as one would sweep a room, to find a jewel ; or as a spaniel ranges the field, till he find a scent ; or as a man should run over the alphabet, to start a rhyme. Sometimes a man desires to know the event of an action ; and then he thinketh of some like action past, and the events thereof one after another ; supposing like events will follow like actions. As he that foresees what will become of a criminal, reckons what he has seen follow on the like crime before ; having this order of thoughts, the crime, the officer, the prison, the judge, and the gallows. Which kind of thoughts, is called "foresight," and "prudence," or "providence"; and sometimes "wisdom"; though such conjecture, through the difficulty of observing all circum- stances, be very fallacious. But this is certain ; by how much one man has more experience of things past, than another, by so much also he is more prudent, and his ex- TRAIN OF IMAGINATIONS. 59 pectations the seldomer fail him. The " present " only has a being in nature ; things " past " have a being in the mem- ory only, but things to "come" have no being at all; the "future" being but a fiction of the mind, applying the sequels of actions past, to the actions that are present; which with most certainty is done by him that has most experience, but not with certainty enough. And though it be called prudence, when the event answereth our expecta- tion ; yet in its own nature, it is but presumption. For the foresight of things to come, which is providence, belongs only to him by whose will they are to come. From him only, and supernaturally, proceeds prophecy. The best prophet naturally is the best guesser ; and the best guesser, he that is most versed and studied in the matters he guesses at : for he hath most "signs " to guess by. A "sign " is the evident antecedent of the consequent ; and contrarily, the consequent of the antecedent, when the like consequences have been observed before : and the oftener they have been observed, the less uncertain is the sign. And therefore he that has most experience in any kind of business, has most signs, whereby to guess at the future time ; and consequently is the most prudent : and so much more prudent than he that is new in that kind of business, as not to be equalled by any advantage of natural and extemporary wit : though perhaps many young men think the contrary. Nevertheless it is not prudence that distinguisheth man from beast. There be beasts, that at a year old observe more, and pursue that which is for their good, more pru- dently, than a child can do at ten. As prudence is a " presumption " of the "future," con- tracted from the "experience " of time "past " : so there is a presumption of things past taken from other things, not future, but past also. For he that hath seen by what courses and degrees a flourishing state hath first come into 60 OF MAN. civil war, and then to ruin ; upon the sight of the ruins of any other state, will guess, the like war, and the like courses have been there also. But this conjecture, has the same uncertainty almost with the conjecture of the future ; both being grounded only upon experience. There is no other act of man's mind, that I can remem- ber, naturally planted in him, so as to need no other thing, to the exercise of it, but to be born a man, and live with the use of his five senses. Those other faculties, of which I shall speak by and by, and which seem proper to man only, are acquired and increased by study and industry ; and of most men learned by instruction, and discipline ; and proceed all from the invention of words, and speech. For besides sense, and thoughts, and the train of thoughts, the mind of man has no other motion ; though by the help of speech, and method, the same faculties may be improved to such a height, as to distinguish men from all other living creatures. Whatsoever we imagine is "finite." Therefore there is no idea, or conception of anything we call "infinite." No man can have in his mind an image of infinite magni- tude ; nor conceive infinite swiftness, infinite time, or infi- nite force, or infinite power. When we say any thing is infinite, we signify only, that we are not able to conceive the ends, and bounds of the things named ; having no con- ception of the thing, but of our own inability. And there- fore the name of God is used, not to make us conceive him, for he is incomprehensible ; and his greatness, and power are unconceivable ; but that we may honour him. Also because, whatsoever, as I said before, we conceive, has been perceived first by sense, either all at once, or by parts ; a man can have no thought, representing any thing, not sub- ject to sense. No man therefore can conceive any thing, but he must conceive it in some place ; and indued with some determinate magnitude ; and which may be divided OF SPEECH. . 6 1 into parts ; nor that any thing is all in this place, and all in another place at the same time ; nor that two, or more things can be in one, and the same place at once : for none of these things ever have, nor can be incident to sense ; but are absurd speeches, taken upon credit, without any signifi- cation at all, from deceived philosophers, and deceived, or deceiving schoolmen. CHAPTER IV. Of Speech. The invention of "printing," though ingenious, compared with the invention of "letters," is no great matter. But who was the first that found the use of letters, is not known. He that first brought them into Greece, men say was Cad- mus, the son of Agenor, king of Phoenicia. A profitable invention for continuing the memory of time past, and the conjunction of mankind, dispersed into so many, and dis- tant regions of the earth ; and withal difficult, as proceed- ing from a watchful observation of the divers motions of the tongue, palate, lips, and other organs of speech ; whereby to make as many differences of characters, to remember them. But the most noble and profitable invention of all other, was that of "speech," consisting of "names" or " appellations," and their connection ; whereby men register their thoughts ; recall them when they are past ; and also declare them one to another for mutual utility and conver- sation ; without which, there had been amongst men, neither commonwealth, nor society, nor contract, nor peace, no more than amongst lions, bears, and wolves. The first author of " speech " was God himself, that instructed Adam how to name such creatures as he presented to his sight ; for the Scripture goeth no further in this matter. But this was sufficient to direct him to add more names, as the ex- 62 OF MAN. perience and use of the creatures should give him occasion; and to join them in such manner by degrees, as to make himself understood ; and so by succession of time, so much language might be gotten, as he had found use for ; though not so copious, as an orator or philosopher has need of: for I do not rind any thing in the Scripture, out of which, directly or by consequence, can be gathered, that Adam was taught the names of all figures, numbers, measures, colours, sounds, fancies, relations ; much less the names of words and speech, as "general," "special," " affirmative," "negative," "interrogative," "optative," "infinitive," all which are useful; and least of all, of "entity," " intention- ality," "quiddity," and other insignificant words of the school. But all this language gotten, and augmented by Adam and his posterity, was again lost at the Tower of Babel, when, by the hand of God, every man was stricken, for his rebellion, with an oblivion of his former language. And being hereby forced to disperse themselves into several parts of the world, it must needs be, that the diversity of tongues that now is, proceeded by degrees from them, in such manner, as need, the mother of all inventions, taught them ; and in tract of time grew everywhere more copious. The general use of speech, is to transfer our mental dis- course, into verbal ; or the train of our thoughts, into a train of words ; and that for two commodities, whereof one is the registering of the consequences of our thoughts ; which being apt to slip out of our memory, and put us to a new labour, may again be recalled, by such words as they were marked by. So that the first use of names is to serve for "marks," or "notes" of remembrance. Another is, when many use the same words, to signify, by their con- nection and order, one to another, what they conceive, or think of each matter ; and also what they desire, fear, or have any other passion for. And for this use they are called OF SPEECH. 63 " signs." Special uses of speech are these ; first, to register, what by cogitation, we find to be the cause of any thing, present or past ; and what we find things present or past may produce, or effect ; which in sum, is acquiring of arts. Secondly, to show to others that knowledge which we have attained, which is, to counsel and teach one another. Thirdly, to make known to others our wills and purposes, that we may have the mutual help of one another. Fourthly, to please and delight ourselves and others, by playing with our words, for pleasure or ornament, inno- cently. To these uses, there are also four correspondent abuses. First, when men register their thoughts wrong, by the inconstancy of the signification of their words ; by which they register for their conception, that which they never conceived, and so deceive themselves. Secondly, when they use words metaphorically ; that is, in other sense than that they are ordained for ; and thereby deceive others. Thirdly, by words, when they declare that to be their will, which is not. Fourthly, 'when they use them to grieve one another ; for seeing nature hath armed living creatures, some with teeth, some with horns, and some with hands, to grieve an enemy, it is but an abuse of speech, to grieve him with the tongue, unless it be one whom we are obliged to govern ; and then it is not to grieve, but to correct and amend. The manner how speech serveth to the remembrance of the consequence of causes and effects, consisteth in the imposing of "names," and the "connection " of them. Of names, some are "proper," and singular to one only thing, as "Peter," "John," "this man," "this tree"; and some are "common" to many things, "man," "horse," " tree " ; every of which, though but one name, is never- theless the name of divers particular things ; in respect of all which together, it is called an "universal " ; there being 64 OF MAN. nothing in the world universal but names ; for the things named are every one of them individual and singular. One universal name is imposed on many things, for their similitude in some quality, or other accident ; and whereas a proper name bringeth to mind one thing only, universals recall any one of those many. And of names universal, some are of more, and some of less extent ; the larger comprehending the less large ; and some again of equal extent, comprehending each other recip- rocally. As for example: the name "body" is of larger signification than the word "man," and comprehendeth it; and the names "man" and "rational," are of equal extent, comprehending mutually one another. But here we must take notice, that by a name is not always understood, as in grammar, one only word ; but sometimes, by circumlo- cution, many words together. For all these words, " he that in his actions observeth the laws of his country," make but one name, equivalent to this one word, "just." By this imposition of names, some of larger, some of stricter signification, we turn the reckoning of the conse- quences of things imagined in the mind, into a reckoning of the consequences of appellations. For example : a man that hath no use of speech at all, such as is born and remains perfectly deaf and dumb, if he set before his eyes a triangle, and by it two right angles, such as are the corners of a square figure, he may, by meditation, compare and find, that the three angles of that triangle, are equal to those two right angles that stand by it. But if another triangle be shown him, different in shape from the former, he cannot know, without a new labour, whether the three angles of that also be equal to the same. But he that hath the use of words, when he observes, that such equality was consequent, not to the length of the sides, nor to any other particular thing in his triangle ; but only to this, that the sides were straight, and the angles three ; and that that was all, for which he OF SPEECH. 65 named it a triangle ; will boldly conclude universally, that such equality of angles is in all triangles whatsoever ; and register his invention in these general terms, "every triangle hath its three angles equal to two right angles." And thus the consequence found in one particular, comes to be reg- istered and remembered, as a universal rule, and discharges our mental reckoning, of time and place, and delivers us from all labour of the mind, saving the first, and makes that which was found true " here," and " now," to be true in " all times" and "places." But the use of words in registering our thoughts is in nothing so evident as in numbering. A natural fool that could never learn by heart the order of numeral words, as "one," "two," and "three," may observe every stroke of the clock, and nod to it, or say "one," "one," "one," but can never know what hour it strikes. And it seems, there was a time when those names of number were not in use ; and men were fain to apply their fingers of one or both hands, to those things they desired to keep account of ; and that thence it proceeded, that now our numeral words are but ten, in any nation, and in some but five ; and then they begin again. And he that can tell ten, if he recite them out of order, will lose himself, and not know when he has done. Much less will he be able to add, and subtract, and perform all other operations of arithmetic. So that without words there is no possibility of reckoning of numbers ; much less of magnitudes, of swiftness, of force, and other things, the reckonings whereof are necessary to the being, or well- being of mankind. When two names are joined together into a consequence, or affirmation, as thus, "a man is a living creature"; or thus, "if he be a man, he is a living creature "; if the latter name, "living creature," signify all that the former name "man " signifieth, then the affirmation, or consequence, is "true"; otherwise "false." For "true" and "false" are 66 OF MAN. attributes of speech, not of things. And where speech is not, there is neither "truth" nor "falsehood"; "error" there may be, as when we expect that which shall not be, or suspect what has not been ; but in neither case can a man be charged with untruth. Seeing then that truth consisteth in the right ordering of names in our affirmations, a man that seeketh precise truth had need to remember what every name he uses stands for, and to place it accordingly, or else he will find himself entangled in words, as a bird in lime twigs, the more he struggles the more belimed. And therefore in geometry, which is the only science that it hath pleased God hitherto to bestow on mankind, men begin at settling the significa- tions of their words ; which settling of significations they call "definitions," and place them in the beginning of their reckoning. By this it appears how necessary it is for any man that aspires to true knowledge, to examine the definitions of former authors ; and either to correct them, where they are negligently set down, or to make them himself. For the errors of definitions multiply themselves according as the reckoning proceeds, and lead men into absurdities, which at last they see, but cannot avoid, without reckoning anew from the beginning, in which lies the foundation of their errors. From whence it happens, that they which trust to books do as they that cast up many little sums into a greater, without considering whether those little sums were rightly cast up or not ; and at last finding the error visible, and not mistrusting their first grounds, know not which way to clear themselves, but spend time in fluttering over their books ; as birds that entering by the chimney, and finding themselves enclosed in a chamber, flutter at the false light of a glass window, for want of wit to consider which way they came in. So that in the right definition of names lies the first use of speech ; which is the acquisition of OF SPEECH. 67 science : and in wrong, or no definitions, lies the first abuse ; from which proceed all false and senseless tenets ; which make those men that take their instruction from the authority of books, and not from their own meditation, to be as much below the condition of ignorant men, as men endued with true science are above it. For between true science and erroneous doctrines, ignorance is in the middle. Natural sense and imagination are not subject to absurdity. Nature itself cannot err ; and as men abound in copiousness of language, so they become more wise, or more mad than ordinary. Nor is it possible without letters for any man to become either excellently wise, or, unless his memory be hurt by disease or ill constitution of organs, excellently foolish. For words are wise men's counters, they do but reckon by them ; but they are the money of fools, that value them by the authority of an Aristotle, a Cicero, or a Thomas, or any other doctor whatsoever, if but a man. "Subject to names," is whatsoever can enter into or be considered in an account, and be added one to another to make a sum, or subtracted one from another and leave a remainder. The Latins called accounts of money rationes, and accounting ratiocinatio ; and that which we in bills or books of account call "items," they call nomina, that is "names " ; and thence it seems to proceed, that they extended the word " ratio " to the faculty of reckoning in all other things. The Greeks have but one word, Aoyos, for both " speech " and " reason "; not that they thought there was no speech without reason, but no reasoning without speech: and the act of reasoning they called "syllogism," which signifieth summing up of the consequences of one saying to another. And because the same thing may enter into account for divers accidents, their names are, to show that diversity, diversely wrested and diversified. This diversity of names may be reduced to four general heads. First, a thing may enter into account for " matter " or 68 OF MAN. "body"; as "living," "sensible," "rational," "hot," "cold," "moved," " quiet " ; with all which names the word "matter," or "body," is understood ; all such being names of matter. Secondly, it may enter into account, or be considered, for some accident or quality which we conceive to be in it ; as for "being moved," for "being so long," for "being hot," &c. ; and then, of the name of the thing itself, by a little change or wresting, we make a name for that accident, which we consider ; and for " living " put into the account "life"; for "moved," "motion"; for "hot," "heat"; for "long," " length," and the like : and all such names are the names of the accidents and properties by which one matter and body is distinguished from another. These are called "names abstract," because severed, not from matter, but from the account of matter. Thirdly, we bring into account the properties of our own bodies, whereby we make such distinction ; as when any- thing is seen by us, we reckon not the thing itself, but the sight, the colour, the idea of it in the fancy : and when any- thing is heard, we reckon it not, but the hearing or sound only, which is our fancy or conception of it by the ear ; and such are names of fancies. Fourthly, we bring into account, consider, and give names, to " names " themselves, and to " speeches " : for " general," "universal," "special," "equivocal," are names of names. And "affirmation," "interrogation," "commandment," "nar- ration," "syllogism," "sermon," "oration," and many other such, are names of speeches. And this is all the variety of names " positive " ; which are put to mark somewhat which is in nature, or may be feigned by the mind of man, as bodies that are, or may be conceived to be ; or of bodies, the properties that are, or may be feigned to be ; or words and speech. There be also other names, called " negative," which are notes to signify that a word is not the name of the thing in OF SPEECH. 69 question ; as these words, " nothing," " no man," " infinite," "indocible," "three want four," and the like; which are nevertheless of use in reckoning, or in correcting of reckon- ing, and call to mind our past cogitations, though they be not names of anything, because they make us refuse to admit of names not rightly used. All other names are but insignificant sounds ; and those of two sorts. One when they are new, and yet their mean- ing not explained by definition ; whereof there have been abundance coined by schoolmen, and puzzled philosophers. Another, when men make a name of two names, whose significations are contradictory and inconsistent ; as this name, an "incorporeal body," or, which is all one, an "incorporeal substance,' 5 and a great number more. For whensoever any affirmation is false, the two names of which it is composed, put together and made one, signify nothing at all. For example, if it be a false affirmation to say " a quad- rangle is round," the word "round quadrangle" signifies nothing, but is a mere sound. So likewise, if it be false to say that virtue can be poured, or blown up and down, the words "inpoured virtue," "inblown virtue," are as absurd and insignificant as a " round quadrangle." And therefore you shall hardly meet with a senseless and insignificant word, that is not made up of some Latin or Greek names. A Frenchman seldom hears our Saviour called by the name of parole, but by the name of verbe often ; yet verbe and parole differ no more, but that one is Latin, the other French. When a man, upon the hearing of any speech, hath those thoughts which the words of that speech and their connec- tion were ordained and constituted to signify, then he is said to understand it ; "understanding " being nothing else but conception caused by speech. And therefore if speech be peculiar to man, as for aught I know it is, then is under- standing peculiar to him also. And therefore of absurd and false affirmations, in case they be universal, there can 70 OF MAN. be no understanding ; though many think they understand then, when they do but repeat the words softly, or con them in their mind. What kinds of speeches signify the appetites, aversions, and passions of man's mind ; and of their use and abuse, I shall speak when I have spoken of the passions. The names of such things as affect us, that is, which please and displease us, because all men be not alike affected with the same thing, nor the same man at all times, are in the common discourses of men of " inconstant " signification. For seeing all names are imposed to signify our conceptions, and all our affections are but conceptions, when we conceive the same things differently, we can hardly avoid different naming of them. For though the nature of that we conceive, be the same ; yet the diversity of our reception of it, in respect of different constitutions of body, and prejudices of opinion, gives everything a tincture of our different passions. And therefore in rea- soning a man must take heed of words ; which besides the signification of what we imagine of their nature, have a sig- nification also of the nature, disposition, and interest of the speaker ; such as are the names of virtues and vices ; for one man calleth "wisdom," what another calleth "fear"; and one " cruelty," what another "justice"; one "prodi- gality," what another "magnanimity " ; and one "gravity," what another "stupidity," &c. And therefore such names can never be true grounds of any ratiocination. No more can metaphors, and tropes of speech ; but these are less dangerous, because they profess their inconstancy ; which the other do not. OF REASON AND SCIENCE. 71 CHAPTER V. Of Reason and Science. When a man "reasoneth," he does nothing else but con- ceive a sum total, from " addition " of parcels ; or con- ceive a remainder, from " subtraction " of one sum from another ; which, if it be done by words, is conceiving of the consequence of the names of all the parts, to the name of the whole ; or from the names of the whole and one part, to the name of the other part. And though in some things, as in numbers, besides adding and subtracting, men name other operations, as "multiplying" and "dividing," yet they are the same ; for multiplication, is but adding together of things equal ; and division, but subtracting of one thing, as often as we can. These operations are not incident to numbers only, but to all manner of things that can be added together, and taken one out of another. For as arithmeticians teach to add and subtract in "numbers"; so the geometricians teach the same in "lines," "figures," solid and superficial, "angles," "proportions," "times," degrees of "swiftness," "force," "power," and the like ; the logi- cians teach the same in " consequences of words " ; adding together two "names" to make an "affirmation," and two "affirmations" to make a "syllogism"; and many "syllo- gisms " to make a "demonstration " ; and from the "sum," or "conclusion" of a "syllogism," they subtract one " proposition " to find the other. Writers of politics add together "pactions " to find men's "duties " ; and lawyers, " laws " and " facts," to find what is " right " and " wrong " in the actions of private men. In sum, in what matter soever there is place for "addition" and "subtraction," there also is place for " reason " ; and where these have no place, there " reason " has nothing at all to do. 72 OF MAN. Out of all which we may define, that is to say determine, what that is, which is meant by this word "reason," when we reckon it amongst the faculties of the mind. For " rea- son," in this sense, is nothing but "reckoning," that is add- ing and subtracting, of the consequences of general names agreed upon for the " marking " and " signifying " of our thoughts ; I say " marking " them when we reckon by our- selves, and " signifying, " when we demonstrate or approve our reckonings to other men. And, as in arithmetic, unpractised men must, and profes- sors themselves may often, err, and cast up false ; so also in any other subject of reasoning, the ablest, most attentive, and most practised men may deceive themselves, and infer false conclusions ; not but that reason itself is always right reason, as well as arithmetic is a certain and infallible art : but no one man's reason, nor the reason of any one num- ber of men, makes the certainty ; no more than an account is therefore well cast up, because a great many men have unanimously approved it. And therefore, as when there is a controversy in an account, the parties must by their own accord, set up, for right reason, the reason of some arbitra- tor, or judge, to whose sentence they will both stand, or their controversy must either come to blows, or be unde- cided, for want of a right reason constituted by nature ; so is it also in all debates of what kind soever. And when men that think themselves wiser than all others, clamour and demand. right reason for judge, yet seek no more, but that things should be determined by no other men's reason but their own, it is as intolerable in the society of men, as it is in play after trump is turned, to use for trump on every occasion, that suit whereof they have most in their hand. For they do nothing else, that will have every of their passions, as it comes to bear sway in them, to be taken for right reason, and that in their own controversies : bewray- ing their want of right reason, by the claim they lay to it. OF REASON AND SCIENCE. 73 The use and end of reason, is not the finding of the sum and truth of one, or a few consequences, remote from the first definitions, and settled significations of names, but to begin at these, and proceed from one consequence to another. For there can be no certainty of the last con- clusion, without a certainty of all those affirmations and negations on which it was grounded and inferred. As when a master of a family, in taking an account, casteth up the sums of all the bills of expense into one sum, and not regarding how each bill is summed up, by those that give them in account ; nor what it is he pays for ; he advantages himself no more, than if he allowed the account in gross, trusting to every of the accountants' skill and honesty : so also in reasoning of all other things, he that takes up con- clusions on the trust of authors, and doth not fetch them from the first items in every reckoning, which are the sig- nifications of names settled by definitions, loses his labour ; and does not know anything, but only believeth. When a man reckons without the use of words, which may be done in particular things, as when upon the sight of any one thing, we conjecture what was likely to have preceded, or is likely to follow upon it ; if that which he thought likely to follow, follows not, or that which he thought likely to have preceded it, hath not preceded it, this is called " error " ; to which even the most prudent men are subject. But when we reason in words of general signifi- cation, and fall upon a general inference which is false, though it be commonly called "error," it is indeed an " absurdity," or senseless speech. For error is but a decep- tion, in presuming that somewhat is past, or to come ; of which, though it were not past, or not to come, yet there was no impossibility discoverable. But when we make a general assertion, unless it be a true one, the possibility of it is inconceivable. And words whereby we conceive nothing but the sound, are those we call "absurd," "insignificant," 74 OF MAN. and " nonsense." And therefore if a man should talk to me of a " round quadrangle " ; or " accidents of bread in cheese " ; or " immaterial substances " ; or of " a free sub- ject " ; "a free will"; or any "free," but free from being hindered by opposition, I should not say he were in an error, but that his words were without meaning, that is to say, absurd. I have said before, in the second chapter, that a man did excel all other animals in this faculty, that when he conceived anything whatsoever, he was apt to inquire the consequences of it, and what effects he could do with it. And now I add this other degree of the same excellence, that he can by words reduce the consequences he finds to general rules, called "theorems," or "aphorisms"; that is, he can reason, or reckon, not only in number, but in all other things, whereof one may be added unto, or subtracted from another. But this privilege is allayed by another ; and that is, by the privilege of absurdity ; to which no living creature is subject, but man only. And of men, those are of all most subject to it, that profess philosophy. For it is most true that Cicero saith of them somewhere ; that there can be nothing so absurd, but may be found in the books of phi- losophers. And the reason is manifest. For there is not one of them that begins his ratiocination from the defini- tions, or explications of the names they are to use ; which is a method that hath been used only in geometry ; whose conclusions have thereby been made indisputable. i. The first cause of absurd conclusions I ascribe to the want of method ; in that they begin not their ratiocination from definitions ; that is, from settled significations of their words : as if they could cast account, without knowing the value of the numeral words, "one," "two," and "three." And whereas all bodies enter into account upon divers considerations, which I have mentioned in the precedent OF REASON AND SCIENCE. 75 chapter ; these considerations being diversely named, divers absurdities proceed from the confusion, and .unfit connec- tion of their names into assertions. And therefore, ii. The second cause of absurd assertions, I ascribe to the giving of names of " bodies " to " accidents " ; or of "accidents" to "bodies"; as they do, that say, "faith is infused," or " inspired " ; when nothing can be "poured " or " breathed " into anything, but body ; and that, " exten- sion " is "body"; that "phantasms" are "spirits," &c. in. The third I ascribe to the giving of the names of the "accidents" of "bodies without jus," to the "accidents" of our "own bodies ".; as they do that say, "the colour is in the body " ; "the sound is in the air," &c. iv. The fourth, to the giving of the names of "bodies " to "names," or "speeches"; as they do that say, that " there be things universal " ; that " a living creature is genus," or "a general thing," &c. v. The fifth, to the giving of the names of " accidents " to "names" and "speeches"; as they do that say, "the nature of a thing is its definition ; a man's command is his will " ; and the like. vi. The sixth, to the use of metaphors, tropes, and other rhetorical figures, instead of words proper. For though it be lawful to say, for example, in common speech, " the way goeth, or leadeth hither or thither"; "the proverb says this or that," whereas ways cannot go, nor proverbs speak ; yet in reckoning, and seeking of truth, such speeches are not to be admitted. vn. The seventh, to names that signify nothing ; but are taken up, and learned by rote from the schools, as "hypo- statical," "transubstantiate," " consubstantiate," "eternal- now," and the like canting of schoolmen. To him that can avoid these things it is not easy to fall into any absurdity, unless it be by the length of an account ; wherein he may perhaps forget what went before. For all 76 OF MAN. men by nature reason alike, and well, when they have good principles. For who is so stuoid, as both to mistake in geometry, and also to persist in it, when another detects his error to him ? By this it appears that reason is not, as sense and mem- ory, born with us ; nor gotten by experience only, as pru- dence is ; but attained by industry ; first in apt imposing of names ; and secondly by getting a good and orderly method in proceeding from the elements, which are names, to assertions made by connection of one of them to another ; and to syllogisms, which are the connections of one asser- tion to another, till we come to a knowledge of all the con- sequences of names appertaining to the subject in hand ; and that is it, men call "science." And whereas sense and memory are but knowledge of fact, which is a thing past and irrevocable. " Science " is the knowledge of conse- quences, and dependence of one fact upon another : by which, out of that we can presently do, we know how to do something else when we will, or the like another time ; because when we see how anything comes about, upon what causes, and by what manner ; when the like causes come into our power, we see how to make it produce the like effects. Children therefore are not endued with reason at all, till they have attained the use of speech ; but are called rea- sonable creatures, for the possibility apparent of having the use of reason in time to come. And the most part of men, though they have the use of reasoning a little way, as in numbering to some degree ; yet it serves them to little use in common life ; in which they govern themselves, some better, some worse, according to their differences of expe- rience, quickness of memory, and inclinations to several ends ; but specially according to good or evil fortune, and the errors of one another. For as for "science," or certain rules of their actions, they are so far from it, that they OF REASON AND SCIENCE. 77 know not what it is. Geometry they have thought conjur- ing : but for other sciences, they who have not been taught the beginnings and some progress in them, that they may see how they be acquired and generated, are in this point like children, that having no thought of generation, are made believe by the women that their brothers and sisters are not born, but found in the garden. But yet they that have no "science," are in better, and nobler condition, with their natural prudence ; than men, that by mis-reasoning, or by trusting them that reason wrong, fall upon false and absurd general rules. For ignorance of causes, and of rules, does not set men so far out of their way, as relying on false rules, and taking for causes of what they aspire to, those that are not so, but rather causes of the contrary. To conclude, the light of human minds is perspicuous words, but by exact definitions first snuffed, and purged from ambiguity ; " reason " is the " pace " ; increase of "science," the "way"; and the benefit of mankind, the "end." And, on the contrary, metaphors, and senseless and ambiguous words, are like ignes fatui; and reasoning upon them is wandering amongst innumerable absurdities ; and their end, contention and sedition, or contempt. As much experience, is "prudence"; so, is much science "sapience." For though we usually have one name of wisdom for them both, yet the Latins did always distin- guish between prudentia and sapientia ; ascribing the former to experience, the latter to science. But to make their dif- ference appear more clearly, let us suppose one man endued with an excellent natural use and dexterity in handling his arms ; and another to have added to that dexterity, an acquired science, of where he can offend, or be offended by his adversary, in every possible posture or guard : the abil- ity of the former, would be to the ability of the latter, as prudence to sapience ; both useful ; but the latter infallible. 78 OF MAN. But they that trusting only to the authority of books, fol- low the blind blindly, are like him that, trusting to the false rules of a master of fence, ventures presumptuously upon an adversary, that either kills or disgraces him. The signs of science are some, certain and infallible ; some, uncertain. Certain, when he that pretendeth the science of anything, can teach the same ; that is to say, demonstrate the truth thereof perspicuously to another ; uncertain, when only some particular events answer to his pretence, and upon many occasions prove so as he says they must. Signs of prudence are all uncertain ; because to observe by experience, and remember all circumstances that may alter the success, is impossible. But in any busi- ness, whereof a man has not infallible science to proceed by ; to forsake his own natural judgment, and be guided by general sentences read in authors, and subject to many exceptions, is a sign of folly, and generally scorned by the name of pedantry. And even of those men themselves, that in councils of the commonwealth love to show their reading of politics and history, very few do it in their domestic affairs, where their particular interest is con- cerned ; having prudence enough for their private affairs : but in public they study more the reputation of their own wit, than the success of another's business. CHAPTER VI. Of the Interior Begi?inings of Voluntary Motions; commonly called the Passions ; and the Speeches by which they are expressed. There be in animals, two sorts of "motions " peculiar to them: one called "vital"; begun in generation, and con- tinued without interruption through their whole life ; such as are the "course" of the "blood," the "pulse," the OF THE PASSIONS. 79 "breathing," the "concoction, nutrition, excretion," &c, to which motions there needs no help of imagination : the other is "animal motion," otherwise called "voluntary motion"; as to "go," to "speak," to "move" any of our limbs, in such manner as is first fancied in our minds. That sense is motion in the organs and interior parts of man's body, caused by the action of the things we see, hear, &c. ; and that fancy is but the relics of the same motion, remaining after sense, has been already said in the first and second chapters. And because "going," "speaking," and the like voluntary motions, depend always upon a precedent thought of "whither," "which way," and "what"; it is evident, that the imagination is the first internal beginning of all voluntary motion. And although unstudied men do not conceive any motion at all to be there, where the thing moved is invisible ; or the space it is moved in is, for the shortness of it, insensible ; yet that doth not hinder, but that such motions are. For let a space be never so little, that which is moved over a greater space, whereof that little one is part, must first be moved over that. These small beginnings of motion, within the body of man, before they appear in walking, speaking, striking, and other visible actions, are commonly called "endeavour." This endeavour, when it is toward something which causes it, is called "appetite," or "desire"; the latter, being the general name ; and the other oftentimes restrained to signify the desire of food, namely "hunger" and "thirst." And when the endeavour is fromward something, it is generally called "aversion." These words, "appetite" and "aver- sion," we have from the Latins ; and they both of them signify the motions, one of approaching, the other of re- tiring. So also do the Greek words for the same, which are opfiT) and acf>opfX7]. For nature itself does often press upon men those truths, which afterwards, when they look for somewhat beyond nature, they stumble at. For the Schools So OF MAN. find in mere appetite to go, or move, no actual motion at all : but because some motion they must acknowledge, they call it metaphorical motion ; which is but an absurd speech : for though words may be called metaphorical ; bodies and motions cannot. That which men desire, they are also said to "love": and to "hate" those things for which they have aversion. So that desire and love are the same thing ; save that by desire, we always signify the absence of the object ; by love, most commonly the presence of the same. So also by aversion, we signify the absence ; and by hate, the presence of the object. Of appetites and aversions, some are born with men ; as appetite of food, appetite of excretion, and exoneration, which may also and more properly be called aversions, from somewhat they feel in their bodies ; and some other appetites, not many. The rest, which are appetites of particular things, proceed from experience, and trial of their effects upon themselves or other men. For of things we know not at all, or believe not to be, we can have no further desire, than to taste and try. But aversion we have for things, not only which we know have hurt us, but also that we do not know whether they will hurt us, or not. Those things which we neither desire, nor hate, we are said to " contemn " ; " contempt " being nothing else but an immobility, or contumacy of the heart, in resisting the action of certain things ; and proceeding from that the heart is already moved otherwise, by other more potent objects ; or from want of experience of them. And because the constitution of a man's body is in con- tinual mutation, it is impossible that all the same things should always cause in him the same appetites, and aver- sions : much less can all men consent, in the desire of almost any one and the same object. But whatsoever is the object of any man's appetite or OF THE PASSIONS. 81 desire, that is it which he for his part calleth "good " : and the object of his hate and aversion, " evil " ; and of his con- tempt, "vile" and "inconsiderable." For these words of good, evil, and contemptible, are ever used with relation to the person that useth them : there being nothing simply and absolutely so ; nor any common rule of good and evil, to be taken from the nature of the objects themselves ; but from the person of the man, where there is no common- wealth ; or, in a commonwealth, from the person that representeth it ; or from an arbitrator or judge, whom men disagreeing shall by consent set up, and make his sentence the rule thereof. The Latin tongue has two words, whose significations approach to those of good and evil ; but are not precisely the same ; and those are pulchrutn and turpe. Whereof the former signifies that, which by some apparent signs promiseth good ; and the latter, that which promiseth evil. But in our tongue we have not so general names to express them by. But for pulchrutn we say in some things, " fair " ; in others, "beautiful," or "handsome," or "gallant," or "honourable," or "comely," or "amiable"; and for turpe, "foul," "deformed," "ugly," "base," "nauseous," and the like, as the subject shall require ; all which words, in their proper places, signify nothing else but the "mien," or countenance, that promiseth good and evil. So that of good there be three kinds ; good in the promise, that is pulchrum ; good in effect, as the end desired, which is called jucundum, " delightful " ; and good as the means, which is called utile, " profitable " ; and as many of evil : for " evil " in promise, is that they call turpe ; evil in effect, and end, is molestum, "unpleasant," "troublesome"; and evil in the means, inutile, "unprofitable," "hurtful." As, in sense, that which is really within us, is, as I have said before, only motion, caused by the action of external objects, but in appearance ; to the sight, light and colour ; 82 OF MAN. to the ear, sound ; to the nostril, odour, &c. : so, when the action of the same object is continued from the eyes, ears, and other organs to the heart, the real effect there is nothing but motion, or endeavour ; which consisteth in appetite, or aversion, to or from the object moving. But the apparence, or sense of that motion, is that we either call "delight," or "trouble of mind." This motion, which is called appetite, and for the appar- ence of it "delight," and "pleasure," seemeth to be a corroboration of vital motion, and a help thereunto ; and therefore such things as caused delight, were not improperly called jucunda, a jnva?ido, from helping or fortifying ; and the contrary, molesta, "offensive," from hindering, and troubling the motion vital. "Pleasure " therefore, or "delight," is the apparence, or sense of good; and "molestation," or "displeasure," the apparence, or sense of evil. And consequently all appetite, desire, and love, is accompanied with some delight more or less ; and all hatred and aversion, with more or less displeasure and offence. Of pleasures or delights, some arise from the sense of an object present ; and those may be called " pleasure of sense " ; the word " sensual," as it is used by those only that condemn them, having no place till there be laws. Of this kind are all onerations and exonerations of the body ; as also all that is pleasant, in the " sight," "hearing," "smell," "taste," or "touch." Others arise from the expectation, that proceeds from foresight of the end, or consequence of things ; whether those things in the sense please or dis- please. And these are "pleasures of the mind" of him that draweth those consequences, and are generally called "joy." In the like manner, displeasures are some in the sense, and called "pain"; others in the expectation of consequences, and are called "grief." These simple passions called "appetite," "desire," OF THE PASSIONS. 83 "love," "aversion," "hate," "joy," and "grief," have their names for divers considerations diversified. As first, when they one succeed another, they are diversely called from the opinion men have of the likelihood of attaining what they desire. Secondly, from the object loved or hated. Thirdly, from the consideration of many of them together. Fourthly, from the alteration or succession itself. For "appetite," with an opinion of attaining, is called "hope." The same, without such opinion, "despair." "Aversion," with opinion of "hurt "from the object, "fear." The same, with hope of avoiding that hurt by resistance, "courage." Sudden "courage," "anger." Constant "hope," "confidence" of ourselves. Constant "despair," "diffidence" of ourselves. "Anger " for great hurt done to another, when we con- ceive the same to be done by injury, " indignation." "Desire" of good to another, "benevolence," "good will," "charity." If to man generally, "good-nature." " Desire " of riches, " covetousness " ; a name used always in signification of blame ; because men contending for them, are displeased with one another attaining them ; though the desire in itself, be to be blamed, or allowed, according to the means by which these riches are sought. "Desire" of office, or precedence, "ambition": a name used also in the worse sense, for the reason before mentioned. " Desire " of things that conduce but a little to our ends, and fear of things that are but of little hindrance, "pusil- lanimity." " Contempt " of little helps and hindrances, " magna- nimity." "Magnanimity," in danger of death or wounds, "valour," "fortitude." " Magnanimity " in the use of riches, "liberality." 84 OF MAN. "Pusillanimity" in the same, "wretchedness," "misera- bleness," or "parsimony " ; as it is liked or disliked. "Love " of persons for society, "kindness." " Love " of persons for pleasing the sense only, " natural lust." " Love " of the same, acquired from rumination, that is, imagination of pleasure past, "luxury." " Love " of one singularly, with desire to be singularly beloved, "the passion of love." The same, with fear that the love is not mutual, "jealousy." "Desire," by doing hurt to another, to make him con- demn some fact of his own, "revengefulness." " Desire " to know why, and how, " curiosity " ; such as is in no living creature but " man " : so that man is dis- tinguished, not only by his reason, but also by this singular passion from other " animals " ; in whom the appetite of food, and other pleasures of sense, by predominance, take away the care of knowing causes ; which is a lust of the mind, that by a perseverance of delight in the continual and indefatigable generation of knowledge, exceedeth the short vehemence of any carnal pleasure. " Fear " of power invisible, feigned by the mind, or imagined from tales publicly allowed, " religion " ; not allowed, "superstition." And when the power imagined, is truly such as we imagine, "true religion." "Fear," without the apprehension of why, or what, "panic terror," called so from the fables, that make Pan the author of them ; whereas, in truth, there is always in him that so feareth, first, some apprehension of the cause, though the rest run away by example, every one supposing his fellow to know why. And therefore this passion happens to none but in a throng, or multitude of people. "Joy," from apprehension of novelty, "admiration"; proper to man, because it excites the appetite of knowing the cause. OF THE PASSIONS. 85 "Joy," arising from imagination of a man's own power and ability, is that exultation of the mind which is called "glorying": which if grounded upon the experience of his own former actions, is the same with " confidence " : but if grounded on the flattery of others ; or only supposed by himself, for delight in the consequences of it, is called "vain-glory": which name is properly given; because a well-grounded "confidence" begetteth attempt; whereas the supposing of power does not, and is therefore rightly called "vain." "Grief," from opinion of want of power, is called "dejec- tiZ-> doth inti- mate unto us that the increase thereof ought to proceed from internal operation of God's word preached, and not from any law or compulsion of them that preach it. More- over our Saviour himself saith (John xviii. 36), "That" his "kingdom is not of this world " ; and consequently his magistrates derive not from him any authority of punishing men in this world. And therefore also, Matth. xxvi. 52, after St. Peter had drawn his sword in his defence, our Saviour saith " Put up thy sword into his place. For all that take the sword, shall perish by the sword." And, verse 54, " How then shall the Scriptures be fulfilled, which say, that it must be so ? " showing out of the Scriptures, that the kingdom of Christ was not to be defended by the sword. 10. But concerning the authority of the apostles or bishops over those who were already converted and within the church, there be that think it greater than over them without. For some have said, (Bellarmin. " Lib. de Rom. Pont. cap. 29,") "Though the law of Christ deprive no prince of his dominion, and Paul did rightly appeal unto Caesar, whilst kings were infidels and out of the church ; yet when they became Christians, and of their own accord underwent the laws of the gospel, presently as sheep to a shepherd, and as members to the head, they became subject to the prelate of the ecclesiastical hierarchy." Which, 37 6 DE CORP ORE POLITICO. whether it be true or not, is to be considered by that light which we have from the Holy Scripture, concerning the power of our Saviour and his apostles, over such as they had converted. But our Saviour, as he imitated the com- monwealth of the Jews in his magistrates, the twelve and the seventy ; so did he also in the censure of the church, which was " excommunication "; but amongst the Jews, the church did put the excommunicated persons from the con- gregation, which they might do by their power temporal ; but our Saviour and his apostles, who took upon them no such power, could not forbid the excommunicated person to enter into any place and congregation, into which he was permitted to enter, by the prince, or sovereign of the place. For that had been to deprive the sovereign of his authority. And therefore the excommunication of a person subject to an earthly power, was but a declaration of the church, which did excommunicate, that the person so excommuni- cated was to be reputed still as an infidel, but not to be driven by their authority, out of any company, he might otherwise lawfully come into. And this is it our Saviour saith (Matth. xviii. 17): "If he refuse to hear the church, let him be unto thee as an heathen man and a publican." So that the whole effect of excommunicating a Christian prince, is no more than he or they that so excommunicate him depart and banish themselves out of his dominion. Nor can they thereupon discharge any of his subjects of their obedience to him ; for that were to deprive him of his dominion ; which they may not do, for being out of the church. It is confessed by them that make this objection, and proved in the former section, that our Saviour gave no authority to his apostles to be judges over them. And therefore in no case can the sovereign power of a common- wealth be subject to any authority ecclesiastical, besides that of Christ himself. And though he be informed con- cerning the kingdom of heaven, and subject himself thereto MAGISTRATES IN THE KINGDOM OE CHRIST. $11 at the persuasions of persons ecclesiastical, yet is he not thereby subject to their government and rule. For if it were by their authority he took that yoke upon him, and not by their persuasion, then by the same authority he might cast it off. But this is unlawful. For if all the churches in the world should renounce the Christian faith, yet is not this sufficient authority for any of the members to do the same. It is manifest therefore, that they who have the sovereign power, are immediate rulers of the church under Christ, and all other but subordinate to them. If that were not, but kings should command one thing upon pain of death, and priests another, upon pain of damnation, it would be impossible that peace and religion should stand together. ii. 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