ESSAYS MORAL, POLITICAL, AND LITERARY DAVID HUME VOL. II. ESSAYS MORAL, POLITICAL, AND LITERARY BY DAVID HUME EDITEli. IIV77/ rREl.lMIXAliY UlSSl^RTATlOXf, A.\f) .VOTES. 11}' T. If. GREEN AND T. H. GROSE I. A IT FKU.oW A\il 'ITTOit OF liALIJOL FEI.I,(i\V AND TI.'TOU OK QL'KK.S'f) COI.tJiGt, OXi'OKD COLLEGE, VXfOliD IN TWO VOLUMES VOL. II. NEW IMPKES3ION LONGMANS, G II E E N, AND CO. 39 rATKRNO.STKIl ROW, LONDON NEW YORK AND BOMBAY 161)3 BIBLIO GRA PJIICA L NOTE Firitt printed January 1873. Heprinted September 1SS2; J unwary 1889; July 1898. CONTENTS T II E SE COM) VOLT M E. 7 HUM AX UXDERSTA l.K'T. PA(JH I. Of the Different Species of Philosophy '! II. Of the Orijiin of Id. 'as 1:5 III. Of the Association of Ideas 17 1\'. Sceptical Doubts concerning the Operations of the Under- standing .......... 20 V. Sceptical Solution of these Doubts ..... ""> VI. Of Probability 47 VII. Of the Idea ot Xecessarv Connexion . . . ;"i() VIII. Of Liberty and Necessity ('>."> IX. Of the Iteason of Animals ....... ?*~> X. Of .Miracles >s XI. Of a Particular Providence and of a Future State . . . lot) XII. Of the Academical or Sceptical Philosophy . . . . l~2'2 A DISSERT ATIOX OX THE PAXsIOXS. Section I. . ...... I.'IO Section II. 144 Section 111 . . . ],>i Section IV. ........... loS Section V. . . . . . . . . . . .101 Section VI. ........... iGli L'OXCERXIXG THE I'RIXCII'I.ES OF MORAL*. 1. Of the General Principles of Morals It','.) II. Of Benevolence . . . . . . . . . . 174 III. Of Justice 17'. IV. Of Political Society I'.i7 V. Why Utility pleases Jdi? VI. Of Qualities Useful to Ourselves L'17 VII. Of Qualities immediately agreeable to Ourselves . . . L'.'il VIII. Of Qualities immediately agreeable to Others . . . . J-'i'.i IX. Conclusion viii CONTENTS OF THE SECOND VOLUME. APPENDIX. PAGH I. Concerning Moral Sentiment . . . . . . . 258 II. Or Self-love .......... 2<5fi III. Some farther Considerations with regard to Justice . . . 271 IV. Of some Verbal Disputes ........ 278 A I) I A LOG UK ..... 280 THE NATURAL HISTORY OF RELIGION. SECT, Introduction ......... 309 I. Thcit Polytheism was the primary Religion of Men . . . .".10 II. Origin of Polytheism ........ ai-'i III. The same subject continued . . . . . . . 3l(j IV. Deities not considered as creators or formers of the world . 320 V. Various Forms of Polytheism : Allegory, Hero- Worship . . 325 VI. Origin of Theism from Polytheism ...... ,'528 VII. Confirmation of this Doctrine . . . . . . . 33.' > VIII. Flux and reflux of Polytheism and Theism .... 334 IX. Comparison of these Religions, with regard to Persecution and Toleration .......... ">:'>(} X. With regard to courage or abasement ..... 330 XI. With regard to reason or absurdity . . . . . . .'540 XII. With regard to Doubt or Conviction ..... 842 XIII. Impious conceptions of the divine nature in popular religions of both kinds ......... 3">2 XIV. Bad influence of popular religions on morality . . . 357 XV. General Corollary ......... 3C>1 ESS A YS WITHER A WN. ESSAY I. Of Essay Writing ......... 307 II. Of Moral Prejudices ......... 371 III. Of the .Middle Station of Life ...... 375 IV. Of Impudence and Modesty ........ 380 V. Of Love and .Marriage ........ 38:{ VI. Of the Study of History ........ 388 VII. Of Avarice .......... 302 VIII. A Character of .Sir Robert Walpole ...... 305 I. Of the Immortality of tho Soul ...... 300 II. Of Suicide ........... 400 III. Of th Authenticity of Ossian's Poems ..... 415 JV. Ci.nc'-rniiiL' WiiUe's Kpi^oniiid . . . . . . . 4-N) D.'dic.'ition of the ' Four DiHsrrtation.H 1 ..... 430 Df-c-nt on t!i,- ( ,.;,,) ,,f r.iittnny, 1710 ..... -14:', AN ENQUIRY CONCERNING II U M A N U N D E R S T A N D I N G YOL. IV. AN ENQUIRY CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. SECT. I. Of the Different Species of Philosophy. MORAL philosophy, or the science or human nature, may be treated after two different manners ; each of which has its peculiar merit, and may contribute to the entertainment, instruction, and reformation of mankind. The one considers man chiefly as born for action ; and as influenced in his measures by taste and sentiment ; pursuing- one object, and avoiding another, according to the value which these objects seem to possess, and according to the light in which they present themselves. As virtue, of all objects, is allowed to be the most valuable, this species of philosophers paint her in the most amiable colours ; borrowing all helps from poetry and eloquence, and treating their subject in an easy and obvious manner, and such as is best fitted to please the imagination, and engage the affections. They select the most striking observations and instances from common life ; place opposite characters in a proper contrast ; and alluring us into the paths of virtue by the views of glory and happi- ness, direct our steps in these paths by the soundest pre- cepts and most illustrious examples. They make us feel the difference between vice and virtue ; they excite and regulate our sentiments ; and so they can but bend our hearts to the love of probity and true honour, they think, that they have fully attained the end of all their labours. The other species of philosophers consider man in the light of a reasonable rather then an active being, and en- deavour to form his understanding more than cultivate his manners. They regard human nature as a subject of specu- lation; and with a narrow scrutiny examine it, in order to find those principles, which regulate our understanding, B 2 4 CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. excite our sentiments, and make us approve or blame any particular object, action, or behaviour. They think it a reproach to all literature, that philosophy should not yet have fixed, beyond controversy, the foundation of morals, reasoning 1 , and criticism ; and should for ever talk of truth and falsehood, vice and virtue, beauty and deformity, with- out being able to determine the source of these distinctions. While they attempt this arduous task, they are deterred by no difficulties ; but proceeding 1 from particular instances to general principles, they still push on their enquiries to prin- ciples more general, and rest not satisfied till they arrive at those original principles, by which, in every science, all human curiosity must be bounded. Though their specula- tions seem abstract, and even unintelligible to common readers, they aim at the approbation of the learned and the wise ; and think themselves sufficiently compensated for the labour of their whole lives, if they can discover some hidden truths, which may contribute to the instruction of posterity. It is certain that the easy and obvious philosophy will always, with the generality of mankind, have the preference above the accurate and abstruse ; and by many will be re- commended, not only as more agreeable, but more useful than the other. It enters more into common life ; moulds the heart and affections ; and, by touching those principles which actuate men, reforms their conduct, and brings them nearer to that model of perfection which it describes. On the contrary, the abstruse philosophy, being founded on a turn of mind, which cannot enter into business and action, vanishes when the philosopher leaves the shade, and comes into open day ; nor can its principles easily retain any in- fluence over our conduct and behaviour. The feelings of our heart, the agitation of our passions, the vehemence of our affections, dissipate all its conclusions, and reduce the profound philosopher to a mere plebeian. This also must be confessed, that the most durable, as well asjustest fame, has been acquired by the easy philosophy, and that abstract reasoners seem hitherto to have enjoyed only a momentary reputation, from the caprice or ignorance of their own age, but have not been able to support their re- nown with more equitable posterity. It is easy for a pro- found philosopher to commit a mistake in his subtile reason- OF THK DIFFERENT .SPECIES OF PHILOSOPHY. 5 ings; and one mistake is the necessary parent of another, "while lie pushes on his consequences, and is not deterred from embracing any conclusion, by its unusual appearance, - ^-~ or its contradiction to popular opinion. But a philosopher, who purposes only to represent the common sense of man- kind in more beautiful and more engaging colours, if by accident he falls into error, goes no farther ; but renewing his appeal to common sense, and the natural sentiments of the mind, returns into the right path, and secures himself from any dangerous illusions. The fame of CICERO flourishes at present ; but that of ARISTOTLE is utterly decayed. LA BRUYERE passes the seas, and still maintains his reputation: But the glory of MALEBRANCHE is confined to his own nation, and to his own age. And ADDISON, perhaps, will be read with pleasure, when LOCKE shall be entirely forgotten. 1 The mere philosopher is a character, which is commonly but little acceptable in the world, as being supposed to con- tribute nothing either to the advantage or pleasure of society ; while he lives remote from communication with mankind, and is wrapped up in principles and notions equally remote from their comprehension. On the other hand, the mere ignorant is still more despised; nor is any thing deemed a surer sign of an illiberal genius in an age and nation where the sciences flourish, than to be entirely destitute of all relish for those noble entertainments. The most perfect character is supposed to lie between those extremes ; retaining an equal ability and taste for books, company, and business ; preserving in conversation that discernment and delicacy which arise from polite letters ; and in business, that probity and accuracy which are the natural result of a just philoso- phy. In order to diffuse and cultivate so accomplished a character, nothing can be more useful than compositions of the easy st\ le and manner, which draw not too much from life, require no deep application or retreat to be compre- hended, and send back the student among mankind full of noble sentiments and wise precepts, applicable to every exigence of human life. By means of such compositions, virtue becomes amiable, science agreeable, company instruc- tive, and retirement entertaining. 1 [Editions E and F add the note : and modest Reasoner. Tis only meant This is not intended any -way to detract (> shr,\v the common Fate of Mich ab- from the Merit of Mr. Locke, who was struct Phil"sopliy.] really a great Philosopher, and a just 6 CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. SECT. Man is a reasonable being ; and as such, receives from ,_ ^_ science his proper food and nourishment : But so narrow are the bounds of human understanding, that little satisfaction can be hoped for in this particular, either from the extent or security of his acquisitions. Man is a sociable, no less than a reasonable being : But neither can he always enjoy company agreeable and amusing, or preserve the proper relish for them. Man is also an active being ; and from that dis- position, as well as from the various necessities of human life, must submit to business and occupation : But the mind reqiiires some relaxation, and cannot always support its bent to care and industry. It seems, then, that nature has pointed out a mixed kind of life as most suitable to human race, and secretly admonished them to allow none of these biasses to draw too much, so as to incapacitate them for other occupations and entertainments. Indulge your passion for science, says she, but let your science be human, and such as may have a direct reference to action and society. Ab- struse thought and profound researches I prohibit, and will severely punish, by the pensive melancholy which they in- troduce, by the endless uncertainty in which they involve you, and by the cold reception which your pretended dis- coveries shall meet with, when communicated. Be a philo- sopher ; but, amidst all your philosophy, be still a man. Were the generality of mankind contented to prefer the easy philosophy to the abstract and profound, without throw- ing any blame or contempt on the latter, it might not be improper, perhaps, to comply with this general opinion, and allow every man to enjoy, without opposition, his own taste and sentiment. But as the matter is often carried farther, even to the absolute rejecting of all profound reasonings, or what is commonly called metaphysics, we shall now proceed to consider what can reasonably be pleaded in their behalf. We may begin with observing, that one considerable ad- vantage, which results from the accurate and abstract philo- sophy, is, its subserviency to the easy and humane ; which, without the former, can never attain a sufficient degree of exactness in its sentiments, precepts, or reasonings. All polite letters are nothing but pictures of human life in various attitudes and situations ; and inspire us with different sentiments, of praise or blame, admiration or ridicule, ac- cording to the qualities of the object, which tliev set before OF THE DIFFERENT SPECIES OF PHILOSOPHY. 7 us. An artist must bo better qualified to succeed in this SECT, undertaking, who, besides a delicate taste and a quick *_ apprehension, possesses an accurate knowledge of the in- ternal fabric, the operations of the understanding, the workings of the passions, and the various species of senti- ment which discriminate vice and virtue. How painful soever this inward search or enquiry may appear, it becomes, in some measure, requisite to those, who would describe with success the obvious and outward appearances of life and manners. The anatomist presents to the eye the most hideous and disagreeable objects ; but his science is useful to the painter in delineating even a VENUS or an HELEN. While the hitter employs all the richest colours of his art, and gives his figures the most graceful and engaging airs ; he must still carry his attention to the inward structure of the human body, the position of the muscles, the fabric of the bones, and the use and figure of every part or organ. Accuracy is, in every case, advantageous to beauty, and just reasoning to delicate sentiment. In vain would we exalt the one by depreciating the other. Besides, we may observe, in every art or profession, even those which most concern life or action, that a spirit of accuracy, however acquired, carries all of them nearer their perfection, and renders them more subservient to the in- terests of society. And though a philosopher may live remote from business, the genius of philosophy, if carefully cultivated by several, must gradually diffuse itself throughout the whole society, and bestow a similar correctness on every art and calling. The politician will acquire greater fore- sight and subtility, in the subdividing and balancing of power ; the lawyer more method and finer principles in his reasonings ; and the general more regularity in his discipline, and more caution in his plans and operations. The stability of modern governments above the ancient, and the accuracy of modern philosophy, have improved, and probably will still improve, by similar gradations. Were there no advantage to be reaped from these studies, beyond the gratification of an innocent curiosity, yet ought not even this to be despised ; as being one accession to those few safe and harmless pleasures, which are bestowed on human race. The sweetest and most inoffensive path of life leads through the avenues of science and learning: and 8 CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. whoever can either remove any obstructions in this way, or open up any new prospect, ought so far to be esteemed a benefactor to mankind. And though these researches may appear painful and fatiguing, it is with some minds as with some bodies, which being endowed with vigorous and florid health, require severe exercise, and reap a pleasure from what, to the generality of mankind, may seem burdensome and laborious. Obscurity, indeed, is painful to the mind as well as to the eye ; but to bring light from obscurity, by whatever labour, must needs be delightful and rejoicing. But this obscurity in the profound and abstract philosophy, is objected to, not only as painful and fatiguing, but as the inevitable source of uncertainty and error. Here indeed lies the justest and most plausible objection against a consider- able part of metaphysics, that they are not properly a science ; but arise either from the fruitless efforts of human variitv, which would penetrate into subjects utterly in accessible to the understanding, or from the craft of popular superstitions. which, being unable to defend themselves on fair ground, raise these intangling brambles to cover and protect their weakness. Chaced from the open country, these robbers fly into the forest, and lie in wait to break in upon every un- guarded avenue of the mind, and overwhelm it with religious fears and prejudices. The stoutest antagonist, if he remit his watch a moment, is oppressed. And many, through cowardice and folly, open the gates to the enemies, and willingly receive them with reverence and submission, as their legal sovereigns. But is this a sufficient reason, why philosophers should desist from such researches, and leave superstition still in possession of her retreat ? Is it not proper to draw an oppo- site conclusion, and perceive the necessity of carrying the war into the most secret recesses of the enemy ? In vain do we hope, that men, from frequent disappointment, wi 1 ! at last abandon such airy sciences, and discover the proper province of human reason. For, besides, that many persons find too sensible an interest in perpetually recalling such topics ; besides this, I say, the motive of blind despair can never reasonably have place in the sciences ; since, however unsuc- cessful former attempts may have proved, there is still room to hope, that the industry, good fortune, or improved sagacity of succeeding generations may reach discoveries unknown to OK THK DIFFKUFXT SI'KClKS OF PHILOSOPHY. 9 former ages. Each adventurous genius will still leap at the arduous prize, and find himself stimulated, rather than discouraged, by the failures of his predecessors ; while h<- hopes that the glory of atchieving so hard an adventure is reserved for him alone. The only method of freeing learning, at once, from these abstruse questions, is to enquire seriously into the nature of human understanding, and shew, from an exact analysis of its powers and capacity, that it is by no means fitted for such remote and abstruse subjects. We must submit to this fatigue, in order to live at ease ever after : And must cultivate true metaphysics with some care, in order to destroy the false and adulterate. Indolence, which, to some persons, affords a safeguard against this deceitful philosophy, is, with others, overbalanced by curiosity ; and despair, which, at some moments, prevails, may give place afterwards to sanguine hopes and expectations. Accurate and just reasoning is the only catholic remedy, fitted for all persons and all dispositions ; and is alone able to subvert that abstruse philosophy and metaphysical jargon, which, being mixed up with popular superstition, renders it in a manner impene- trable to careless reasoners, and gives it the air of science and wisdom. Besides this advantage of rejecting, after deliberate en- quiry, the most uncertain and disagreeable part of learning, there are many positive advantages, which result from an accurate scrutiny into the powers and faculties of human nature. It is remarkable concerning the operations of the mind, that, though most intimately present to us, yet, when- ever they become the object of reflection, they seem involved in obscurity; nor can the eye readily find those lines and boundaries, which discriminate and distinguish them. The objects are too fine to remain long in the same aspect or situation ; and must be apprehended in an instant, by a superior penetration, derived from nature, and improved by habit and reflection. It becomes, therefore, no inconsiderable part of science barely to know the different operations of the mind, to separate them from each other, to class them under their proper heads, and to correct all that seeming disorder, in which they lie involved, when made the object of reflec- tion and enquiry. This task of ordering and distinguishing, which has no merit, when performed with regard to external bodies, the objects of our senses, rises in its value, when 10 CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. SECT, directed towards the operations of the mind, in proportion to ._ / ^ the difficulty and labour, which we meet with in performing it. And if we can go no farther than this mental geography, or delineation of the distinct parts and powers of the mind, it is at least a satisfaction to go so far; and the more obvious this science may appear (and it is by no means obvious) the more contemptible still must the ignorance of it be esteemed, in all pretenders to learning and philosophy. Nor can there remain any suspicion, that this science is uncertain and chimerical ; unless we should entertain such a scepticism as is entirely subversive of all speculation, and even action. It cannot be doubted, that the mind is endowed with several powers and faculties, that these powers are dis- tinct from each other, that what is really distinct to the immediate perception may be distinguished by reflection ; and consequently, that there is a truth and falsehood in all propositions on this subject, and a truth and falsehood, which lie not beyond the compass of human understanding. There are many obvious distinctions of this kind, such as those between the will and understanding, the imagination and passions, which fall within the comprehension of every human creature ; and the finer and more philosophical dis- tinctions are no less real and certain, though more difficult to be comprehended. Some instances, especially late ones, of success in these enquiries, may give us a juster notion of the certainty and solidity of this branch of learning. And shall we esteem it worthy the labour of a philosopher to give us a true system of the planets, and adjust the position and order of those remote bodies ; while Ave affect to overlook those, who, with so much success, delineate the parts of the mind, in which we are so intimately concerned V } 1 [Editions E and F append the note: Nature of Things. Imt is entirely rela- Tliat. Faculty, by -which we discern live to the Sentiment or ment;il Tasta Truth and Falshood, and that by which of each particular Uuiiif;; in the same ure perceive ^ ice anil \irtue had loni; Manner as the Distinctions of sweet be.cn confounded with each other, and and bitter, hut and cold, arise from tiio all Morality "was suppos'd to be built particular feeling of each KenseorOrjran. on eternal mid immutable Relations. .Moral Percept ions therefore, ought not which, to every iniellitrent Mind, were to be elass'd with the Operations of the equallv invariable as any Proposition Understanding, but with the Tastes or cori'-rraintr Quantity or Number. Hut Sentiments. a 1 late Philosopher ha- taiiirht ns, by It had been usual with Philosophers the rn<--st ponv'neiiif; Arguments, that to divide all the Passions of the. Mind ilor.ili'v is not hiii' r in the abstract into two Classes, the selfish and btne- <>! TIIK DIFFERENT Sl'KriKS OK PHILOSOPHY. 11 But may we not hope, that philosophy, if cultivated with care, and encouraged by the attention of the public, may carry its researches still farther, and discover, tit least in some decree, the secret springs and principles, by which UK; human mind is actuated in its operations 'P Astronomers had long contented themselves with proving, from the phaenomena, the true motions, order, and magnitude of the heavenly bodies: Till a philosopher, at last, arose, who seems, from the happiest reasoning, to have ;ilso determined the laws and forces, bv which the revolutions of the planets are governed and directed. The like has been performed with regard to other parts of nature. And there is no reason to despair of equal success in our enquiries concerning the mental powei's and (economy, if prosecuted with equal capa- city and caution. It is probable, that one operation and principle of the mind depends 011 another ; which, again, may be resolved into one more general and universal : And how far these researches may possibly be carried, it will be difficult for us, before, or even after, a careful trial, exactly to determine. This is certain, that attempts of this kind are every day made even by those who philosophize the most negligently: And nothing can be more requisite than to enter upon the enterprize with thorough care and attention ; that, if it lie Avithin the compass of human understanding, it may at last be happily atchieved ; if not, it may, however, voleiit. which were supposM to stinil the latter could never possiMv exist; in constant Opposition and Contra- that the Case is precisely the same riety; nor was it thought that the with the Passions, denominated benevo- latter could ever attain their proper lent, and consequently that a Man is Object but at the Expense of the former. no more interested when lie seeks his Among the selfish Passions were rank'd own (ilorv than when the Happiness of Avarice, Ambition, .Revenue: Anionur his Friend is the Object of his Wishes; flu 1 benevolent, natural Aff'ecti"n. nor is lie anymore disinterested when Friendship, Public spirit. Philosophers he sacrifice* his Kase and Quiet to may now 1 perceive the Impropriety of public Cood than whm lie labours for this Division. It has been prov'd. the Gratification of Avarice or Ambi- bey.md all Controversy, that even the tion. Here therefore is a considerable Passions, commonly esteem'd selfish. Adjustment in the Boundaries of the carry the Mind beyond Self, directly to Passions, which had been confounded the Object ; that tho' the Satisfaction of by the Ne^litrcnec op Inaccuracy of these Pas.Mons gives us Enjoyment, yet former Philosophers. The>e two lu- the Prospect of this Enjoyment is not stances may suffice to show us the tile Cause of the Passion, but on the Nature and Importance of this Species eontr.iry the Passion is antecedent to of Philosophy.] the Enjoyment, and without the former, 12 CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. be rejected with some confidence and security. This last conclusion, surely, is not desirable ; nor ought it to be era- braced too rashly. For how much must we diminish from the beauty and value of this species of philosophy, upon such a supposition 9 Moralists have hitherto been accustomed, when they considered the vast multitude and diversity of those actions that excite our approbation or dislike, to search for some common principle, on which this variety of sen- timents might depend. And though they have sometimes carried the matter too far, by their passion for some one general principle ; it must, however, be confessed, that they are excusable in expecting to find some general principles, into which all the vices and virtues were justly to be resolved. The like has been the endeavour of critics, logicians, and even politicians : Nor have their attempts been wholly unsuccessful; though perhaps longer time, greater accuracy, and more ardent application may bring these sciences still nearer their perfection. To throw up at once all pretensions of this kind may justly be deemed more rash, precipitate, aiid dogmatical, than even the boldest and most affirmative philosophy, that has ever attempted to impose its crude dic- tates and principles on mankind. What though these reasonings concerning human nature seem abstract, and of difficult comprehension ? This affords no presumption of their falsehood. On the contrary, it seems impossible, that what has hitherto escaped so many wise and profound philosophers can be very obvious and easy. And whatever pains these researches may cost us, we may think ourselves sufficiently rewarded, not onlv in point of profit but of pleasure, if, by that means, we can make any addition to our stock of knowledge, in subjects of such unspeakable importance. But as, after all, the abstractedness of these speculations is no recommendation, but rather a disadvantage to them, and as this difficulty may perhaps be surmounted by care and art, and the avoiding of all unnecessary detail, we have, in the following enquiry, attempted to throw some light upon subjects, from which uncertainty has hitherto deterred the wise, and obscurity the ignorant. Happy, if we can unite Hie boundaries of the different species of philosophy, by reconciling profound riHjuiry with clearness, and truth with OF THE DIFFERENT SPEC-IKS OF PHILOSOPHY. 13 novelty ! And still more happy, if, reasoning in this easy SKCT. manner, wo can undermine the foundations of an abstruse philosophy, which seems to have hitherto served only as a shelter to superstition, and a cover to absurdity and error! SECT. IL -Of //> Or/;,,',, of I,!,-,,*. EVERY one will readily allow, that there is a considerable difference between the perceptions of the mind, when a man feels the pain of excessive heat, or the pleasure of moderate Tvarmth, and when he afterwards recalls to his memory this sensation, or anticipates it by his imagination. These facul- ties may mimic or copy the perceptions of the senses; but they never can entirelv reach the force and vivacity of the original sentiment. The utmost we say of them, even when they operate with greatest vigour, is, that they represent their object in so lively a manner, that we could almost say we feel or see it : But, except the mind be disordered by dis- ease or madness, they never can arrive at such a pitch of vivacity, as to render these perceptions altogether undistin- guishable. All the colours of poetry, however splendid, can never paint natural objects in such a manner as to make the description be taken for a real landskip. The most lively thought is still inferior to the dullest sensation. We may observe a like distinction to run through all the other perceptions of the mind. A man in a tit of anger, is actuated in a very different manner from one who only thinks of that emotion. If you tell me, that any person is in love, I easily understand your meaning, and form a just concep- tion of his situation ; but never can mistake that conception for the real disorders and agitations of the passion. When we reflect on our past sentiments and affections, our thought is a faithful mirror, and copies its objects truly ; but the colours which it employs are faint and dull, in comparison of those in which our original perceptions were clothed. It requires no nice discernment or metaphysical head to mark the distinction between them. Here therefore we may divide all the perceptions of the mind into two classes or species, which are distinguished by their different degrees of force and vivacity. The less forcible and livelv are commonlv denominated THOUGHTS or IDEAS. The 14 CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. other species want a name in our language, and in most others ; I suppose, because it was not requisite for any, but philosophical purposes, to rank them under a general term or appellation. Let us, therefore, use a little freedom, and call them IMPRESSIONS ; employing that word in a sense somewhat different from the usual. By the term impression, then, I mean all our more lively perceptions, when we hear, or see, or feel, or love, or hate, or desire, or will. And im- pressions are distinguished from ideas, which are the less lively perceptions, of which we are conscious, when we reflect on any of those sensations or movements above mentioned. Nothing, at first view, may seem more unbounded than the thought of man, which not only escapes all human power and authority, but is not even restrained within the limits of nature and reality. To form monsters, and join incongruous shapes and appearances, costs the imagination no more trouble than to conceive the most natural and familiar objects. And while the body is confined to one planet, along which it creeps with pain and difficulty ; the thought can in an instant transport us into the most distant regions of the universe ; or even beyond the universe, into the unbounded chaos, where nature is supposed to lie in total confusion. "What never was seen, or heard of, may yet be conceived ; nor is any thing beyond the power of thought, except what implies an absolute contradiction. But though our thought seems to possess this unbounded liberty, we shall find, upon a nearer examination, that it is really confined within very narrow limits, and that all this creative power of the mind amounts to no more than the faculty of compounding, transposing, augmenting, or dimin- ishing the materials afforded us by the senses and experience. When we think of a golden mountain, we only join two consistent ideas, f/o/r/, and mowifftiv, Avith which we were formerly acquainted. A virtuous horse we can conceive ; because, from our own feeling, we can conceive virtue; and this we may unite to the figure and shape of a horse, which is an animal familiar to us. In short, all the materials of thinking are derived either from our outward or inward sen- O tiinent : The mixture and composition of these belongs alone to the mind and will. Or, to express myself in philosophical language, all our ideas or more feeble perceptions are copies of our impressions or more lively ones. OF THE OKKilN OF IDKAS. 15 To prove this, the two following arguments will, I hope, SECT. be sufficient. First, when we analyse our thoughts or ideas, r l_ however compounded or sublime, we always find, that they resolve themselves into such simple ideas as were copied from a precedent feeling or sentiment. Even those ideas, which, at first view, seem the most wide of this origin, are found, upon a nearer scrutiny, to be derived from it. The idea of God, as meaning an infinitely intelligent, wise, and good Being, arises from reflecting on the operations of our own mind, and augmenting, without limit, those qualities of goodness and wisdom. We may prosecute this euquirv to what length we please; where we shall always find, that every idea which we examine is copied from a similar im- pression. Those who would assert, that this position is not universally true nor without exception, have only one, and that an easy method of refuting it ; by producing that idea, which, in their opinion, is not derived from this source. It will then be incumbent on us, if we would maintain our doctrine, to produce the impression or lively perception, which corresponds to it. Secondly. If it happen, from a defect of the organ, that a man is not susceptible of any species of sensation, we always find, that he is as little susceptible of the correspon- dent ideas. A blind man can form no notion of colours; a deaf man of sounds. Restore either of them that sense, in which he is deficient ; by opening this new inlet for his sensa- tions, you also open an inlet for the ideas ; and he finds no difficulty in conceiving these objects. The case is the same, if the object, proper for exciting any sensation, has never been applied to the organ. A LAPLANDER or XEGROE has no notion of the relish of wine. And though there are few or no instances of a like deficiency in the mind, where a person has never felt or is wholly incapable of a sentiment or passion, that belongs to his species ; yet we find the same observation to take place in a less degree. A man of mild manners can form no idea of inveterate revenge or cruelty ; nor can a selfish heart easily conceive the heights of friend- ship and generosity. It is readily allowed, that other beings may possess many senses of which we can have no concep- tion ; because the ideas of them have never been introduced to us, in the only manner, by which an idea can have access to the mind, to wit, by the actual feeling and sensation. 16 CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. There is, however, one contradictory phenomenon, which may prove, that it is not absolutely impossible for ideas to arise, independent of their correspondent impressions. I believe it will readily be allowed, that the several distinct ideas of colour, which enter by the eye, or those of sound, which are conveyed by the ear, are really different from each other; though, at the same time, resembling 1 . Now if this be true of different colours, it must be no less so of the dif- ferent shades of the same colour ; and each shade produces a distinct idea, independent of the rest. For if this should be denied, it is possible, by the continual gradation of shades, to run a colour insensibly into what is most remote from it ; and if you will not allow any of the means to be different, you cannot, without absurdity, deny the extremes to be the same. Suppose, therefore, a person to have enjoyed his sight for thirty years, and to have become perfectly acquainted with colours of all kinds, except one particular shade of blue, for instance, which it never has been his fortune to meet with. Let all the different shades of that colour, except that single one, be placed before him, descending gradually from the deepest to the lightest ; it is plain, that he will perceive a blank, where that shade is wanting, and will be sensible, that there is a greater distance in that place between the contiguous colours than in any other. Now I ask, whether it be possible for him, from his own imagination, to supply this deficiency, and raise up to himself the idea of that par- ticular shade, though it had never been conveyed to him by his senses? I believe there are few but will be of opinion that he can : And this may serve as a proof, that the simple ideas are not always, in every instance, derived from the cor- respondent impressions ; though this instance is so singular, that it is scarcely worth our observing, and does not merit, that for it alone we should alter our general maxim. Here, therefore, is a proposition, which not only seems, in itself, simple and intelligible ; but, if a, proper use were made of it, might render every dispute equally intelligible, and banish all that jargon, which has so long taken posses- sion of metaphysical reasonings, and drawn disgrace upon them. All ideas, especially abstract ones, are naturally faint and obscure : The mind has but a slender hold of them : They are apt to be confounded with other resembling ideas ; and when we have often employed any term, though without OK Till: (l;l(il.\ (! IJiKAS. 17 a distinct meaning, we are apt to imagine it 1ms a dctt rminate idea, annexed to it. On the contrary, all impressions, that is, all sensations, cither outward or inward, are strong and vivid : The limits between them are more exactly determined : Nor is it easy to fall into any error or mistake with regard to them. When we entertain, therefore, any suspicion, that a philosophical term is employed without any meaning or idea (as is but too frequent), we need but, enquire, /Vom n-lint impression /x flint supposed i'ol- porary to our birth, the dispute seems men. who, making use of undefined to be frivolous; nor is it worth while terms, draw out their disputes to a to enquire at what time thinking tedious length, without ever touching begins, whether before, at. or after the point in question. A like ambiguity our birth. Again, the word idea, and circumlocution serin to run through seems to le commonly taken in a very all that great philos'iphrr's reasonings loose sense, by J ocke and others: as on this as well as mo.-f other subjects, standing for anj of our perceptions, 2 [Connexion : Editions E and F. VOL. IV. C 18 CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. SECT. if we reflect, that the imagination ran not altogether at [ ^-_^ adventures, but that there was still a connexion upheld among the different ideas, which succeeded each other. Were the loosest and freest conversation to be transcribed, there would immediately be observed something, which con- nected it in all its transitions. Or where this is wanting, the person, who broke the thread of discourse, might still inform you, that there had secretly revolved in his mind a succession of thought, which had gradually led him from the subject of conversation. Among different languages, even where we cannot suspect the least connexion or commu- nication, it is found, that the words, expressive of ideas, the most compounded, do yet nearly correspond to each other : A certain proof, that the simple ideas, comprehended in the compound ones, were bound together by some uni- versal principle, which had an equal influence on all mankind. Though it be too obvious to escape observation, that dif- ferent ideas are connected together ; I do not find, that any philosopher has attempted to enumerate or class all the prin- ciples of association ; a subject, however, that seems worthy of curiosity. To me, there appear to be only three principles of connexion among ideas, namely, Resemblance, Contiguity in time or place, and Cause or Effect. That these principles serve to connect ideas will not, I believe, be much doubted. A picture naturally leads our thoughts to the original : 1 The mention of one apartment in a building naturally introduces an enquiry or discourse con- cerning the others : 2 And if we think of a wound, we can scarcely forbear reflecting on the pain which follows it. 3 But that this enumeration is compleat, and that there are no other principles of association, except these, may be diffi- cult to prove to the satisfaction of the reader, or even to a man's own satisfaction. All we can do, in such cases, is to run over several instances, and examine carefully the prin- ciple, which binds the different thoughts to each other, never stopping till we render the principle as general as possible. 4 The more instances we examine, and the more care we em- 1 Resemblance. mixture of Causation and Ji 2 Contiguity. "Where two objects are. contrary, tho one 3 Cause ami Kffect. destroys the other ; that, is, the cause of 4 For instance. Contrast or Contra- its annihilation, and the idea of the nn- ricty is also a connexion anionir bleas : nihilation of an object, implies the idea Hut it IIKIV, perhaps, be coii.side.rcd as, a of its former existence. OF Till'] ASSOCIATION OF IDKAS. in ]>loy, ihi 1 more assurance shall we acquire, that the euiiinera- SKTI,K, have and form a kind of Unit//, which may talked so much : Perhaps, to little pur- brinir them under one plan or view, and pose, while they directed not their tasto which may lie the object or end of tho or sentiment by the accuracy of philo- writer in his first undertaking. sopliy. Jt appears, that in all pn>duc- This connecting principle among the tions, as well as in the epic and tragic, several events, which form the subject there is a certain unity required, and of a poem or history, may be very dif- that, on no occasion, can our thoughts be Cerent, according to the different designs allowed to run at adventures, if we of the poet or historian. OVID has would produce a work, which \\illirivo formed his plan upon the connecting any lasting entertainment to mankind. principle of resemblance. Every fabu- Jt appears also, that even a biographer, Ions transformation, produced by the who should write the life of Acini I.KS, miraculous power of tho gods, falls would connect the events, by shewing within tlie compass of his work. There their mutual dependence and relation, needs but this -.no circumstance in any as much as a po. ;. who should make the 20 CONGER XING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. SECT. IV. * --, PART I. SECT. IV. Sceptical Doubts concerning the Operations of the Understanding. PART I. ALL the objects of human reason or enquiry may naturally be divided into two kinds, to wit, Relations of Ideas, and Matters of Fact. Of the first kind are the sciences of Geometry, Algebra, and Arithmetic ; and in short, every affirmation, which is either intuitively or demonstratively certain. That the square of the hypothenuse is equal to the square of the two sides, is a proposition, which expresses a of painting, approaches us nearer to the objects than any other species of nar- ration, throws a stronger light upon them, and delineates more distinctly those minute circumstances, which, tho' to the historian they seem superfluous, serve mightily to enliven tho imagery, and gratify the fancy. If it be not necessary, as in the Iliad, to inform us each time the hero buckles his shoes, and ties his garters, it will be requisite, perhaps, to enter into a greater detail than iu the HKXHIADK ; where the events are run over with such rapidity, that we scarce have leisure to become acquainted with the scene or action. Were a poet, therefore, to comprehend in his subject any great compass of time or series of events, and trace up the death of HKCTOR to its remote causes, in the rape of HKLKX, or the judgment of PAIMS, he must draw out his poem to an immeasurable length, in order tx ILffirtp -rivis mot/rat, tap fffjl (va. r). iroAAa -yip KCU airt/ou rq yirti uiv ii/iwv ouSfv frr-riv - ject toanotlier. The strong connection ot' the events, as it facilitates the passage of the thought or imagination from one to another, facilitates also the transfu- sion of the passions, and preserves thu affections still in the same channel and direction. Our sympathy and concern for KVB prepares the way for a like sympathy with ADAM: Thu affection is preserved almost entire in the transi- tion ; and the mind sei/es immediately the new oliject as strongly related to that which formerly engaged its atten- tion. But were the pO;'t to make a total digression from his subject, and introduce a new actor, nowise connected with the personages, the imagination. fouling :i breach in the transition, would enter coldly into thu new scene, would kindle by slosv degrees ; and in return- ing to thu main subject of the poem, would pass, as it were, upon foreign ground, and have its concern to excite anew, in order to take party with the principal actors. The same inconve- nience follows in a less degree, where the poet traces his events to too great a distance, and binds together actions, which tho' m.t entirely disjoined, have not so strong a connexion as is requisite to forward the transition of tile pis- sins. Hence arises the artifice of tho oblique narration, employed in the 1 [Kditions K to N insert thu follow- ing paragraph: But tho' this rule of unity of action be common to dramatic and epic poetry; we may still observe a difference betwixt them, which may, perhaps, deserve our attention. In loth these species of composition, 'tis requisite the action be one and simple, in order to preserve the concern or sym- pathy entire and undiverted: but in epic or narrative poetry, this nil.- is Otli/wi/ and .-Euf'tl; where the hero is introduced, at first, near tho perio 1 of his designs, and afterwards shows us, as it were in perspective, the more dis- tant events aiul causes. By this mean*, the reader's curiosity is immediately excited: Theevents follow withrapidity, and in a verv close connexion: And tho concern is preserved alive, and, by moans of the near relation of the objects, con- tinually increases, from the beginning to the end of the narration. Tiie same rule takes place in dramatic poutrv; nor is it ever permitted, in a, regular composition, to introduce ail actor, who lias no connexion, or but a small one. with the principal per- sonages of the fable. The spectator's concern must not be diverted by any scenes, disjoined and separated from the rest Tliis breaks the course of the passions, and prevents that communica- tion of the several emotions, by which one scene adds force to another, and tranfuses the pity and terror, which it excites, upon each succeeding scene, 'till the whol,. produces that rapidity of movement, which is peculiar to the theatre, llosv mnst it extinguish this warmth of affection to be entertained, on a sudden, with a new action and new personages, no wise related to the fornu-r ; to find so sensible a breach or vacuitv in the course of the passions, by means of this broach in the con- nexion of ideas ; and instead of carrying the sympathy of one scene into the fol- lowing, to be obliged everv moment, to excite a new concern, and take party in a new scene of action ? 'To return to the comparison of his- tory and epic poetry, we may conclude, from the foregoing reasonings, that as also estublisli'd upon tion. ('/--. the necessity bent on every writer. ; or design, before he e course or narration, an> his subject in some gi united view, which may object of his attention. is entirely lost in d ti' 'tis, and the special self to be reall prest 22 CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. PRf'T. IV. PART I. mere operation of thought, without dependence on what i? any where existent in the universe. Though there never were a circle or triangle in nature, the truths, demonstrated by EUCLID, would for ever retain their certainty and evi- dence. Matters of fact, which are the second objects of human reason, are not ascertained in the same manner ; nor is our a certain unity is requisite in all pro- ductions, it cannot lie wanting to history more than to aiiy other ; that in history, the connexion among tjie several events, which unites them into one body, is the relation of cause and effect, the same which takes place in epic poetry ; and that in the latter composition, this, con- nexion is only required to be closer and more sensible, on account of the lively imagination and strong passions, which must be touched by the poet in his nar- ration. The PELOPOXNESIAX war is a proper subject for history, the siege of ATHENS for an epic poem, and the death of ALCIHIADKS for a tragedy. As the difference, therefore, between history and epic, poetry consists only in the decrees of connexion, which bind together those several events, of which their subject is composed, it will be difficult,, if not impossible, by words, to determine exactly the bounds which separate' them from each other. That is a matter of taste more than of reason- ing; and perhaps, this unity may often be discovered in a subject, where, at first view, and from an abstract con- sideration, we should least expect to find it. "Pis evident, that HOMER, in the course of his narration, exceeds the first proposition of his subject: and that the anger of ACHII.I.KS. which cuused tlio death of HECTOK, is not the same with that -which produced so many ills to the G-RKKKS. lint the strong connexion between these two movements, the quick transition from one to another, the contrast 1 between the effects of concord and discord among the princes, and the. natural curiosity which we have to see ACHILLES in action, after such long repose; all these causes carry on the reader, and produce a sufficient unity in the subject. It may be objected to MILTON, that he has traced up his causes to too great a distance, and that the rebellion of the angels produces the fall of imm by a train of events, which is both very lonu: and verv casual. Not to mention that the creation of the world, which lie has related at lenirth. is no more the cause, of that catastrophe, than of the battle of I'HAKSALIA, or any other represented; this reason has no plac^ w'illi r< gard to the stag*'; but any dia- logue ur conversation mav be introduced, which, without improbability, might have pas.-'d i:i th;it determinate portion of space, represented by the theatre. Hence in all our ENGLISH comedies, even those of CoN'iKKVK. the unity of action is never strictly obsorv'd ; but the poet thinks it sufficient, it' his personages be any wuy related to each oilier, by bio >d, or bylivingin the same family : and he, at! erwards int roduces t hem in part iciilar scenes, where they display their humors and characters, without much t'orward- i:iir the main action. The double plots of TKKKNCK are licenses of the same kind ; but in a lesser degree-. And tlio' this conduct lie not perfectly regular, it i- not, wholly unsuitable, to the nat nre t f corned v, where the movements and passions are not rais'd to such a height as in tragedy; at the same time, that the fiction or representation palliates, in some derive, such licenses. In a narrative poem, the tir^-t proposition or design confines tin: author to one sub- ject ; and any digressions of this nature would, at iir-t view, lie rejected, as ab- surd and monstrous. Neither Boci'ACK, i. A F'INTAI.NK. nor anv author of that kind, tlio' pleasantry be their chief ob- ject, have ever indulg'd them.) 1 Contrast or contrariety is a con- nexion iimonir ideas, which may. perhaps, be considered.. 'is a mixture of causation and resemblance. Where two objects are contrary, the one destroys the other, i. e. is the cause of its annihilation, and the idea i'f the annihilation of an object implies I lie idea of its former existence. SCEPTICAL nOOTJTS. evidence of their truth, however prosit, of a like nature with the foregoing. The contrary of every matter of fact is still possible; because it can never imply a contradiction, and is conceived by the mind with the same facility and distinct- ness, as if ever so conformable to reality. TJuit thf, sun will i>t rise to-tnornm; is no less intelligible a proposition, and implies no more contradiction, than the affirmation, that it it-ill mv;. We should in vain, therefore, attempt to demon- strate its falsehood. Were it demonstratively false, it would imply a contradiction, and could never be distinctly con- ceived by the mind. It may, therefore, be a subject worthy of curiosity, to enquire what is the nature of that evidence, which assures us of any real existence and matter of fact, beyond the pre- sent testimony of our senses, or the records of our memory. This part of philosophy, it is observable, has been little cultivated, either by the ancients or moderns ; and therefore our doubts and errors, in the prosecution of so important an enquiry, may be the more excusable ; while we march through such difficult paths, without any guide or direction. They may even prove useful, by exciting curiosity, and de- stroying that implicit faith and security, which is the bane of SEPT. IV. PAUT event, that has ever happened, lint if we consider, on the other hand, that all these events, the rebellion of the anirels. the creation of the world, and the fall of man. rcseinble eaeh other, in being miraculous and out of the common course of nature; that thev are sup- posed to lie contif/itous in time; and that beiiiLT detached from all oilier events, and being the oulv original t'.iets. which revelation discovers, they strike the eye at once, and naturdly recall each other to the thought or ima- gination: If we consider all these cir- cumstances. I say. we shall find, that these parts of the action have a suffi- cient unity to make them he compre- hended in one falile or narration. To which we may add. that the rebellion of the angels and the fall of man have, a peculiar resemblance, as lieinir coun- terparts to each other, and presenting to the reader the same moral, of obe- dience to our Creator. These loose hints J have thrown together, in order to excite the curiosity of philosophers, and "beiret a suspicion nt least, if not a full persuasion, that this subject is very copious, and that many operations of the human mind depend on the connexion or association of ideas, which is here explained. J'ar- ticularlv, the sympathy between the passions and imagination will, perhaps, appear remarkable; while we observe that the affect ions, excited by one ob- ject, pass easily to another connected with it; but transfuse themselves with difficulty, or not at all. along different objects, which have no manner of con- nexion together. J!y introducing, into anv composition. pel-sonnies and ac- tions, foreign to eaeh oilier, an injudi- cious author lo-es that I'onimunieati n of emotions, by which alone he can interest the heart, and raise the pas- sions to their proper height and period. The full explication of th> prheiple and all it- consequences woul ! lead us into reasonings too profonndand too copious for this enquiry. Tis sufficient, at pre- sent. io have established this conclusion, that the three connect iiiir principle* of all ideas are the relations of ftffem- 24 CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. SECT, all reasoning and free enquiry. The discovery of defects in __*__, tlie common philosophy, if any such there be, will not, I PART I. presume, be a discouragement, but rather an incitement, as is usual, to attempt something more full and satisfactory, than has yet been proposed to the public. All reasonings concerning matter of fact seem to be founded on the relation of Cause and Effect. By means of that relation alone we can go beyond the evidence of our memory and senses. If you were to ask a man, why he believes any matter of fact, which is absent ; for instance, that his friend is in the country, or in FRANCE ; he would give you a reason ; and this reason would be some other fact ; as a letter received from him, or the knowledge of his former resolutions and promises. A man, finding a watch or any other machine in a desart island, would conclude, that there had once been men in that island. All our reasonings concerning fact are of the same nature. And here it is con- stantly supposed, that there is a connexion between the present fact and that which is inferred from it. Were there nothing to bind them together, the inference would be en- tirely precarious. The hearing of an articulate voice and rational discourse in the dark assures us of the presence of some person : Why ? because these are the effects of the human make and fabric, and closely connected with it. If we anatomize all the other reasonings of this nature, we shall find, that they arc founded on the relation of cause and effect, and that this relation is cither near or remote, direct or collateral. Heat and light are collateral effects of fire, and the one effect may justly be inferred from the other. If we would satisfy ourselves, therefore, concerning the nature of that evidence, which assures us of matters of fact, we must enquire how we arrive at the knowledge of cause and effect. I shall venture to affirm, as a general proposition, which admits of no exception, that the knowledge of this relation is not, in any instance, attained by reasonings a priori ; but arises entirely from experience, when we find, that any particular objects are constantly conjoined with each other. Let an object be presented to a man of ever so strong natural reason arid abilities; if that object be entirely new io him. lir will not be able, by the most accurate examina- SCKI'TICAI. IiMl'IiTS. 'J.') lion of its sensible qualifies, in discover uny of its causes or sF/'T. effects. ADAM, though liis rational faculties be supposed, at Hit' very first, entirely perfect, could not have inferred from I'AHT I. the fluidity, and transparency of water, that it would suffo- cate him, or from the light and warmth of fire, that it would consume him. No object ever discovers, by the qualities which appear to the senses, either the causes which pro- duced it, or the effects which will arise from it; nor can our reason, unassisted by experience, ever draw any inference concerning real existence and matter of fact. This proposition, th,t m ?/ and e(f'e,>-ts (ire discoverable, not by reason, hut hi/ experience, will readily be admitted with regard to such objects, as we remember to have once been altogether unknown to us; since we must be conscious of the utter inability, which we then lay under, of foretelling, what would arise from them. Present two smooth pieces of marble to a man, who has no tincture of natural philosophy; he will never discover, that they will adhere together, in such a manner as to require great force to separate them in a, direct Hue, while they make so small a resistance to a lateral pressure. Such events, as bear little analogy to the common course of nature, are also readily confessed to be known only by experience ; nor does any man imagine that the explosion of gunpowder, or the attraction of a loadstone, could ever be discovered by arguments a priori. In like manner, when an effect is supposed to depend upon an in- tricate machinery or secret structure of parts, we make no difficulty in attributing all our knowledge of it to experience. Who will assert, that he can give the ultimate reason, why milk or bread is proper nourishment for a man, not for a- lion or a tyger? But the same truth may not appear, at first sight, to have the same evidence with regard to events, which have become familiar to us from our first appearance in the world, which bear a close analogy to the whole course of nature, and which are supposed to depend on the simple qualities of objects, without any secret structure of parts. We are apt to imagine, that we could discover these effects by the mere operation of our reason, without experience. We fancy, that were we brought, on a sudden, into this world, we could at h'rst have inferred, that one Billiard-ball would communi- cate motion to another upon impulse ; and that we needed 2(5 CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. SECT. not to have waited for the event, in order to pronounce __ T 1_, with certainty concerning it. Such is the influence of cus- PAKT I. torn, that, where it is strongest, it not only covers our natural ignorance, but even conceals itself, and seems not to take place, merely because it is found in the highest degree. But to convince us, that all the laws of nature, and all the operations of bodies without exception, are known only by experience, the following reflections may, perhaps, suffice. Were any object presented to us, and were we required to pronounce concerning the effect, which will result from it, without consulting past observation ; after what manner, I beseech you, must the mind proceed in this operation ? It must invent or imagine some event, which it ascribes to the object as its effect ; and it is plain that this invention must be entirely arbitrary. The mind can never possibly find the effect in the supposed cause, by the most accurate scrutiny and examination. For the effect is totally different from the cause, and consequently can never be discovered in it. Motion in the second Billiard-ball is a quite distinct event from motion in the first ; nor is there any thing in the one to suggest the smallest hint of the other. A stone or piece of metal raised into the air, and left without any support, immediately falls : But to consider the matter a priori, is there any thing we discover in this situation, which can beget the idea of a downward, rather than an upward, or any other motion, in the stone or metal '? And as the first imagination or invention of a particular effect, in all natural operations, is arbitrary, where we con- sult not experience ; so must we also esteem the supposed tye or connection between the cause and effect, which binds them together, and renders it impossible, that any other effect could result from the operation of that cause. When I see, for instance, a Billiard-ball moving in a straight line towards another; even suppose motion in the second ball should by accident be suggested to me, as the result of their contact or impulse ; m:iy I not conceive, that a hundred different events might as well follow from that cause '? May not both these balls remain at absolute rest? May not the first ball return in a straight line, or leap off' from the second in any line or direction? All the suppositions are con- sistent ami conceivable. Why then should we give the pro- SCEPTICAL DOl'HTS. 27 ference to one, wliich is no more consistent or conceivable SI-XT. than the rest: 1 All our reasonings a priori will never be . able to shew us any foundation tor this preference. In a word, then, every effect is a distinct event from its cause. It could not, then-fore, be discovered in the cause, and the first invention or conception of it, a jin'ori, must be entirely arbitrary. And even after it is suggested, the con- junction of it with the cause must appear equally arbitrary ; since there are always many other effects, wliich, to reason, must seem fully as consistent and natural, fn vain, there- fore, should we pretend to determine any single event, or infer any cause or effect, without the assistance of observa- tion and experience. Hence we may discover the reason, why no philosopher, who is rational and modest, has ever pretended to assign the ultimate cause of any natural operation, or to show distinctly the action of that power, which produces any single effect in the universe. It is confessed, that the utmost effort of human reason is, to reduce the principles, produc- tive of natural phenomena, to a greater simplicity, and to resolve the many particular effects into a few general causes, by means of reasonings from analogy, experience, and obser- vation. But as to the causes of these Ljeneral causes, we should in vain attempt their discovery; nor shall we ever be able to satisfy ourselves, by any particular explication of them. These ultimate springs and principles are totally shut up from human curiosity and enquiry. Elasticity, gravity, cohesion of parts, communication of motion by im- pulse ; these are probably the ultimate causes and principles which we shall ever discover in nature; and we may esteem ourselves sufficiently happy, if, by accurate enquiry and reasoning, we can trace up the particular phoenomena to, or near to, these general principles. The most perfect philo- sophy of the natural kind only staves off our ignorance a little longer: As perhaps the most perfect phi.'osophy of the moral or metaphysical kind serves onlv to discover larger portions of it. Thus the observation of human blindness and weakness is the result of all philosophy, and meets us, at every turn, in spite of our endeavours to elude <-r avoid it. Nor is geometry, when taken into the assistance of natural philosophy, even able to remedy this defect, or lead us into 28 CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. SECT, the knowledge of ultimate causes, by all that accuracy of R . reasoning, for which it is so justly celebrated. Every part PART I. o f mixed mathematics proceeds upon the supposition, that certain laws are established by nature in her operations ; and abstract reasonings are employed, either to assist expe- rience in the discovery of these laws, or to determine their influence in particular instances, where it depends upon any precise degree of distance and quantity. Thus, it is a law of motion, discovered by experience, that the moment or force of any body in motion is in the compound ratio or proportion of its solid contents and its velocity ; and consequently, that a small force may remove the greatest obstacle or raise the greatest weight, if, by any contrivance or machinery, we can encrease the velocity of that force, so as to make it an over- match for its antagonist. Geometry assists us in the appli- cation of this law, by giving us the just dimensions of all the parts and figures, which can enter into any species of ma- chine ; but still the discovery of the law itself is owing merely to experience, and all the abstract reasonings in the world could never lead us one step towards the knowledge of it. When we reason a priori, and consider merely any object or cause, as it appears to the mind, independent of all observa- tion, it never could suggest to us the notion of any distinct object, such as its effect ; much less, shew us the inseparable and inviolable connection between them. A. man must be very sagacious, who could discover by reasoning, that crystal is the effect of heat, and ice of cold, without being previously acquainted with the operation of these equalities. PART II. But we have not, yet, attained any tolerable satisfaction with regard to the question first proposed. Each solution still gives rise to a new question as difficult as the foregoing, and leads us on to farther enquiries. When it is asked, What is the nature of all our reasonings concerning matter of fact ? the proper answer seems to be, that they are founded on the relation of cause and effect. When again it is asked, What is the foundation of all our reasonings and conclusions concerning that relation? it may be replied in one word, EX- PERIENCE. But if we still carry on our sifting humour, and ask, What is the foundation of all conclusions from experience ? this implies a new question., which may be of more difficult. SCEPTICAL IHKJHTS. 20 solution ana explication. Philosophers, that give themselves airs of superior wisdom and sufficiency, have a hard task, when they encounter persons of inquisitive dispositions, who push them from every corner, to which they retreat, and who are sure at last to bring them to some dangerous dilemma. The best expedient to prevent this confusion, is to be modest in our pretensions ; and even to discover the difficulty our- selves before it is objected to us. By this means, we may make a kind of merit of our very ignorance. I shall content myself, in this section, with an easy task, and shall pretend only to give a negative answer to the ques- tion here proposed. I say then, that, even after we have experience of the operations of cause and effect, our conclu- sions from that experience are not founded on reasoning, or any process of the understanding. This answer we must endeavour, both to explain and to defend. It must certainly be allowed, that nature has kept us at a great distance from all her secrets, and has afforded us only the knowledge of a few superficial qualities of objects ; while she conceals from us those powers and principles, on which the influence of these objects entirely depends. Our senses inform us of the colour, weight, and consistence of bread ; but neither sense nor reason can ever inform us of those qualities, which fit it for the nourishment and support of a human body. Sight or feeling conveys an idea of the actual motion of bodies ; but as to that wonderful force or power, which would carry on a moving body for ever in a continued change of place, and which bodies never lose but by commu- nicating it to others ; of this we cannot form the most distant conception. But notwithstanding this ignorance of natural powers' and principles, we always presume, when we see like sensible qualities, that they have like secret powers, and expect, that effects, similar to those which we have ex- perienced, will follow from them. If a body of like colour and consistence with that bread, which we have formerly eat, be presented to us, we make no scruple of repeating the experiment, and foresee, with certainty, like nourishment and support. Now this is a, process of the mind or thought, of which I would willingly know the foundation. It ih 1 Tlu- in a Inosi more ;uvurati' implication of i: voiiM in K.!. F. 30 CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. SECT, allowed on all hands, that there is no known connexion ^ between the sensible qualities and the secret powers; and PART II. consequently, that the mind is not led to form such a con- clusion concerning their constant and regular conjunction, by any thing which it knows of their nature. As to past Experience, it can be allowed to give direct and certain infor- mation of those precise objects only, and that precise period of time, which fell under its cognizance : But why this expe- rience should be extended to future times, and to other ob- jects, which for aught we know, may be only in appearance similar ; this is the main question on which I would insist. The bread, which I formerly eat, nourished me ; that is, a body of such sensible qualities, was, at that time, endued with such secret powers : But does it follow, that other bread must also nourish me at another time, and that like sensible qualities must always be attended with like secret powers? The con- sequence seems nowise necessary. At least, it must be acknowledged, that there is here a consequence drawn by the mind ; that there is a certain step taken ; a process of thought, and an inference, which Avants to be explained. These two propositions are far from being the same, J have found that such an object has always been attended with such an effect, and I foresee, that other objects, which are, in appearance, similar, will be attended with similar effects. I shall allow, if you please, that the one proposition may justly be inferred from the other : I know in fact, that it always is inferred. But if you insist, that the inference is made by a chain of reasoning, I desire you to produce that reasoning. The con- nexion between these propositions is not intuitive. There is required a medium, which may enable the mind to draw such an inference, if indeed it be drawn by reasoning and argu- ment. What that medium is, I must confess, passes my comprehension ; and it is incumbent on those to produce it, who assert, that it really exists, and is the origin of all our conclusions concerning matter of fact. This negative argument must certainly, in process of time, become altogether convincing, if many penetrating and able philosophers shall turn their enquiries this way ; and no one be ever able to discover any connecting proposition or inter- mediate step, which supports the understanding in this con- clusion. But as the question is yet new, every i*eader may not irust s<> fur to his own penetration, as to conclude, SCEPTICAL DOUBTS. 31 because an argument escapes his enquiry, that therefore it SKCT. does not really exist. For this reason it may be requisite to venture upon a more difficult task; and enumerating all the I'AUI Ji. branches of human knowledge, endeavour to shew, that none of them can afford such an argument. All reasonings may be divided into two kinds, namely de- monstrative reasoning, or that concerning relations of ideas, and moral 1 reasoning, or that concerning matter of fact and existence. That there are no demonstrative arguments in the case, seems evident ; since it implies no contradiction, that the course of nature may change, and that an object, seemingly like those which we have experienced, mliti<>n> E niul !'.] 32 CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING though none but a fool or madman will ever pretend to dis- pute the authority of experience, or to reject that great guide II. O f human life ; it may surely be allowed a philosopher to have so much curiosity at least, as to examine the principle of human nature, which gives this mighty authority to ex- perience, and makes us draw advantage from that similarity, which nature has placed among different objects. From causes, which appear similar, we expect similar effects. This is the sum of all our experimental conclusions. Now it seems evident, that, if this conclusion were formed by reason, it would be as perfect at first, and npon one instance, as after ever so long a course of experience. But the case is far otherwise. Nothing so like as eggs ; yet no one, on account of this appearing similarity, expects the same taste and relish in all of them. It is only after a long course of uni- form experiments in any kind, that we attain a firm reliance and security with regard to a particular event. Now where is that process of reasoning, which, from one instance, draws a conclusion, so different from that which it infers from a hundred instances, that are nowise different from that single one? This question I propose as much for the sake of in- formation, as with an intention of raising difficulties. I cannot find, I cannot imagine any such reasoning. But I keep my mind still open to instruction, if any one will vouchsafe to bestow it on me. Should it be said, that, from a number of uniform experi- ments, we infer a connection between the sensible qualities and the secret powers ; this, I must confess, seems the same difficulty, couched in different terms. The question still recurs, on what process of argument this inference is founded ? Where is the medium, the interposing ideas, which join pro- positions so very wide of each other? It is confessed, that the colour, consistence, and other sensible qualities of bread appear not, of themselves, to have any connexion with the secret powers of nourishment and support. For otherwise we could infer these secret powers from the first appearance of these sensible qualities, without the aid of experience ; contrary to the sentiment of all philosophers, and contrary to plain matter of fact. Here then is our natural state of ignorance with regard to the powers and influence of all objects. How is this remedied by experience ? It only shews us a number of uniform effects, resulting from certain objects, and teaches us, that those particular objects, at that par- SKi'T. ticular time, wore endowed with such powers and forces. When a new object, endowed with similar sensible qualities, I'.MH II is produced, we expect similar powers and forces, and lonk tor a like effect. From a body of like colour and consistence with bread, we expect like nourishment and support. Hut this surely is a step or progress of the mind, which wants to be explained. When a man says, / ltnrt> j'ounAI;I ' lias lived so long in the world as to have observed similar objects or events to be constantly conjoined together ; what is (lie consequence of this experience V He immediately infers the existence of one object from the appearance of the other. Yet he has not, by all his experience, acquired any idea or knowledge of the secret power, by which the one object produces the other; nor is it, by any process of rea- soning, he is engaged to draw this inference. But still he finds himself determined to draw it : And though he should be convinced, that his understanding has no part in the operation, he would nevertheless continue in the same course of thinking. There is some other principle, which determines him to form such a conclusion. This principle is CUSTOM or HABIT. For wherever the repetition of any particular act or operation produces a pro- pensity to renew the same act or operation, without being impelled by any reasoning or process of the understanding ; we always say, that this propensity is the effect of Cttxt pronounce, that it is, at botinm. erroni oils, at least superficial. Jf we examine those ai L r unn Ms which, in any of the sciences above- mentioned, are supposed to be the mere effects of reasoning and reflection, they will be found to terminate, at last, in some general principle or conclusion, for which we can assign no reason but observation and experience. The only difference between them and those, maxims, which are vulgarly esteemed the result of pure experience, is. that the former cannot be established with- out some process of thought, and some reflection on what we have observed, in order to distinguish its circumstances, and trace its consequences : Whereas in the latter, the experienced event is exactly and fully similar to that which we infer as the result of any particular situation. The history of a TIBERIUS or a NERO makes us dread a like tyranny, were our monarchs freed from the re- straints of laws and senates: But the ob- servation of any fraud or cruelty in pri- vate life is sufficient, with the aid of a little thought, to give us the same appre- hension ; while it serves as an instance of the general corruption of human nature, and shews us the danger which we must incur by reposing an entire confidence in mankind. In both ca.ses. it is expe- rience which is ultimately the founda- tion of our inference and conclusion. There is no man so young and unex- perienced, as not to have formed, from observation, many general and just maxims concerning human affairs and the conduct of life ; but it must be con- fessed, that, when a man comes to put these in practice, he will be extremely liable to error, till time and farther experience both enlarge these maxims, and teach him their proper use and application. In every situation or in- cident, there are many particular and seemingly minute circumstances, which the man of greatest, talents is, at first, apt to overlook, though on them the justness of his conclusions, and conse- quent Iv the prudence of his conduct, entirely depend. Not t mention, that, to a young beginner, the general nbser- v.ai< :is and maxims occur not alway- 0,1 t! proper occasions, i.or can be 1111- M :; i.i ly ap|<]i.d with due calmness srKi'Tic.M. soi.rrioN oi' TIIKSK norm's. ::;i Custom, then, is the great guideof human life. Ii is tli;it. principle alone, wliicli renders our experience useful to us, and makes us expect, for the future, a similar train of events with those which have appeared in the past. Without the influence of custom, we should he entirely ignorant of every matter of fact, heyoiid what is immediately present to the memory and senses. We should never know how to adjust means to ends, or to employ our natural powers in the pro- duction of any effect. There would be an end at once of all action, as well as of the chief part of speculation. But here it may be proper to remark, that though our conclusions from experience carry us beyond our memorv and senses, and assure us of matters of fact, which happened in the most distant places and most remote ages; yet some fact must always be present to the senses or memory, from which we may first proceed in drawing these conclusions. A man, who should find in a desert country the remains of pompous buildings, would conclude, that the country had, in ancient times, been cultivated by civilized inhabitants ; but did nothing of this nature occur to him, he could never form such an inference. We learn the events of former ages from history; but then we must peruse the volumes, in which this instruction is contained, and thence carry up our inferences from one testimony to another, till we arrive at the eye-witnesses and spectators of these distant events. In a word, if we proceed not upon some fact, present to the memory or senses, our reasonings would be merely hypo- thetical ; and however the particular links might be con- nected with each other, the whole chain of inferences would have nothing to support it, nor could we ever, by its means, arrive at the knowledge of any real existence. If I ask, why you believe any particular matter of fact, which you relate, you must tell me some reason ; and this reason will be some other fact, connected with it. But as you cannot proceed after this manner, in injinitum, you must at last terminate in some fact, which is present to your memory or senses ; or must allow that your belief is entirely without foundation. What then is the conclusion of the whole matter'? A 40 CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. SECT, simple one ; though, it must be confessed, pretty remote __ r l___. from the common theories of philosophy. All belief of P.\hT I. matter of fact or real existence is derived merely from some object, present to the memory or senses, and a customary conjunction between that and some other object. Or in other words ; having found, in many instances, that any two kinds of objects, flame and heat, snow and cold, have always been conj oined together ; if flame or snow be presented anew to the senses, the mind is carried by custom to expect lieut or cold, and to believe, that such a quality does exist, and will discover itself upon a nearer approach. This belief is the necessary result of placing the mind in such circum- stances. It is an operation of the soul, when we are so situated, as unavoidable as to feel the passion of love, when we receive benefits : or hatred, when we meet with injuries. All these operations are a species of natural instincts, which no reasoning or process of the thought and understanding is able, either to produce, or to prevent. At this point, it would be very allowable for us to stop our philosophical researches. In most questions, we can never make a single step farther ; and in all questions, we must terminate here at last, after our most restless and curious enquiries. But still our curiosity will be pardonable, per- haps commendable, if it carry us on to still farther researches, and make us examine more accurately the nature of this belief, and of the customary conjunction, whence it is derived. By this means we may meet with some explications and analogies, that will give satisfaction ; at least to such as love the abstract sciences, and can be entertained with specula- tions, which, however accurate, may still retain a degree of doubt and uncertainty. As to readers of a different taste ; the remaining part of this section is not calculated for them, and the following enquiries may well be understood, though it be neglected. PART II. Nothing is more free than the imagination of man ; and though it cannot exceed that original stock of ideas, furnished by the internal and external senses, it has unlimited power of mixing, compounding, separating, and dividing these ideas, in all the varieties of fiction and vision. It can feign a train of events, with all the appearance of reality, ascribe SrKl'TK'Al, SOI.rnnN OK TIIF.SK 1MHT.TS. II to them a particular time mid place, conceive them ;is ex- istent, and paint them out. to its, -If with every circumstance, that belongs to any historical fact, which it believes with the greatest certainty. Wherein, therefore, consists the diffe- rence between such a fiction and belief? Jt lies not merely in any peculiar idea, which is annexed to such a conception as commands our assent, and which is wanting to every known fiction. For as the mind has authority over all its ideas, it could voluntarily annex this particular idea to any *> L .' fiction, and consequently be able to believe whatever it pleases ; contrary to what we find by dailv experience. We can, in our conception, join the head of a man to the body of a horse ; but it is not in our power to believe, that such an animal has ever really existed. It follows, therefore, that the difference between Jirlimt and belief lies in some sentiment or feeling, which is annexed to the latter, not to the former, and which depends not on the will, nor can be commanded at pleasure. It must be excited by nature, like all other sentiments; and must arise from the particular situation, in which the mind is placed at any particular juncture. Whenever any object is presented to the memory or senses, it immediately, by the force of custom, carries the imagination to conceive that object, which is usually conjoined to it ; and this conception is attended with a feeling or sentiment, different from the loose reveries of the fancy. In this consists the whole nature of belief. For as there is no matter of fact which we believe so firmly, that we cannot conceive the contrary, there would be no difference between the conception assented to, and that which is rejected, were it not for some sentiment, which distin- guishes the one from the other. If I see a billiard-ball moving towards another, on a smooth table, I can easily con- ceive it to stop upon contact. This conception implies no contradiction ; but still it feels very differently from that conception, by which I represent to myself the impulse, and the communication of motion from one ball to another. Were we to attempt a !' TIIKSK DOUI'.TS. -J-". They arc very different to the feeling, and have a much SKA1 " ol'the ideas, for want of some immediate impression. 1 No one can doubt but causation has the same influence as the other two relations of resemblance and contiguity. Superstitious people sire fond of the reliques of saints and holy men, for the same reason, that they seek after types or images, in order to enliven their devotion, and give them a more intimate and strong conception of those exemplary lives, which they desire to imitate. Now it is evident, that one of the best reliques, which a devotee could procure, would be the handywork of a saint ; and if his cloaths and furniture are ever to be considered in this light, it is because they were once at his disposal, and were moved and affected by him; in which respect they are to be considered as im- perfect effects, and as connected with him by a shorter chain of consequences than any of those, by which we learn the reality of his existence. Suppose, that the son of a friend, who had been long dead or absent, were presented to us ; it is evident, that this object would instantly revive its correlative idea, and recal to our thoughts all past intimacies and familiarities, in more lively colours than they would otherwise have appeared to us. This is another phenomenon, which seems to prove the principle above-mentioned. We may observe, that, in these phenomena, the belief of the correlative object is always presupposed ; without which the relation could have no effect. The influence of the picture supposes, that we believe our friend to have once ex- isted. Contiguity to home can never excite our ideas of home, unless we believe that it really exists. Now I assert, that this belief, where it reaches beyond the memory or 1 ' Naturano noliis, inquit", datum dioain, an crrore quodam, lit, cum ea lora vitlramtis. in quilms iriemoria diij- nos vims aceeperimus multum i^se vi-r- satos, ma;ri* niovcainur. ipinm siquando oornni ipsorum aut facta audiamus aut scriptum aliquod legamns? Velnt t\eo mine' movi'or. Wnit enim imhi PI.ATO- xis in mentt'in, quern acct-pinius prinnim hie (lispnfcire solitum : Cujus rtiam illi hortull propincjiii nn memovi;'.m soluin mihi afforunt. scd ipsuin videntur in ; cujusipsa ilia scssio lint, quain 40 CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. SECT. senses, is of a similar nature, and arises from similar causes, Y _^ with the transition of thought and vivacity of conception here PAKT II. explained. When I throw a piece of dry wood into a fire, my mind is immediately carried to conceive, that it augments, not extinguishes the flame. This transition of thought from the cause to the effect proceeds not from reason. It derives its origin altogether from custom and experience. And as it first begins from an object, present to the senses, it renders the idea or conception of flame more strong and lively than any loose, floating reverie of the imagination. That idea arises immediately. The thought moves instantly towards it, and conveys to it all that force of conception, which is derived from the impression present to the senses. When a sword is levelled at my breast, does not the idea of wound and pain strike me more strongly, than when a glass of wine is presented to me, even though by accident this idea should occur after the appearance of the latter object? But what is there in this whole matter to cause such a strong concep- tion, except only a present object and a customary transition to the idea of another object, which we have been accustomed to conjoin with the former? This is the whole operation of the mind, in all our conclusions concerning matter of fact and existence ; and it is a satisfaction to find some analogies, by which it may be explained. The transition from a present object does in all cases give strength and solidity to the re- lated idea. Here, then, is a kind of pre-established harmony between the course of nature and the succession of our ideas ; and though the powers and forces, by which the former is go- verned, be wholly unknown to us; yet our thoughts and con- ceptions have still, we find, gone on in the same train with the other works of nature. Custom is that principle, by which this correspondence has been effected ; so necessary to the subsistence of our species, and the regulation of our con- duct, in every circumstance arid occurrence of human life. Had not the presence of an object instantly excited the idea of those objects, commonly conjoined with it, all our know- ledge must have been limited to the narrow sphere of our memory and senses ; and we should never have been able to adjust means to ends, or employ our natural powers, either to the producing of good, or avoiding of evil. Those, who delight in the discovery and contemplation oi' Jintil <''x 7 SCKI'TlfAI, SOI.ITIOX (>K TIIKSK I lOUJTS. -17 have here ample subject to employ their wonder and ad- miration. I shall add, for a further confirmation of the foregoing J'AUT II. theory, that, as this operation of the mind, by which \ve infer like effects from like causes, and r!n: ww/, is so essen- tial to the subsistence of all human creatures, it is not pro- bable, that it could be trusted to the fallacious deductions of our reason, which is slow r in its operations; appears not, in any decree, during the first years of infancy ; and at best is, in every age and period of human life, extremely liable to error and mistake. It is more conformable to the ordinary wisdom of nature to secure so necessary an act of the mind, by some instinct or mechanical tendency, which may be in- fallible in its operations, may discover itself at the first ap- pearance of life and thought, and may be independent of all the laboured deductions of the understanding. As nature lias taught us the use of our limbs, without giving us the knowledge of the muscles and nerves, by which they are actuated; so has she implanted in us an instinct, which carries forward the thought in a correspondent course to iliat which she has established among external objects: tlio'iLrh we are ignorant of those powers and forces, on which this regular course and succession of objects totally depends. SECTION VI. Of TIIOTGH there be no such thing as Chance in the world : our ignorance of the real cause of any event has the same in- fluence on the understanding, and begets a like species of belief or opinion. There is certainly a probability, which arises from a supe- riority of chances on any side ; and according as this supe- riority enci'eases, and surpasses the opposite chances, the probability receives a proportionable encrease, and begets still a higher degree of belief or assent to that side, in which we discover the superiority. If a dye were marked with one figure or number of spots on four sides, and Avith another 1 Mr. LOCKE divides all arguments into demonstrative and probable. In this view, we must say, that it is only probable all men must die. or that the sim will rise to-morrow. Rut to con- form our luniruiiire more to common u.-e. ought to divide arizuni'-nts into de- monstrations, proofs, aiul prol-nbilitits. By proofs meaning such argument from experience as leave no room for loubt or opposition. 48 CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. SECT. figure or number of spots on the two remaining sides, it ^l 1 ^ would be more probable, that the former would turn up than the latter ; though, if it had a thousand sides marked in the same manner, and only one side different, the probability would be much higher, and our belief or expectation of the event more steady and secure. This process of the thought or reasoning may seem trivial and obvious ; but to those who consider it more narrowly, it may, perhaps, afford matter for curious speculation. It seems evident, that, when the mind looks forward to discover the event, which may result from the throw of such a dye, it considers the turning up of each particular side as alike probable ; and this is the very nature of chance, to render all the particular events, comprehended in it, entirely equal. But finding a greater number of sides concur in the one event than in the other, the mind is carried more fre- quently to that event, and meets it oftener, in revolving the various possibilities or chances, on which the ultimate result depends. This concurrence of several views in one particular event begets immediately, by an inextricable contrivance of nature, the sentiment of belief, and gives that event the advantage over its antagonist, which is supported by a smaller number of views, and recurs less frequently to the mind. If we allow, that belief is nothing but a firmer and stronger conception of an object than what attends the mere fictions of the imagination, this operation, may, perhaps, in some measure be accounted for. The concurrence of these several views or glimpses imprints the idea more strongly on the imagination ; gives it superior force and vigour ; renders its influence on the passions and affections more sensible ; and in a word, begets that reliance or security, which constitutes the nature of belief and opinion. The case is the same with the probability of causes, as ;vith that of chance. There are some causes, which are en- tirely uniform and constant in producing a particular effect; and no instance lias ever yet been found of any failure or irregularity in their operation. Fire has always burned, and water suffocated every human creature : The production of motion by impulse and gravity is an universal law, which has hitherto admitted of no exception. But there are other causes, which have been found more irregular and uncertain ; nor has rhubarb always proved a purge, or opium a soporific to every one, who has taken these medicines. It is trias ()!' PROBABILITY. -j'.t when any cause fails of producing ils usual effect, philosophers ascribe not this to any irregularity in nature; but suppose, that some secret causes, in the particular structure of parts, have prevented the operation. Our reasonings, however, a-nd conclusions concerning the event are the, same as if this principle had no place. Being determined by custom to transfer the past to the future, in all our inferences; where the past has been entirely regular and uniform, we expect the event with the greatest assurance, and leave no room for any contrary supposition. But where different effects have been found to follow from causes, which are to aj>pt;nrtrn exactly similar, all these various effects must occur to the mind in transferring the past to the future, and enter into onr consideration, when we determine the probability of the event. Though we give the preference to that which has been found most usual, and believe that this effect will exist, we must not overlook the other effects, bnt must assign to each of them a particular weight and authority, in proportion as we have found it to be more or less frequent. It is more probable, in almost every country of Europe, that there will be frost sometime in JANUARY, than that the weather will continue open throughout that whole month ; though this probability varies according to the different climates, and approaches to a certainty in the more northern kingdoms. Here then it seems evident, that, when we transfer the past to the future, in order to determine the effect, which will result from any cause, we transfer all the different events, in the same proportion as they have appeared in the past, and conceive one to have existed a hundred times, for instance, another ten times, and another once. As a great number of views do here concur in one event, they fortify and confirm it to the imagination, beget that sentiment which we call belief, and give its object the preference above the contrary event, which is not supported by an equal number of experi- ments, and recurs not so frequently to the thought in trans- ferring the past to the future. Let any one try to account for this operation of the mind upon any of the received sys- tems of philosophy, and he will be sensible of the difficulty. For my part, I shall think it sufficient, if the present hints excite the curiosity of philosophers, and make them sensible how defective all common theories arc in treating of such curious and such sublime subjects. VOL. IV. E 50 CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. * VII ' SECT. VII. Of the Idea 1 of Necessary Connexion. r ' PART I. THE great advantage of the mathematical sciences above the moral consists in this, that the ideas of the former, being sensible, are always clear and determinate, the smallest dis- tinction between them is immediately perceptible, and the same terms are still expressive of the same ideas, without ambiguity or variation. An oval is never mistaken for a circle, nor an hyperbola for an ellipsis. The isosceles and scalenum are distinguished by boundaries more exact than vice and virtue, right and wrong. If any term be defined in geometry, the mind readily, of itself, substitutes, on all occasions, the definition for the term defined : Or even when no definition is employed, the object itself may be presented to the senses, and by that means be steadily and clearly apprehended. But the finer sentiments of the mind, the operations of the understanding, the various agitations of the passions, though really in themselves distinct, easily escape us, when surveyed by reflection ; nor is it in em- power to recal the original object, as often as we ha.ve occa- sion to contemplate it. Ambiguity, by this means, is gradually introduced into our reasonings : Similar objects are readily taken to be the same : And the conclusion be- comes at last very wide of the premises. One may safely, however, affirm, that, if we consider these sciences in a proper light, their advantages and disadvan- tages nearly compensate each other, and reduce both of them to a state of equality. If the mind, with greater facility, retains the ideas of geometry clear and determinate, it must carry on a much longer and more intricate chain of reason- ing, and compare ideas much wider of each other, in order to reach the abstruser truths of that science. And if moral ideas are apt, without extreme care, to fall into obscurity and confusion, the inferences are always much shorter in these disquisitions, and the intermediate steps, which lead to the conclusion, much fewer than in the sciences which treat of quantity and number. In reality, there is scarcely a proposition in KTCLID so simple, as not to consist 1 [Of Power .r. &<. : E.li'.ior.s K an.l I'.] OF Till: IliKA OF NKC'F.PSAIiV CONNF.XloX. :,\ of more parts, than aro to be found in any moral reasoning which rnns not into chimera and conceit. Where we tract; the principles of the human mind through a few steps, wo uiav be very well satisfied with our progress; considering how soon nature throws a bar to all our enquiries concern- ing causes, and reduces us to an acknowledgment of our ignorance. The chief obstacle, therefore, to our improve- ment in the moral or metaphysical sciences is the obscurity of the ideas, and ambiguity of the terms. The principal difficulty in the mathematics is the length of inferences and compass of thought, requisite to the forming of any conclusion. And, perhaps, our progress in natural philosophy is chiefly retarded by the want of proper experiments and phsenomena, which are often discovered by chance, and cannot always be found, when requisite, even by the most diligent and prudent enquiry. As moral philosophy seems hitherto to have re- ceived less improvement than either geometry or physics, we may conclude, that, if there be any difference in this re- spect among these sciences, the difficulties, which obstruct the progress of the former, require superior care and capacity to be surmounted. There are no ideas, which occur in metaphysics, more obscure and uncertain, than those of power, force, energy, or nccetntcii-i/ connexion, of which it is every moment necessary for us to treat in all our disquisitions. We shall, therefore, endeavour, in this section, to fix, if possible, the precise meaning of these terms, and thereby remove some part of that obscurity, which is so much complained of in this species of philosophy. It seems a proposition, which will not admit of much dis- pute, that all our ideas are nothing but copies of our im- pressions, or, in other words, that it is impossible for us to tli ink of any thing, which we have not antecedently ftlt, either by our external or internal senses. I have en- deavoured ' to explain and prove this proposition, and have expressed my hopes, that, by a proper application of it, men may reach a greater clearness and precision in philosophical reasonings, than what they have hitherto been able to attain. Complex ideas may, perhaps, be well known by definition, which is nothing but an enumeration of those parts or simple ideas, that compose them. But when we have pushed 1 Section II. Ofthe Origin of L!e;is. E 2 52 CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. SECT, up definitions to the most simple ideas, and find still some * ^ ambiguity and obscurity ; what resource are we then pos- PAHT!. sessed of? By what invention can we throw light upon, these ideas, and render them altogether precise and deter- minate to our intellectual view? Produce the impressions or original sentiments, from which the ideas are copied. These impressions are all strong and sensible. They admit not of ambiguity. They are not only placed in a full light themselves, but may throw light on their correspondent ideas, which lie in obscurity. And by this means, we may, perhaps, attain a new microscope or species of optics, by which, in the moral sciences, the most minute, and most simple ideas may be so enlarged as to fall readily under our apprehension, and be equally known with the grossest and most sensible ideas, that can be the object of our enquiry. To be fully acquainted, therefore, with the idea of power or necessary connexion, let us examine its impression ; and in order to find the impression with greater certainty, let us search for it in all the sources, from which it may possibly be derived. When we look about us towards external objects, and con- sider the operation of causes, we are never able, in a single instance, to discover any power or necessary connexion ; any quality, which binds the effect to the cause, and renders the one an infallible consequence of the other. We oiily find, that the one does actually, in fact, follow the other. The impulse of one billiard-ball is attended with motion in the second. This is the whole that appears to the ouhvard senses. The mind feels no sentiment or inward impression from this succession of objects : Consequently, there is not, in any single, particular instance of cause and effect, any thing which can suggest the idea of power or necessary con- nexion. From the first appearance of an object, we never can con- jecture what effect will result from it. But were the power or energy of any cause discoverable by the mind, we could foresee the effect, even without experience ; and might, at first, pronounce with certainty concerning it, by the mere dint of thought and reasoning. In reality, there; is no part of matter, that does ever, by iis sensible qualities, discover any power or energy, or give OF TIIK II>F.A OF NFCF.SSAKY mXXKXin f,:', tis ground to imagine, thai it could produce any tiling or be si-XT. followed by any other object, which we could denominate _ its effect. Solidity, extension, motion; these qualities are all complete in themselves, and never point out any other event which may result from them. The scenes of the universe are continually shifting 1 , and one object follows another in an uninterrupted succession; but the power or force, which actuates the whole machine, is entirely con- cealed from us, and never discovers itself in any of the sensible qualities of body. "We know, that, in fact, heat is a constant attendant of flame ; but what is the connexion between them, we have no room so much as to conjecture or imagine. It is impossible, therefore, that the idea of power can be derived from the contemplation of bodies, in single instances of their operation ; because no bodies ever dis- cover any power, which can be the original of this idea. 1 Since, therefore, external objects as they appear to the senses, give us no idea of power or necessary connexion, by their operation in particular instances, let us see, whether this idea be derived from reflection on the operations of our own minds, and be copied from any internal impression. It may be said, that we are every moment conscious of internal power ; while we feel, that, by the simple command of our will, we can move the organs of our body, or direct the faculties of our mind. An act of volition produces motion in our limbs, or raises a new idea in our imagination. This influence of the will we know by consciousness. Hence we acquire the idea of power or energy ; and are certain, that we ourselves and all other intelligent beings are possessed of power. 2 This idea, then, is an idea of reflection, since it arises from reflecting on the operations of our own mind, and on the command which is exercised by will, both over the organs of the body and faculties of the 3 soul. "We shall proceed to examine this pretension ; 4 and first with regard to the influence of volition over the organs of 1 ]\lr. LOCK K. in his chapter of power sopher himself confesses. This, there- says, that, finding from experience. fore, can never be the origin of that idea, thii t there are several new productions - [Edition? K and I' add: However in matter, and concluding that there this may be. the Operations am! mutual must somewhere lie a power capaMe of Influence of Bodies are, perhaps, &uf- prodiieing them, we arrive tit last liy h'eient to prove, that they also are pos- sess'd of it.] 3 ("Of the 3Iind : Editions K to Q.] 1 [Kditions E and V read : AV L >].ail M CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. SECT. the body. This influence, we may observe, is a fact, which, ,J . like all other natural events, can be known only by experi- PAP.TJ. ence, arid can never be foreseen from any apparent energy or power in the cause, which connects it with the effect, and renders the one an infallible consequence of the other. The motion of our body follows upon the command of our will. Of this we are every moment conscious. But the means, by which this is effected ; the energy, by which the will performs so extraordinary an operation ; of this we are so far from being immediately conscious, that it must for ever escape our most diligent enquiry. 'Forfrst; is there any principle in all nature more mys- terious than the union of soul with body ; by which a sup- posed spiritual substance acquires such an influence over a material one, that the most refined thought is able to actuate the grossest matter? Were we empowered, by a secret wish, to remove mountains, or control the planets in their orbit ; this extensive authority would not be more extra- ordinary, nor more beyond our comprehension. But if by consciousness we perceived any power or energy in the will, we must know this power ; we must know its connexion with the effect ; we must know the secret union of soul and body, and the nature of both these substances ; by which the one is able to operate, in so many instances, upon the other. Secondly, We are not able to move all the organs of the body with a like authority ; though we cannot assign any reason besides experience, for so remarkable a difference between one and the other. Why has the will an influence over the tongue and fingers, not over the heart or liver ? This question would never embarrass us, were we conscious of a power in the former case, not in the latter. We should then perceive, independent of experience, why the authority of will over the organs of the body is circumscribed within such particular limits. Being in that case fully acquainted with the power or force, by which it operates, we should also know, why its influence reaches precisely to such boun- daries, and no farther. proceed to examine this Pretension, HIK! found Subjects. shall endeavour to avoid, as far as we I assert, then.' in the //r.s/ Place, that are able, all Jargon and Confusion, in the Influence of Volition over theOrgans treating of such subtile and such pro- of the Body, i> a Fact, &c.J OF TIIK IDKA OK XECKSSAIiY CONXKXIOX. Go A iiuin, suddenly struck with a palsy in the loir or arm, SIXT. v 1 1 or who had newly lost those members, frequently endeavours, - . r ' at first, to move them, and employ them in their usual i>AI(T 1 - offices. Here he is as much conscious of power to command such limbs, as a man in perfect health is conscious of power to actuate any member which remains in its natural state and condition. But consciousness never deceives. Consequently, neither in the one case nor in the other, are we e?er conscious of any power. We learn the influ"iice of our will from experience alone. And experience onlv teaches us, how one event constantly follows another ; without in- structing us in the secret connexion, which binds them together, and renders them inseparable. Thirdly, We learn from anatomy, that the immediate object of power in voluntary motion, is not the member itself which is moved, but certain muscles, and nerves, and animal spirits, and, perhaps, something still more minute and more unknown, through which the motion is successively propagated, ere it reach the member itself whose motion is the immediate object of volition. Can there be a more certain proof, that the power, by which this Avhole operation is performed, so far from being directly and fully known by an inward sentiment or consciousness, is, to the last degree, mysterious and unintelligible > Here the mind wills a cer- tain event : Immediately another event, unknown to our- selves, and totally different from the one intended, is produced : This event produces another, equally unknown : Till at last, through a long succession, the desired event is produced. But if the original power were felt, it must be known : Were it known, its effect must also be known ; since all power is relative to its effect. And vice versa, if the effect be not known, the power cannot be known nor felt. How indeed can we be conscious of a power to move our limbs, when we have no such power ; but only that to move certain animal spirits, which, though they produce at last the motion of our limbs, yet operate in such a manner as is wholly beyond our comprehension ? We may, therefore, conclude from the whole, I hope, without any temerity, though with assurance ; that our idea of power is not copied from any sentiment or consciousness of power within ourselves, when we give rise to animal motion, or apply our limbs to their proper use and office. 56 CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. SECT. That their motion follows the command of the will is a ._ T '_^ matter of common experience, like other natural events : PART I. But the power or energy by which this is effected, like that in other natural events, is unknown and inconceivable. 1 Shall we then assert, that we are conscious of a power or energy in our own minds, when, by an act or command of our will, we raise up a new idea, fix the mind to the con- templation of it, turn it on all sides, and at last dismiss it for some other idea, when we think that we have surveyed it with sufficient accuracy ? I believe the same arguments will prove, that even this command of the will gives us no real idea of force or energy. First, It must be allowed, that, when we know a power, we know that very circumstance in the cause, by which it is enabled to produce the effect : For these are supposed to be synonimous. We must, therefore, know both the cause and effect, and the relation between them. But do we pre- tend to be acquainted with the nature of the human soul and the nature of an idea, or the aptitude of the one to pro- duce the other '? This is a real creation ; a production of something out of nothing : Which implies a power so great, that it may seem, at first sight, beyond the reach of any being, less than infinite. At least it must be owned, that such a power is not felt, nor known, nor even conceivable by the mind. We only feel the event, namely, the existence of an idea, consequent to a command of the will : But the manner, in which this operation is performed ; the power, by which it is produced ; is entirely beyond our comprehension. Secondly, The command of the mind over itself is limited, as well as its command over the body ; and these limits are 1 It may be pretended, that the re- follows immediately upon the will. Distance which we meet -with in bodies, without any exertion or summoning up obliging us frequently to exert our farce, of force ; to inanimate matter, which is and call up all our power, this trives us not capable of this sentiment. ,SVro;/r////. the idea of force and power. It i this This sentiment-of an endeavour to o\vr- tiisus or strong endeavour, of which wo come resistance has no known connexion are conscious, that is the original im- with any event : What follows it, we pression from which this idea is copied. know by experience; but could not I5ut, first, we attribute power to a vast know it a /irinr-i. It must, howev number of objects, where we never can confessed, that the animal iiisus, \ suppose this resistance or exertion of we experience, though it can affoi force to take place; to the Supreme accurate precise idea of power. ( Being, who never meets with any re- very much into that vnlirar. inacc sistanee ; tothe mind in its command over its ideas and limbs, in common thinking and motion, where the effect itcrs OF TIIK IDF.A OF XKCKSSAKY CONNEXION. r,7 not known by reason, or any acquaintance with the nature SHOT. of cause and effect ; but only by experience and observation, ,__ as in all other natural events and in the operation of ex- PAKT I. ternal objects. Our authority over onr sentiments and passions is much weaker than that over onr ideas ; and even the latter authority is circumscribed within very narrow boundaries. Will any one pretend to assign the ultimate reason of these boundaries, or show why the power is defi- cient in one case and not in another. I'hu'dli/, This self-command is very different at different times. A man in health possesses more of it, than one lan- guishing with sickness. We are more master of onr thoughts in the morning than in the evening: Fasting, than after a full meal. Can we give any reason for these variations, except experience > Where then is the power, of which we pretend to be conscious? Is there not here, either in a spiritual or material substance, or both, some secret mecha- nism or structure of parts, upon which the effect depends, and which, being entirely unknown to us, renders the power or energy of the will equally unknown and incomprehensible ? Volition is surely an act of the mind, with which we are sufficiently acquainted. Reflect upon it. Consider it on all sides. Do you find anything in it like this creative power, by which it raises from nothing a new idea, and with a kind of FIAT, imitates the omnipotence of its Maker, if I may be allowed so to speak, who called forth into existence all the various scenes of nature ? So far from being conscious of this energy in the will, it requires as certain experience, as that of which we are possessed, to convince us, that such extraordinary effects do ever result from a simple act of volition. The generality of mankind never find any difficulty in accounting for the more common and familiar operations of nature ; such as the descent of heavy bodies, the growth of plants, the generation of animals, or the nourishment of bodies by food : But suppose, that, in all these cases, they perceive the very force or energy of the cause, by which it is connected with its effect, and is for ever infallible in its ope- ration. They acquire, by long habit, such a turn of mind, that, upon the appearance of the cause, they immediately expect with assurance its usual attendant, and hardly con- ceive it possible, that any other event could result from it. 58 CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. SECT. It is only on the discovery of extraordinary phenomena, .. ^ '_^ such as earthquakes, pestilence, and prodigies of any kind, PAHT I. that they find themselves at a loss to assign a proper caust j , and to explain the manner, in which the effect is produced by it. It is usual for men, in such difficulties, to have re- source to some invisible intelligent principle, 1 as the imme- diate cause of that event, which surprises them, and which, they think, cannot be accounted for from the common powers of nature. But philosophers, who carry their scrutiny a little farther, immediately perceive, that, even in the most familiar events, the energy of the cause is as unintelligible as in the most unusual, and that we only learn by experience the frequent CONJUNCTION of objects, without being ever able to comprehend any thing like CONNEXION between them. Here then, many philosophers think themselves obliged by reason to have recourse, on all occasions, to the same prin- ciple, which the vulgar never appeal to but in cases, that appear miraculous and supernatural. They acknowledge mind and intelligence to be, not only the ultimate and original cause of all things, but the immediate and sole cause of every event, which appears in nature. They pretend, that those objects, which are commonly denominated causes, are in reality nothing but occasions ; and that the true and direct principle of every effect is not any power or force in nature, but a volition of the Supreme Being, who wills, that such particular objects should, for ever, be conjoined with each other. Instead of saying, that one billiaixl-ball moves another, by a force, which it has derived from the author of nature ; it is the Deity himself, they say, who, by a particular volition, moves the second ball, being determined to this operation by the impulse of the first ball : in consequence of those general laws, which he has laid down to himself in the government of the universe. But philosophers advancing still in their enquiries, discover, that, as we are totally igno- rant of the power, on which depends the mutual operation of bodies, we are no less ignorant of that power, on which depends the operation of mind on body, or of body on mind ; nor are we able, either from our senses or consciousness, to assign the ultimate principle in one case, more tluui in the other. The same ignorance, therefore, reduces them to the 1 C-)eAUI i external objects, produce sensations in the mind ; but that it is ji particular volition of our omnipotent Maker, which excites such a sensation, in consequence of such a motion in the organ. In like manner, it is not any energy in the will, that produces local motion in our members : It is God him- self, who is pleased to second our will, in itself impotent, and to command that motion, which we erroneously attribute to our own power and efficacy. Nor do philosophers stop at this conclusion. They sometimes extend the same inference to the mind itself, in its internal operations. Our mental vision or conception of ideas is nothing but a revelation made to us by our Maker. When we voluntarily turn our thoughts to any object, and raise up its image in the fancy ; it is not the will which creates that idea : It is the universal Creator, who discovers it to the mind, and renders it present to us. Thus, according to these philosophers, every thing is full of God. Not content with the principle, that nothing exists but by his will, that nothing possesses any power but by his concession : They rob nature, and all created beings, of every power, in order to render their dependence on the Deity still more sensible and immediate. They consider not, that, by this theory, they diminish, instead of magnifying, the gran- deur of those attributes, which they affect so much to cele- brate. It argues surely more power in the Deity to delegate a certain degree of power to inferior creatures, than to pro- duce every thing by his own immediate volition. It argues more wisdom to contrive at first the fabric of the world with such perfect foresight, that, of itself, and by its proper operation, it may serve all the purposes of providence, than if the great Creator were obliged every moment to adjust its parts, and animate by his breath all the wheels of that stu- pendous machine. But if we would have a more philosophical confutation of this theory, perhaps the two following reflections may suffice. Fir*f, It seems to me, that this theory of the universal energy and operation of the Supreme Being, is too bold ever to carry conviction with it to a man, sufficiently apprized of the weakness of human reason, and the narrow limits, to 60 CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. SECT. which it is confined in all its operations. Though the chain r _J_, of arguments, which conduct to it, were ever so logical, there PART I. must arise a strong suspicion, if not an absolute assurance, that it has carried us quite beyond the reach of our faculties, when it leads to conclusions so extraordinary, and so remote from common life and experience. We are got into fairy land, long ere we have reached the last steps of our theory ; and there we have no reason to trust our common method of argument, or to think that our usual analogies and pro- babilities have any authority. Our line is too short to fathom such immense abysses. And however we may flatter our- selves, that we are guided, in every step which we take, by a kind of verisimilitude and experience ; we may be assured, that this fancied experience has no authority, when we thus apply it to subjects, that lie entirely out of the sphere of experience. But on this we shall have occasion to touch afterwards. 1 Secondly, I cannot perceive any force in the arguments, on which this theory is founded. We are ignorant, it is true, of the manner in which bodies operate on each other : Their force or energy is entirely incomprehensible : But are we not equally ignorant of the manner or force by which a mind, even the supreme mind, operates either on itself or on body ? Whence, I beseech you, do we acquire any idea of it ? We have no sentiment or consciousness of this power in our- selves. We have no idea of the Supreme Being but what we learn from reflection on our own faculties. Were our ignorance, therefore, a good reason for rejecting any thing, we should be led into that principle of denying all energy in the Supreme Being as much as in the grossest matter. We surely comprehend as little the operations of one as of the other. Is it more difficult to conceive, that motion may arise from impulse, than that it may arise from volition? All we know is our profound ignorance in both cases. 2 1 Section XII. acquires itself. These are facts. When '-' I need not examine at length the, we call this a vis inertia, we only mark incrfife which is so much t;ilked of tlie.se facts, without pretending to have in the new philosophy, and which ascribed to matter. We find by exp rience, that a body at rest or in motif continues for ever in its present stat till put from it by some, new cause : Ai d that a body impelled takes as much motion from the impelling body as it ly idea of the inert power ; in the same iiniier as, when we talk of gravity, we .win certain effects without compre- :iiding that active power. ]t waH vcr the meaning of Snt ISAAC NKW- tx to rob' second ca.utes of all force energy ; though some of his follower* 1 [Matter : Iviition K and F.] OF TIIK IDKA OF XKCESSAUY COXXF.XIOX. (il SECT. But to liaston to a, conclusion of this argument, which is , '_ already drawn out to too groat a length : We have sought P*"'r *J in vain for an idea of power or necessary connexion, in all the sources from which we could suppose it to be derived. It appears, that, in single instances of the operation of bodies, we never can, by our utmost scrutiny, discover any thing but one event following another; without being able to comprehend any force or power, by which the cause operates, or any connexion between it and its supposed effect. The same difficulty occurs in contemplating the operations of mind on bod}' ; where we observe the motion of the latter to fol- low upon the volition of the former ; but are not able to observe or conceive the tye, which binds together the motion and volition, or the energy by which the mind produces this effect. The authority of the will over its own faculties and ideas is not a whit more comprehensible : So that, upon the whole, there appears not, throughout all nature, any one in- stance of connexion, which is conceivable by us. All events seem entirely loose and separate. One event follows another ; but we never can observe any tye between them. They seem conjoini'tl, but never connected. And as we can have no idea of any thing, which never appeared to our outward sense or inward sentiment, the necessary conclusion .s^e/jts to be, that we have no idea of connexion or power at all, and that these words are absolutely without any meaning, when employed either in philosophical reasonings, or common life. But there still remains one method of avoiding this con- clusion, and one source which we have not yet examined. When any natural object or event is presented, it is impos- sible for us, by any sagacity or penetration, to discover, or even conjecture, without experience, what event will result have endeavoured to establish that and sole efficacy of the Deity, without theory upon his authority. On the insisting on it. MALKBRAXCHE and contrary, that great philosopher hail other CARTKSIANS made it the tbtinda- recourse to an etherial actiyo fluid to tion of all their philosophy. It had, expl lie pen in liis universal attraction ; though however, no authority in KNI;I_\ND. as so cautious and modest as to LOCKK. CLARKK, and (.'rmvmcrn. never , that it was a mere hypothesis, so much as take notice of it, but sup- ) be insisted on, without more ex- posed all along, that matter has :i real, lents. I must confess, that there though subordinate ami derived power. By what means has it become so pre- valent among our modern met;.} iiysi- ci;i us ? 62 CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. SECT. from it, or to carry our foresight beyond that object, which ^ V * L ^ is immediately present to the memory and senses. Even PAST II. after one instance or experiment, where we have observed a particular event to follow upon another, we are not entitled to form a general rule, or foretel what will happen in like cases; it being justly esteemed an unpardonable temerity to judge of the whole course of nature from one single experi- ment, however accurate or certain. But when one particular species of event has always, in all instances, been conjoined with another, we make no longer any scruple of foretelling one upon the appearance of the other, and of employing that reasoning, which can alone assure us of any matter of fact or existence. We then call the one object, Cause ; the other, Effect. We suppose, that there is some connection between them ; some power in the one, by which it infallibly pro- duces the other, and operates with the greatest certainty and strongest necessity. It appears, then, that this idea of a necessary connexion among events arises from a number of similar instances, which occur, of the constant conjunction of these events ; nor can that idea ever be suggested by any one of these instances, surveyed in all possible lights and positions. But there is nothing in a number of instances, different from every single instance, which is supposed to be exactly similar; except only, that after a repetition of similar instances, the mind is carried by habit, upon the appearance of one event, to expect its usual attendant, and to believe, that it will exist. This connexion, therefore, which we feel in the mind, this custo- mary transition of the imagination from one object to its usual attendant, is the sentiment or impression, from which we form the idea of power or necessary connexion. Nothing farther is in the case. Contemplate the subject on all sides ; yon will never find any other origin of that idea. This is the sole difference between one instance, from which we can never receive the idea of connexion, and a number of similar instances, by which it is suggested. The first time a man saw the communication of motion by impulse, as by the shock of two billiard-balls, he could not pronounce that the one event was connected: but only that it was conjoined with the other. After he had observed several instances of this nature, he then pronounces them to be connecti-d. What alteration has happened to give rise to this new idea of con- ( .]' 111K I DMA OF NKOKSSAIIY CONNEXION. r,r; nesiim? Nothing but that he now /'.'<7.s these events to be connected in his imagination, and can readily foretel the ex- istence of one from the appearance of the other. When we say, therefore, that one object is connected with another, we mean only, that they have acquired a connexion in our thought, and g've rise to this inferenc", by which they be- come proofs of each other's existence : A conclusion, which is somewhat extraordinary ; but which seems founded on sufficient evidence. Nor will its evidence be weakened bv any general diffidence of the understanding, or sceptical sus- picion concerning every conclusion, which is new and extra- ordinary. No conclusions can be more agreeable to scepticism than such as make discoveries concerning the weakness and narrow limits of human reason and capacity. And what stronger instance can be produced of the sur- prising ignorance and weakness of the understanding, than the present? For surely, if there be any relation among objects, which it imports to us to know perfectly, it is that of cause and effect. On this are founded all our reasonings concerning matter of fact or existence. By means of it alone we attain any assurance concerning objects, which are re- moved from the present testimony of our memory and senses. The only immediate utility of all sciences, is to teach us, how to control and regulate future events by their causes. Our thoughts and enquiries are, therefore, every moment, em- ployed about this relation : Yet so imperfect are the ideas which we form concerning it, that it is impossible to give any just definition of cause, except what is drawn from some- thing extraneous and foreign to it. Similar objects are always conjoined with similar. Of this we have experience. Suitably to this experience, therefore, we may define a cause to be an- object, followed by another, and where all the objects, similar i<> the first, are followed by objects similar to the second. ' Or, in other words, U'here, if the first object had not been, the second never had existed. The appearance of a cause always conveys the mind, by a customary transition, to the idea of the effect. Of this also we have experience. We may, therefore, suit- ably to this experience, form another definition of cause ; and call it, an object folio iced btj another, and whose appearance, (tin-ays conveys the thought to that other. But though both these definitions be drawn from circumstances foreign to the 1 [This Sfiitcii.'e NV.-IS adde-l in Edition K.j 04 CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. SECT. VII. PJLBT II. cause, we cannot remedy this inconvenience, or attain any more perfect definition, which may point out that circum- stance in the cause, which gives it a connexion with its effect. We have no idea of this connexion ; nor even any distinct notion what it is we desire to know, when we endeavour at a conception of it. We say, for instance, that the vibration of this string is the cause of this particular sound. But what do we mean by that affirmation? We either mean, that this vibration is followed by this sound, and that all similar vibra- tions have been followed by similar sounds : Or, that this vibra- tion is followed by this sound, and that upon the appearance of one, the mind anticipates the senses, and forms immediately an idea of the other. We may consider the relation of cause and effect in either of these two lights ; but beyond these, we have no idea of it. 1 To recapitulate, therefore, the reasonings of this section : Every idea is copied from some preceding impression or sen- timent ; and where we cannot find any impression, we may be certain that there is no idea. In all single instances of the operation of bodies or minds, there is nothing that pro- 1 According to these explications and definitions, the idea of jjourr is relative as much as that of cause; and both have a reference to an effect, or some other event constantly conjoined with the for- mer. When -\ve consider the unknown circumstance of an object, by which the degree or quantity of its effect is fixed and determined, we call that its power : And accordingly, it is allowed l>y all philosophers, that the effect is the mea- sure of the power. I>ut if they had any idea of power, as it is in itself, why cor Id not they measure it in itself? The dispute whether the force of a body in motion be as its velocity, or the square of irs velocity; this dispute, I say, needed not be decided by comparing iis effects in equal or unequal times; but bv a direct, mensuration and com- parison. As to the frequent, use of the words, Force, Power, Enemy, r! draw no inference, we are apt to transfer to inanimate objects, and to suppose, that they have some such feelings, whenever they transfer or receive motion. "With regard to energies, which are ex- erted, without our annexing to them any idea of communicated motion, wo consider only the constant experienced conjunction of the events: and as wo fi'il a customary connexion between the ideas, we transfer that feeling to the objects; as nothing is more usual than to apply to external Ixxlies every in- teriLal sensation, which they occasion. [This note was added in Ed. F: which, however, reads in place of the second paragraph : - A Cait.xi' is different from a SiA1 " J lowed by the same event ; we then begin to entertain the notion of cause and connexion. We then feel a new sent i- ment or impression, to wit, a customary connexion in the thought or imagination between one, object and its usual t' attendant ; and this sentiment is the original of that idea which we seek for. For as this idea arises from a number of similar instances, and not from any single instance; it must arise from that circumstance, in which the number of in- stances differ from every individual instance. But this cus- tomary connexion or transition of the imagination is the only circumstance, in which they differ. In every other particular they are alike. The first instance which we saw of motion, communicated by the shock of two billiard-balls (to return to this obvious illustration) is exactly similar to any instance that may, at present, occur to us; except only, that we could not, at first, Infer one event from the other ; which we are enabled to do at present, after so long a course of uniform experience. I know not, whether the reader will readily ap- prehend this reasoning 1 . 1 am afraid, that, should I multiply words about it, or throw it into a greater variety of lights, it would only become more obscure and intricate. En all ab- stract reasonings, there is one point of view, which, if we can happily hit, we shall go farther towards illustrating the sub- ject, than by all the eloquence and copious expression in the world. This point of view we should endeavour to reach, and reserve the flowers of rhetoric for subjects which are more adapted to them. SECTION VIII. Of Liberty and Necessity. PART I. IT might reasonably be expected, in questions, which have been canvassed and disputed with great eagerness, since the first origin of science and philosophy, that the meaning of all the terms, at least, should have been agreed upon among the disputants ; and our enquiries, in the course of two thousand years, been able to pass from words to the true and real subject of the controversy. For how easy mav it seem VOL. IV. K (5(5 CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. SFXT. to give exact definitions of the terms employed in reasoning, _ '..-. and make these definitions, not the mere sound of words, the L'AUT!. object of future scrutiny and examination? But if we con- sider the matter more narrowly, we shall be apt to draw a quite opposite conclusion. From this circumstance alone, that a controversy has been long kept on foot, and remains still undecided, we may presume, that there is some ambiguity in the expression, and that the disputants affix different ideas to the terras employed in the controversy. For as the facul- ties of the mind are supposed to be naturally alike in every individual ; otherwise nothing could be more fruitless than to reason or dispute together; it were impossible, if men affix the same ideas to their terms, that they could so long form different opinions of the same subject ; especially when they communicate their views, and each party turn them- selves on all sides, in search of arguments, which ma}' give them the victory over their antagonists. It is true ; if men attempt the discussion of questions, which lie entirely beyond the reach of human capacity, such as those concerning the origin of worlds, or the ceconomy of the intellectual system or region of spirits, they may long beat the air in their fruitless contests, and never arrive at any determinate conclusion. Bat if the question regard any subject of common life and experience ; nothing, one would think, could preserve the dispute so long undecided, but some ambiguous expressions, which keep the antagonists still at a distance, and hinder them from grappling with each other. This has been the case in the long disputed question concerning liberty and necessity ; and to so remarkable a degree, that, if I be not much mistaken, we shall find, that all mankind, both learned and ignorant, have always been of the same opinion with regard to this subject, and that a few intelligible definitions would immediately have put an end to the whole controversy. I own, that this dispute has been so much canvassed on all hands, and has led philosophers into such a labyrinth of obscure sophistry, that it is no wonder, if a sensible reader indulge his ease so far as to turn a deaf ear to the proposal of such a question, from which he can expect neither instruction nor entertainment. But the state of the argument here proposed may, perhaps, serve to renew his attention ; as it has more novelty, promises at least some decision of the controversy, and will not much disturb his ease by any intricate or obscure reasoning. OF I.IKKKTY AM> NT.CKSSITY. c,7 1 hope, therefore, to make it appear, that all men have ever ;i <^reed in the doctrine both wen* ever acquainted; men, who were entirely divested of M avarice, ambition, or revenue ; who knew no pleasure but friendship, generosity, and public spirit ; we should inline- i'*" 1 diately, from these circumstances, detect the falsehood, and prove him a liar, with the same certainty as if lie had stuff* 'd his narration with stories of centaurs and dragons, miracles and prodigies. And if we would explode any forgery in his- tory, we cannot make use of a more convincing argument, than to prove, that the actions, ascribed to any person, are directly contrary to the course of nature, and that no human motives, in such circumstances, could ever induce him to such a conduct. The veracity of QUIETUS CUKTIUS is as much to be suspected, when he describes the supernatural courage < f ALEXANDER, by which he was hurried on singly to attack multitudes, as when he describes his supernatural force and activity, by which he was able to resist them. So readily and universally do we acknowledge a uniformity in human mo- tives and actions as well as in the operations of body. Hence likewise the benefit of that experience, acquired by long life and a variety of business and company, in order to instruct us in the principles of human nature, and regulate our future conduct, as well as speculation. By means of this guide, we mount up to the knowledge of men's inclinations and motives, from their actions, expressions, and even ges- tures ; and again, descend to the interpretation of their actions from our knowledge of their motives and inclinations. The general observations, treasured up by a course of expe- rience, give us the clue of human nature, and teach us to unravel all its intricacies. Pretexts and appearances no longer deceive us. Public declarations pass for the specious colouring of a cause. And though virtue and honour be allowed their proper weight and authority, that perfect disin- terestedness, so often pretended to, is never expected in mul- titudes and parties ; seldom in their leaders ; and scarcely even in individuals of any rank or station. But were there no uniformity in human actions, and were every experiment, which we could form of this kind, irregular and anomalous, it were impossible to collect any general observations con- cerning mankind ; and no experience, however accurately digested by reflection, would ever serve to any purpose. Why is the aged husbandman more skilful in his calling than the young beginner, but because there is a certain uniformity in 70 CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. SKCT. the operation of the sun, rain, and earth, towards the pro- ^_ 1^ duction of vegetables ; and experience teaches the old prac- PART I. titioner the rules, by which this operation is governed and directed '? We must not, however, expect, that this uniformity of human actions should be carried to such a length, as that all men, in the same circumstances, will always act precisely in the same manner, without making any allowance for the diversity of characters, prejudices, and opinions. Such a uniformity in every particular, is found in no part of nature. On the contrary, from observing the variety of conduct in different men, we are enabled to form a greater variety of maxims, which still suppose a degree of uniformity and regularity. Are the manners of men different in different ages and countries ? We learn thence the great force of custom and education, which mould the human mind from its infancy, and form it into a fixed and established character. Is the behaviour and conduct of the one sex very unlike that of the other ? It is thence we become acquainted with the different characters, which nature has impressed upon the sexes, and w y hich she preserves with constancy and regularity. Are the actions of the same person much diversified in the different periods of his life, from infancy to old age ? This affords room for many general observations concerning the gradual change of our sentiments and inclinations, and the different maxims, which prevail in the different ages of human crea- tures. Even the characters, which are peculiar to each individual, have a uniformity in their influence ; otherwise our acquaintance with the persons and our observation of their conduct, could never teach us their dispositions, or serve to direct our behaviour with regard to them. I grant it possible to find some actions, which seem to have no regular connexion with any known motives, and are ex- ceptions to all the measures of conduct, which have ever been established for the government of men. But if we would willingly know, what judgment should be formed of such irre- gular and extraordinary actions; we may consider the senti- ments, commonly entertained with regard to those irregular events, which appear in the course of nature, and the operations of external objects. All causes are not conjoined to their usual effects, with like uniformity. An artificer, who <>F UJ5KKTY AM) M.CKSSITV. 71 handles only dead matter, mav be disappointed of his aim, as SK'T \ ill well as tin 1 politician, who directs the conduct of sensible and . . _ intelligent agents. PAI " L The vulgar, who take things according to their first appearance, attribute the uncertainty of events to such an uncertainty in the causes as makes the latter often fail of their usual influence; though they meet with no impediment in their operation. But philosophers, observing, that, almost in every part of nature, there is contained a vast variety of springs and principles, which are hid, by reason of their minuteness or remoteness, find, that it is at least possible the contrariety of events may not proceed from any contingency in the cause, but from the secret operation of contrary causes. This possibility is converted into certainty by farther obser- vation ; when they remark, that, upon an exact scrutiny, a contrariety of effects always betrays a contrari'-tv of causes / / v *. and proceeds from their mutual opposition. A peasant can give no better reason for the stopping of any clock or watch than to say that it does not commonly go right : But an artist easily perceives, that the same force in the spring or pendulum lias always the same influence on the wheels; but fails of its usual effect, perhaps by reason of a grain of dust, which puts a stop to the whole movement. From the obser- vation of several parallel instance?, philosophers form a maxim, that the connexion between all causes and effects is equally necessary, and that its seeming uncertainty in some in- stances proceeds from the secret opposition of contrary causes. Thus for instance, in the human body, when the usual symptoms of health or sickness disappoint oiir expectation; when medicines operate not with their wonted powers ; when irregular events follow from any particular cause ; the philo- sopher and physician are not surprized at the matter, nor are ever tempted to deny, in general, the necessity and uni- formity of those principles, by which the animal ceconomy is conducted. They know, that a human body is a mighty complicated machine : That many secret powers lurk in it, which are altogether beyond our comprehension : That to us it must often appear very uncertain in its operations : And that therefore the irregular events, which outwardly discover themselves, caa be no proof, that the laws of nature are not observed with the greatest regularity in its internal opera- tions and government. 72 CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. SECT. The philosopher, if he be consistent, must apply the same * T ' _* reasoning to the actions and volitions of intelligent agents. PAUT I. The most irregular and unexpected resolutions of men may frequently be accounted for by those, who know every parti- cular circumstance of their character and situation. A. person of an obliging disposition gives a peevish answer . But he has the tooth ake, or has not dined. A stupid fellow dis- covers an uncommon alacrity in his carriage : But he lias met with a sudden piece of good fortune. Or even when an action, as sometimes happens, cannot be particularly ac- counted for, either by the person himself or by others ; we know, in general, that the characters of men are, to a certain degree, inconstant and irregular. This is, in a manner, the constant character of human nature ; though it be applicable, in a more particular manner, to some persons, who have no fixed rule for their conduct, but proceed in a continued course of caprice and inconstancy. The internal principles and motives may operate in a uniform manner, notwithstand- ing these seeming irregularities ; in the same manner as the winds, rain, clouds, and other variations of the weather are supposed to be governed by steady principles; though not easily discoverable by human sagacity and enquiry. Thus it appears, not only that the conjunction between motives and voluntary actions is as regular and uniform, as that between the cause and effect in any part of nature ; but also that this regular conjunction has been universally ac- knowledged among mankind, and has never been the subject of dispute, either in philosophy or common life. Now, as it is from past experience, that we draw all inferences concern- ing the future, and as we conclude, that objects will always be conjoined together, which we find to have always been conjoined ; it may seem superfluous to prove, that this expe- rienced uniformity in human actions is a 1 source, whence we draw inferences concerning them. But in order to throw the argument into a greater variety of lights, we shall also insist, though briefly, on this latter topic. The mutual dependence of men is so great, in all societies, that scarce any human action is entirely compleat in itself, or is performed without some reference to the actions of others, which are requisite to make it answer fully the inten- 1 [The source of all the inferences, which we form concerning them. Editions E to P.J OF LIMEKTY AND NECESSITY. 7:5 tiou of the agent. The poorest artificer, who labours alone, SKCT. \"J11 expects at least the protection of the magistrate, to ensure _ him the enjoyment of the fruits of his labour. Ho also ex- I'-VKT J pects, that, when he carries his floods to market, and offers them at a reasonable price, he shall find purchasers; and shall be able, by the money he acquires, to engage others to supply him with those commodities, which are requisite for his subsistence. In proportion as men extend their dealings, and render their intercourse with others more complicated, they always comprehend, in their schemes of life, a greater variety of voluntary actions, which they expect, from the proper motives, to co-operate with their own. In all tin -so conclusions, they take their measures from past experience, in the same manner as in their reasonings concerning exter- nal objects; and firmly believe, that men, as well as all the elements, are to continue, in their operations, the same, that they have ever found them. A manufacturer reckons upon the labour of his servants, for the execution of any work, as much as upon the tools, which he employs, and would be equally surprized, were his expectations disappointed. In short, this experimental inference and reasoning concerning the actions of others enters so much into human life, that no man, while awake, is ever a moment without employing it. Have we not reason, therefore, to affirm, that all mankind have always agreed in the doctrine of necessity, according to the foregoing definition and explication of it ? Nor have philosophers ever entertained a different opinion from the people in this particular. For not to mention, that almost every action of their life supposes that opinion ; there ai'e even few of the speculative parts of learning, to which it is not essential. What would become of history, had we not a dependence on the veracity of the historian, according to the experience, which we have had of mankind ? How could politics be a science, if laws and forms of government had not a uniform influence upon society : J Where would be the foundation of morals, if particular characters had no certain or determinate power to produce particular sentiments, and if these sentiments had no constant operation on actions? And with what pretence could we employ our criticism upon any poet or polite author, if we could not pronounce the conduct and sentiments of his actors, either natural or unnatural, to such characters, and in such circumstances '> It seems 74 CONCER1TIXG HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. SECT. almost impossible, therefore, to engage, either in science or ,_!._^ action of any kind, without acknowledging the doctrine of PAHT I. necessity, and this inference from motives to voluntary actions ; from characters to conduct. And indeed, when we consider how aptly natural and moral evidence link together, and form only one chain of argument, we shall make no scruple to allow, that they are of the same nature, and derived from the same principles. A prisoner, who has neither money nor interest, discovers the impossi- bility of his escape, as well when he considers the obstinacy of the gaoler, as the walls and bars, w r ith which he is sur- rounded ; and, in all attempts for his freedom, chnses rather to work upon the stone and iron of the one, than upon the inflexible nature of the other. The same prisoner, when conducted to the scaffold, foresees his death as certainly from the constancy and fidelity of his guards, as from the operation of the ax or wheel. His mind runs along a certain train of ideas : The refusal of the soldiers to consent to his escape; the action of the executioner; the separation of the head and body; bleeding 1 , convulsive motions, and death. Here is a connected chain of natural causes and voluntary actions; but the mind feels no difference between them, in passing from one link to another : Nor is it less certain of the future event than if it were connected with the objects present to the memory or senses, by a train of causes, cemented together by what we are pleased to call a plnjxical necessity. The same experienced union has the same effect on the mind, whether the united objects be motives, volition, and actions; or figure and motion. We may change the names of things ; but their nature and their operation on the understanding never change. 1 Were a man, whom I know to be honest and opulent, and with whom I. live in intimate friendship, to come into my house, whure I am surrounded with my servants, \ rest assured, that, he is not to stab me before he leaves it, in order to rob mo of my silver standish ; and I no more suspect this event, tha.n the falling of the house itself which is new, ami solidly built and founded. />((/ //<' -nimj Inn-,' hm/ ftaiztnl with a, xi'Ain ' thai, if he throw himself out at the window, and meet with no obstruction, he will not remain a moment suspended in the air. No suspicion of an unknown fren/y can give the least possibility to the former event, which is so contrary to all the known principles of human nature. A man who at noon leaves his purse full of gold on the pavement at Charing-Cross, may as well expect that it will lly away like a feather, as that he will find it untouched an hour after. Above one half of human reasonings contain inferences of a similar nature, attended with more or less degrees of cer- tainty, proportioned to our experience of the usual conduct of mankind in such particular situations. I have frequently considered, what could possibly be the reason, why all mankind, though they have ever, without hesitation, acknowledged the doctrine of necessity, in their whole practice and reasoning, have yet discovered such a reluctance to acknowledge it in. words, and have rather shewn a propensity, in all ages, to profess the contrary opinion. The matter, I think, may be accounted lor, after the following manner. If we examine the operations of body, and the production of effects from their causes, we shall tind, that till our faculties can never carry us farther in our knowledge of this relation, than barely to observe, that par- ticular objects are constantly cmil/. t,n'u of any kind, than merely the n>, ;.<-/"/// roiijmirtion of objects, and the consequent inference of ihc mind from one to another 76 CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. SECT, and finding, that these two circumstances are universally VTTT ^ r '_^ allowed to have place in voluntary actions ; we may be more PART I. easily led to own the same necessity common to all causes. And though this reasoning may contradict the systems of many philosophers, in ascribing necessity to the determina- tions of the will, we shall find, upon reflection, that they dissent from it in words only, not in their real sentiment. Necessity, according to the sense, in which it is here taken, has never yet been rejected, nor can ever, I think, be rejected by any philosopher. It may only, perhaps, be pretended, that the mind can perceive, in the operations of matter, some farther connexion between the cause and effect ; and a con- nexion that has not place in the voluntary actions of intelli- gent beings. Now whether it be so or not, can only appear upon examination ; and it is incumbent on these philosophers to make good their assertion, by defining or describing that necessity, and pointing it out to us in the operations of mate- rial causes. It would seem, indeed, that men begin at the wrong end of this question concerning liberty and necessity, when they enter upon it by examining the faculties of the soul, the influence of the understanding, and the operations of the will. Let them first discuss a more simple question, namely, the operations of body and of brute unintelligent matter ; and try whether they can there form any idea of causation and necessity, except that of a constant conjunction of objects, and subsequent inference of the mind from one to another. If these circumstances form, in reality, the whole of that necessity, which we conceive in matter, and if these circum- stances be also univei'sally acknowledged to take place in the operations of the mind, the dispute is at an end ; at least, must be owned to be thenceforth merely verbal. But as long as we will rashly suppose, that we have some farther idea of necessity and causation in the operations of external objects ; at the same time, that we can find nothing farther, in the voluntary actions of the mind ; there is no possibility of bringing the question to any determinate issue, while we proceed upon so erroneous a supposition. The only method of undeceiving us, is, to mount up higher; to examine the narrow extent of science when applied to material causes ; and to convince ourselves, that all we know of them, is, the constant conjunction and inference above mentioned. We OF MHKIiTY AND XKCKSSITY. may, perhaps, find, that it is wiih difficulty AVI; arc induced to fix such narrow limits to human understanding : But we can afterwards find no difficulty when we come to apply this doctrine to the actions of the will. For as it is evident, that these have a regular conjunction with motives and circum- stances and characters, and as wo always draw inferences from one to the other, we must be ohliged to acknowledge in words, that necessity, which we have already avowed, in every deliberation of our lives, and in every step of our con- duct and behaviour. 1 But to proceed in this reconciling project with regard to the question of liberty and necessity ; the most contentious question, of metaphysics, the most contentions science ; it will not require many words to prove, that all mankind have ever agreed in the doctrine of liberty as well as in that of necessity, and that the whole dispute, in this respect also, has been hitherto merely verbal. For what is meant by liberty, when applied to voluntary actions ? We cannot surely mean, that actions have so little connexion with motives, inclinations, and circumstances, that one does not SI-XT VIII. PART 1. 1 Tlio prevalence of the doctrine of liberty may bo accounted for, from another cause, ri-. a false sensation or seeming experience which \ve have, or may have, of liberty or indifference, in many of our actions. The necessity of any action, whether of matter or of miiul. is not, properly speaking, a quality in the agent, but in any thinking or intelligent being, who may consider the action ; and it consists chiefly in the determination of his thoughts to infer the existence of that action from some preceding objects ; as liberty, when opposed to necessity, is nothing but the want of that determination, and a cer- tain looseness or indifference, which wo feel, in passing, or n< t passing, from the idea of one object to that of any suc- ceeding one. Now we may observe, that, though, in rjA!;I PART If. There is no method of reasoning moro common, and yet none more blameable, than, in philosophical disputes, to en- deavour the refutation of any hypothesis, by a pretence of its dangerous consequences to religion and morality. When, any opinion lends to absurdities, it is certainly false; Imt it is not certain that an opinion, is false, because it is of dan- gerous consequence. Such topics, therefore, ought entirely to be forborne; as serving nothing to the discovery of truth, but only to make the person of an antagonist odious. This 1 observe in general, without pretending to draw any advan- tage from it. I frankly submit to an examination of this kind, and shall venture to aftirm, that the doctrines, both of necessity and of liberty, as above explained, are not only consistent with ' morality, but are absolutely essential to its support. Necessity may be defined two ways, conformably to the two definitions of cante, of which it makes an essential part. It consists either in the constant conjunction of like objects, or in the inference of the understanding from one object to another. Xow necessity, in both these senses, (which, indeed, are, at bottom, the same) has universally, though tacitly, in the schools, in the pulpit, and in common life, been allowed to belong to the will of man ; and no one has ever pretended to deny, that we can draw inferences concerning human actions, and that those inferences are founded on the expe- rienced union of like actions, with like motives, inclinations, and circumstances. The only particular, in which any one can differ, is, that either, perhaps, lie will refuse to give the name of necessity to this property of human actions : But as long as the meaning is understood, I hope the word can do no harm : Or that he will maintain it possible to discover something farther in the operations of matter. But this, it must be acknowledged, can be of no consequence to morality or religion, whatever it may be to natural philosophy or metaphysics. We may here be mistaken in asserting, that i [Morality and ivliirioii 80 CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. there is no idea of any other necessity or connexion in the actions of body : But surely we ascribe nothing to the actions of the mind, but what every one does, and must readily allow of. We change no circumstance in the received orthodox system with regard to the will, but only in that with regard to material objects and causes. Nothing therefore can be more innocent, at least, than this doctrine. All laws being founded on rewards and punishments, it is supposed as a fundamental principle, that these motives have a regular and uniform influence on the mind, and both pro- duce the good and prevent the evil actions. We may give to this influence what name we please ; but, as it is usually conjoined with the action, it must be esteemed a cause, and be looked upon as an instance of that necessity, which we would here establish. The only proper object of hatred or vengeance, is a person or creature, endowed with thought and consciousness ; a,nd when any criminal or injurious actions excite that passion, it is only by their relation to the person, or connexion with him. Actions are, by their very nature, temporary and perishing ; and where they proceed not from some cause, in the character and disposition of the person who performed them, they can neither redound to his honour, if good ; nor infamy, if evil. The actions themselves may be blameable; they may be contrary to all the rules of morality and religion : But the person is not answerable for them ; and as they pro- ceeded from nothing in him, that is durable and constant, and leave nothing of that nature behind them, it is impos- sible he can, upon their account, become the object of punish- ment or vengeance. According to the principle, therefore, which denies necessity, and consecmently causes, a man is as pure and untainted, after having committed the most horrid crime, as at the first moment of his birth, nor is his charac- ter any wise concerned in his actions ; since they are not derived from it, and the wickedness of the one can never be used as a proof of the depravity of the other. Men are not blamed for such actions, as they pei'form ignorantly and casually, whatever may be the consequences. Why? but because the principles of these actions are only momentary, and terminate in them alone. Men are less blamed for such actions; as they perform hastily and unpre- meditately, than for such as proceed from deliberation. For OF LIBERTY AXD NECESSITY. Hi what reason? but because a hasty temper, though ;L constant SEPT. cause or principle in the mind, operates only by intervals, '__ and infects not the whole character. Again, repentance PAUT II. Avipes oil' every crime, it' attended with a reformation of life and manners. How is this to be accounted for; 1 but by as- serting, that actions render a person criminal, merely as they are proofs of criminal principles in the mind; and when, by an alteration of these principles, they cease to be just proofs, they likewise cease to be criminal. But, except upon the doctrine of necessity, they never were just proofs, and conse- quently never Avere criminal. It Avill be equally easy to prove, and from the same argu- ments, that liherty, according 1 to that definition above men- tioned, in which all men agree, is also essential to morality, and that no human actions, where it is wanting, are suscep- tible of any moral qualities, or can be the objects either of approbation or dislike. For as actions are objects of our moral sentiment, so far only as they are indications of the internal character, passions, and affections ; it is impossible that they can give rise either to praise or blame, Avhere they proceed not from these principles, but are derived altogether from external violence. I pretend not to have obviated or removed all objections to this theory, with regard to necessity and liberty. I can foresee other objections, derived from topics, Avhich have not here been treated of. It may be said, for instance, that, if voluntary actions be subjected to the same laws of necessity with the operations of matter, there is a continued chain of necessary causes, pre-ordained and p re- determined, reaching from the original cause of all, to every single volition of every human creature. No contingency any where in the universe ; no indifference ; no liberty. While Ave act, Ave are, at the same time, acted upon. The ultimate Author of all our volitions is the Creator of the world, who first bestowed motion on this immense machine, and placed all beings in that particular position, Avhence every subsequent event, by an inevitable necessity, must result. Human actions, there- fore, either can haA'e no moral turpitude at all, as proceeding from so good a cause ; or if they have any turpitude, they must involve our Creator in the same guilt, Avhile lie is ac- knoAvledged to be their ultimate cause and author. For as a man, AV!IO fired a mine, is answerable for all the consequences, VOL. IV. G 82 CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. SECT, whether the train he employed be long or short ; so wherever a continued chain of necessary causes is fixed, that Being, either finite or infinite, who produces the first, is likewise the author of all the rest, and must both bear the blame and acquire the praise, which belong to them. Our clear and unalterable ideas of morality establish this rule, upon un- questionable reasons, when we examine the consequences of any human action ; and these reasons must still have greater force, when applied to the volitions and intentions of a Being, infinitely wise and powerful. Ignorance or impotence may be pleaded for so limited a creature as man ; but those im- perfections have no place in our Creator. He foresaw, he ordained, he intended all those actions of men, which we so rashly pronounce criminal. And we must therefore conclude, either that they are not criminal, or that the Deity, not man, is accountable for them. But as either of these positions is absurd and impious, it follows, that the doctrine, from which they are deduced, cannot possibly be true, as being liable to all the same objections. An absurd consequence, if neces- sary, proves the original doctrine to be absurd ; in the same manner as criminal actions render criminal the original cause, if the connexion between them be necessary and inevitable. This objection consists of two parts, which we shall ex- amine separately ; First, that, if human actions can be traced up, by a necessary chain, to the Deity, they can never be criminal ; on account of the infinite perfection of that Being, from whom they are derived, and who can intend nothing but what is altogether good and laudable. Or, Secondly, if they be criminal, we must retract the attribute of perfection, which we ascribe to the Deity, and must acknowledge him to be the ultimate author of guilt and moral turpitude in all his creatures. The answer to the first objection seems obvious and con- vincing. There are many philosophers, who, after an exact scrutiny of all the phenomena of nature, conclude, that the WHOLE, considered as one system, is, in every period of its existence, ordered with perfect benevolence ; and that the utmost possible happiness will, in the end, result to all created beings, without any mixture of positive or absolute ill and misery. Every physical ill, say they, makes an essential part of this benevolent system, and could not pos- OF LIBERTY AND NECESSITY. 8.1 sibly be removed, even by the Deity himself, considered its a SECT. wise agent, without giving entrance to greater ill, or exclud- _ r ing greater good, which will result from it. From this I'AKT!! theory, some philosophers, and the ancient S7oV.s among the rest, derived a topic of consolation under all afflictions, while they taught their pupils, that, those ills, under which they laboured, were, in reality, goods to the universe; and that to an enlarged view, which could comprehend the whole system of nature, every event became an object of joj and exultation. But though this topic be specious and sub- lime, it was soon found in practice weak and ineffectual. You would surely more irritate, than appease a man, lying under the racking pains of the gout, by preaching up to him the rectitude of those general laws, which produced the malignant humours in his body, and led them through the proper canals, to the sinews and nerves, where they now excite such acute torments. These enlarged views may, for a moment, please the imagination of a speculative man, who is placed in ease and security ; but neither can they dwell with constancy on his mind, even though undisturbed by the emotions of pain or passion; much less can the-}- main- tain their ground, when attacked by such powerful antago- nists. The affections take a narrower and more natural jmrvey of their object ; and by an economy, more suitable to the infirmity of human minds, regard alone the beings around us, and are actuated by such events as appear good or ill to the private system. The case is the same with moral as with physical ill. It cannot reasonably be supposed, that those remote considera- tions, which are found of so little efficacy with regard to one, will have a more powerful influence with regard to the other. The mind of man is so formed by nature, that, upon the appearance of certain characters, dispositions, and actions, it immediately feels the sentiment of approbation or blame ; nor are there any emotions more essential to its frame and constitution. The characters, which engage our approbation, are chiefly such as contribute to the peace and security of human society ; as the characters, which excite blame, are chiefly such as tend to public detriment and dis- turbance : Whence it may reasonably be presumed, that the moral sentiments arise, either mediately or immediately, from a reflection on these opposite interests. What though G 2 84 CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. SECT, philosophical meditations establish a different opinion or ^ I T II> . conjecture; that every thing is right with regard to the PAET II. WHOLE, and that the qualities, -which disturb society, are, in the main, as beneficial, arid are as suitable to the primary intention of nature, as those which more directly promote its happiness and welfare ? Are such remote and uncertain speculations able to counterbalance the sentiments, which arise from the natural and immediate view of the objects ? A man. who is robbed of a considerable sum ; does he find his vexation for the loss any wise diminished by these sublime reflections ? Why then should his moral resentment against the crime be supposed incompatible with them ? Or why should not the acknowledgment of a real distinction between vice and virtue be reconcileable to all speculative systems of philosophy, as well as that of a real distinction between personal beauty and deformity? Both these dis- tinctions are founded in the natural sentiments of the human mind : And these sentiments are not to be controuled or altered by any philosophical theory or speculation what- soever. The second objection admits not of so easy and satisfactory an answer; nor is it possible to explain distinctly, how the Deity can be the mediate cause of all the actions of men, without being the author of sin and moral turpitude. These are mysteries, which mere natural and unassisted reason is very unfit to handle ; and whatever system she embraces, she must find herself involved in inextricable difficulties, and even contradictions, at every step which she takes with regard to such subjects. To reconcile the indifference and contingency of human actions with prescience ; or to defend absolute decrees, and yet free the Deity from being the author of sin, has been found hitherto to exceed all the power of philosophy. Happy, if she be thence sensible of her temerity, when she pries into these sublime mysteries ; and leaving n scene so full of obscurities and perplexities, return, with suitable modesty, to her true and proper province, the ex- amination of common life ; where she will find difficulties enow to employ her enquiries, without launching into so boundless an ocean of doubt, uncertainty, and contradiction ! OF THE REASON OE ANIMALS. Ki SECTION IX. Of the l^ason <>f Animah. ALL our reasonings concerning matter of fact are founded on a species of ANALOGY, which leads us to expect from any cause the same events, which we have observed to result from similar causes. Where the causes are entirely similar, the analogy is perfect, and the inference, drawn from it, is regarded as certain and conclusive : Nor does any man ever entertain a doubt, where he sees a piece of iron, that it will have weight and cohesion of parts ; as in all other instances, which have ever fallen under his observation. But where the objects have not so exact a similarity, the analogy is less perfect, and the inference is less conclusive ; though still it lias some force, in proportion to the degree of similarity and resemblance. The anatomical observations, formed upon one animal, are, by this species of reasoning, extended to all animals ; and it is certain, that when the circulation of the blood, for instance, is clearly proved to have place in one creature, as a frog, or fish, it forms a strong presumption, that the same principle has place in all. These analogical observations may be carried farther, even to this science, of which we are now treating : and any theory, by which we explain the operations of the understanding, or the origin and connexion of the passions in man, will acquire additional authority, if we find, that the same theory is requisite to ex- plain the same phenomena in all other animals. We shall make trial of this, with regard to the hypothesis, by which, we have, in the foregoing discourse, endeavoured to account for all experimental reasonings ; and it is hoped, that this new point of view will serve to confirm all our former obser- vations. 7'V/-.". 1 /, It seems evident, that animals, as well as men, learn many things from experience, and infer, that the same events will alwnys follow from the same causes. By this principle they become acquainted with the more obvious properties of external objects, and gradually, from their birth, treasure up a knowledge of the nature of fire, water, earth, stones, heights, depths, itc. and of the effects, which result from their operation. The ignorance and inexperience of the young are here plainly distinguishable from the cunning and 86 CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. SECT, sagacity of the old, who have learned, by long observation, r ' _. to avoid what hurt them, and to pursue what gave ease or pleasure. A horse, that has been accustomed to the field, becomes acquainted with the pi'oper height, which he can leap, and will never attempt what exceeds his force and ability. An old greyhound will trust the more fatiguing part of the chase to the younger, and will place himself so as to meet the hare in her doubles ; nor are the conjectures, which he forms on this occasion, founded in any thing but his ob- servation and experience. This is still more evident from the effects of discipline and education on animals, who, by the proper application of re- wards and punishments, may be taught any course of action, the most contrary to their natural instincts and propensities. Is it not experience, which renders a dog apprehensive of pain, when you menace him, or lift up the whip to beat him? Is it not even experience, which makes him answer to his name, and infer, from such an arbitrary sound, that you mean him rather than any of his fellows, and intend to call him, when you pronounce it in a certain manner, and with a certain tone and accent ? In all these cases, we may observe, that the animal infers some fact beyond what immediately strikes his senses ; and that this inference is altogether founded on past experience, while the creature expects from the present object the same consequences, which it has always found in its observation to result from similar objects. Secondly, It is impossible, that this inference of the animal can be founded on any process of argument or reasoning, by which he concludes, that like events must follow like objects, and that the course of nature will always be regular in its operations. For if there be in reality any arguments of this nature, they surely lie too abstruse for the observation of such imperfect understandings ; since it may well employ the utmost care and attention of a philosophic genius to discover and observe them. Animals, therefore, are not guided in these inferences by reasoning : Neither are children : Neither are the generality of mankind, in their ordinary actions and conclusions : Neither are philosophers themselves, who, in all the active parts of life, are, in the main, the same with the vulgar, and arc governed by the same maxims. Nature must have provided some other principle, of more ready, and OF TFIE I IF, A SON OF ANIMALS. *7 more general use and application; nor can an operation of such immense consequence in life, as that of inferring effects from causes, be trusted to the uncertain process of reasoning and argumentation. Were this doubtful with regard to men, it seems to admit of no question with regiird to the brute creation; and the conclusion being once firmly established in the one, we have a strong presumption, from all the rules of analogy, that it ought to be universallv admitted, without any exception or reserve. It is custom alone, which engages animals, from every object, that strikes their senses, to infer its usual attendant, and carries their imagination, from the appearance of the one, to conceive the other, in that parti- cular manner, which we denominate belief. Xo other expli- cation can be given of this operation, in all the higher, as well as lower classes of sensitive beings, which fall under our notice and observation. 1 1 Since all reasonings concerning facts their consequences. or causes is derived merely from custom, 3. One man is able to carry on a it may lie asked how it happens, that chain of consequences to a greater men so much surpass animals in reason- length than another. ing, and one man so mueh surpasses 4. Few men can think long without another? Has not the same custom running into a confusion of ideas, and t he same influence on all ? mistaking one lor another: and there \Vesliall hero endeavour briefly to ex- are various degrees of this inh'rmity. plain the great difference in human un- ;">. Tile circumstance, on which the derstandings : After which tint reason effect depends, is frequently involved in of the difference lietween men and ani- other circumstances, which are foreign mals will easily be comprehended. and extrinsic. The separation of it, 1. When we have lived anytime, and often requires great attention, accuracy, have been accustomed to the uniformity and subtiltv. of nature, we acquire a general habit, (J. The formingof general maxims from !>y which we always transfer the known particular observation is a very nic-> to the unknown, and conceive the latter operation; and nothing is more usual, to resemble the former. Hy means of from haste or a narrowness of mini!, this treneral habitual principle, we re- which sees not, on all sides, than to gard even one experiment as the foun- commit mistakes in this particular, dat ion of reasoning, and expect a similar 7- When we reason IVoni analogies, event with some degree of certainty. the man. who has the greater expe- where the experiment has been made rience or the greater promptitude of accurately, and free from all foreign suggesting analogies, will be the better circumstances. It is therefore considered ivasoner. as a matter of great importance to ob- 8. Brasses from prejudice, education, serve the consequences of things ; and as passion, party, &c. hang more upon one man may very much surpass another one mind than another, inattention and memory and observa- 9. After we have acquired a eonfi- tion, this will make a very great dif- dence in human testimony, books and ference in their reasoning. conversation enlarge much more the '2. Where there is a complication of sphere of one man's experience and causes to produce any effect, one mind thought than those of another, may be much larger than another, and It would be ca-y to discover many better able to comprehend the whole, other circumstances that make a dif- system of objects, and to infer justly ference in the understandings of men, 1 1 [Tliis note was added in Kdition F|. 88 CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. SECT. But though animals learn many partd of their knowledge __^__ from observation, there are also many parts of it, which they derive from the original hand of nature ; which much exceed the share of capacity they possess on ordinary occasions ; and in which they improve, little or nothing, by the longest practice and experience. These we denominate INSTINCTS, and are so apt to admire, as something very extraordinary, and inexplicable by all the disquisitions of human understand- ing. But our wonder will, perhaps, cease or diminish ; when we consider, that the experimental reasoning itself, which we possess in common with beasts, and on which the whole conduct of life depends, is nothing but a species of instinct or mechanical pOAver, that acts in us unknown to ourselves ; and in its chief operations, is not directed by any such rela- tions or comparisons of ideas, as are the proper objects of our intellectual faculties. Though the instinct be different, yet still it is an instinct, which teaches a man to avoid the fire ; as much as that, which teaches a bird, with such exactness, the art of incubation, and the Avhole cecononiy and order of its nursery. SECTION X. Of Miracles.* PART I. THERE is, in Dr. TILLOTSOZ^'S writings, an argument against the real presence, which is as concise, and elegant, and strong as any argument can possibly be supposed against a doctrine, so little worthy of a serious refutation. It is acknowledged on all hands, says that learned prelate, that the authority, either of the scripture or of tradition, is founded merely in the testimony of the apostles, who were eye-witnesses to those miracles of our Saviour, by which he proved his divine mis- sion. Our evidence, then, for the truth of the C/trixfimi religion is less than the evidence for the truth of our senses; because, even in the first authors of our religion, it was no greater ; and it is evident it must diminish in passing from them to their disciples ; nor can any one rest such confidence iu their testimony, as in the immediate object of his senses. I3ut a weaker evidence can never destroy a stronger; and therefore, were the doctrine of the real presence ever so 1 [For the history of this Section sou' Ilistorv of the Edition-,' Vol iii. p. fid. Ed.] OF MIRACLES. PO clearly revealed in scripture, it were directly contrary to the SECT. rules of just reasoning to g"ive our assent to it. It contra- , \; diets sense, though both the scriptuiv and tradition, on I'AUT I. which it is supposed to be built, carry not such evidence with Them as sense ; when they are considered merely as external evidences, and are not brought home to every one's breast, by the immediate operation of the Holy Spirit. Nothing is so convenient as a decisive argument of this k'lid, which must at least slfi-ncv the most arrogant bigotry and superstition, and free us from their impertinent solici- tations. I flatter myself, that I have discovered an argument of a like nature, which, if just, will, with the wise and learned, be an everlasting check to all kinds of superstitious delusion, and consequently, will be useful as long as the world endures. For so long-, I presume, will the accounts of miracles and prodigies be found in all history, sacred and profane. 1 Though experience be our only guide in reasoning con- cerning matters of fact ; it must be acknowledged, that this guide is not altogether infallible, but in some cases is apt to lead us into errors. One, who in our climate, should expect better weather in any week of JUNE than in one of DECEM- BER, would reason justly, and conformably to experience; but it is certain, that he may happen, in the event, to find himself mistaken. However, we may observe, that, in such a case, he would have no cause to complain of experience ; because it commonly informs us beforehand of the uncer- tainty, by that contrariety of events, which we may learn from a diligent observation. All effects follow not with like certainty from their supposed causes. Some events are found, in all countries and all ages, to have been constantly conjoined together : Others are found to have been more variable, and sometimes to disappoint our expectations ; so that, in our reasonings concerning matter of fact, there are all imaginable degrees of assurance, from the highest cer- tainty to the lowest species of moral evidence. A wise man, therefore, proportions his belief to the evi- dence. In such conclusions as are founded on an infallible experience, he expects the event with the last drgive of assurance, and regards his past experience as a full />i-<>of of the future existence of that event. In other cases, he proceeds with more caution : He weighs the opposite expori- 1 [In all proplmne history: E'.litkms E and E.] 90 CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. SECT. merits : He considers which side is supported by the greater ._ T ' _^ number of experiments : To that side he inclines, with doubt PART I. an( j hesitation ; and when at last he fixes his judgment, the evidence exceeds not what we properly call probability. All probability, then, supposes an opposition of experiments and observations, where the one side is found to overbalance the other, and to produce a degree of evidence, proportioned to the superiority. A hundred instances or experiments on one side, and fifty on another, afford a doubtful expectation of any event ; though a hundred uniform experiments, with only one that is contradictory, reasonably beget a pretty strong degree of assurance. In all cases, we must balance the oppo- site experiments, where they are opposite, and deduct the smaller number from the greater, in order to know the exact force of the superior evidence. To apply these principles to a particular instance ; we may observe, that there is no species of reasoning more common, more useful, and even necessary to human life, than that which is derived from the testimony of men, and the reports of eye-witnesses and spectators. This species of reasoning, perhaps, one may deny to be founded on the relation of cause and effect. I shall not dispute about a word. It will be sufficient to observe, that our assurance in any argument of this kind is derived from no other principle than our observa- tion of the veracity of human testimony, and of the usual conformity of facts to the reports of witnesses. It being a general maxim, that no objects have any discoverable con- nexion together, and that all the inferences, which \ve can draw from one to another, a,re founded merely on our expe- rience of their constant and regular conjunction ; it is evi- dent, that we ought not to make an exception to this maxim in favour of human testimony, whose connexion with any event seems, in itself, as little necessary as any other. 1 Were not the memory tenacious to a cei'tain degree ; had not men commonly an inclination to truth and a principle of probity ; were they not sensible to shame, when detected in a false- hood : Were not these, I say, discovered by experience to be qualities, inherent in huim:n nature, we should never roposc the least confidence in human testimony. A man delirious, 1 [Editions E to K substitute: I) id not Men's Imagination naturally follow their Memory.] OF MIRACLES. 91 or noted for falsehood and villany, lias no manner of authority with ns. And as the evidence, derived from witnesses and human TAUT!. testimony, is founded on past experience, so it varies with the experience, and is regarded either as a proof or a i>/-n- bability, according 1 as the conjunction between any particular kind of report and any kind of object has been found to be constant or variable. There are a number of circumstances to be taken into consideration in all judgments of this kind; and the ultimate standard, by which we determine all dis- putes, that may arise concerning them, is always derived from experience and observation. Where this experience is not entirely uniform on any side, it is attended with an un- avoidable contrariety in our judgments, and with the same opposition and mutual destruction of argument as in every other kind of evidence. We frequently hesitate concerning the reports of others. We balance the opposite circum- stances, which cause any doubt or uncertainty ; and when we discover a superiority on any side, we incline to it ; but still with a diminution of assurance, in proportion to the force of its antagonist. This contrariety of evidence, in the present case, may be derived from several different causes ; from the opposition of contrary testimony ; from the character or number of the witnesses ; from the manner of their delivering their testi- mony ; or from the union of all these circumstances. We entertain a suspicion concerning any matter of fact, when the witnesses contradict each other ; when they are but few, or of a doubtful character ; when they have an interest in what they affirm ; when they deliver their testimony with hesitation, or on the contrary, with too violent asseverations. There are many other particulars of the same kind, which may diminish or destroy the force of any argument, derived from human testimony. Suppose, for instance, that the fact, which the testimony endeavours to establish, partakes of the extraordinary and the marvellous ; in that case, the evidence, resulting from the testimony, admits of a diminution, greater or less, in proportion as the fact is more or less unusual. The reason, why we place any credit in witnesses and historians, is not derived from any connexion, which we perceive a priori, between testimony and reality, but because we are accus- 92 CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. SECT. tomed to find a conformity between them. But when the ^_ V ^ fact attested is such a one as has seldom fallen under our PART I. observation, here is a contest of two opposite experiences ; of which the oue destroys the other, as far as its force goes, and the superior can only operate on the mind by the force, which remains. The very same principle of experience, which gives us a certain degree of assurance in the testimony of witnesses, gives us also, in this case, another degree of assurance against the fact, which they endeavour to establish ; from which con- tradiction there necessarily arises a counterpoise, and mutual destruction of belief and authority. 1 / should not believe such a story were it told me by CATO ; was a proverbial saying in ROME, even during the lifetime of that philosophical patriot. 2 The incredibility of a fact, it was allowed, might invalidate so great an authority. 3 The INDIAN prince, who refused to believe the first rela- tions concerning the effects of frost, reasoned justly ; and it naturally required very strong testimony to engage his assent to facts, that arose from a state of nature, with which he was unacquainted, and which bore so little analogy to those events, of which he had had constant and uniform experience. Though they were not contrary to his experience, they were not conformable to it. 4 But in order to encrease the probability against the testi- 1 [This paragraph was added in Edi- upon water are not gradual, according tion K.] to the degrees of cold : but whenever 2 PLUTARCH, in vita CatonisMin. 19. it comes to the freezing point, the water 3 [This paragraph was added in Edi- passes in a moment, from the utmost tion F.] liquidity to perfect hardness. Such an 4 No INDIAN', it is evident, could have event, therefore, may be denominated experience that water did not freeze in extraordinary , and requires a pretty cold climates. This is placing nature strong testimony, to render it credible in a situation quite unknown to him; to people in a warm climate: But still and it is impossible for him to tell a priori it is not miraculous, nor contrary to uni- what. will result from it. It is making form experience of the course of nature a. new experiment, the consequence of in cases where all the circumstances are which is always uncertain. One mav the same. The inhabitants of SUMATRA sometimes conjecture from analogy what have ahvavs seen water fluid in their will follow; but still this is but con- own climate, and the freezing of their jecture. And it must be eoiife.-.'-ed. that, rivers ought to be deemed a prodigy: in the present case of freezing, the event But they never saw water in MUSCOVY follows contrary to the rules of analogv, during the winter; and therefore they and i^ such as a rational INDIAN wmild cannot reasonahlvbo positive what would not look for. The operations of c.,M there be the consequence." 5 [This note first appears ill tl:e last Press is the Cause, why the following page of Fjdition I 1 ', with the preface: Passage arriv'd not in time to be m- Tlie distance cf the Author from the sorted in its proper Place. J OF MIIIACI.KS !i:5 jinny of witnesses, let us suppose, tliat (lie fact, which they allirni, instead of being only marvellous, is really miraculous ; and suppose also, that tho testimony, considered apart and I>Akl J - in itself, amounts to an entire proof; in that case, there is proof against proof, of which the strongest must prevail, but still with a diminution of its force, in proportion to that of its antagonist. A miracle is a violation of the laws of nature ; and as a firm and unalterable experience has established these laws, the proof against a miracle, from the very nature of the fact, is as entire as any argument from experience can pos- sibly be imagined. Why is it more than probable, that all men must die ; that lead cannot, of itself, remain suspended in the air ; that fire consumes wood, and is extinguished by water; unless it be, that these events are found agreeable to the laws of nature, and there is required a violation of these laws, or in other words, a miracle to prevent them ? Nothing is esteemed a miracle, if it ever happen in the common course of nature. It is no miracle that a man, seemingly in good health, should die on a sudden: because such a kind of death, though more unusual than any other, has yet been frequently observed to happen. But it is a miracle, that a dead man should come to life ; because that has never been observed, in any age or country. There must, therefore, be a uniform experience against every miraculous event, otherwise the event would not merit that appellation. And as an uniform experience amounts to a proof, there is here a direct and full proof, from the nature of the fact, against the existence oi' any miracle ; nor can such a proof be destroyed, or the miracle rendered credible, but by an opposite proof, which is superior. 1 1 Sometimes an event may not. in of nature. For if any siisMci.m iv- itsclf, set-in to bo contrary to the laws of main, that the event ami comman ! cuii- nature, and yet, if it were real, it might, furred by accident, there is no mi''ae!e by reason of some circumstances, bo and no transgression of the laws "t' denominated a miracle ; because, iu nature. It' this suspicion be removed. ftii-t, it is contrary to these laws. Tims there is evidently a miracle, and a if a person, claiming a divine authority, transgression of these la\\s: because should command a sick person to be well, nothing can be more eontr ry to nature a healthful man to fall down dead, the than that the voice i,r . mmalid of a clouds to pour rain, the winds to blow, man should have such an influence. in short, should order many natural A miracle may be accurately defined, ,; events, which immediately follow upon transgression of a liar of nature fy/ i. his command; those might justly be particular volition if th? l)ii"/.or //'/ esteemed miracles, because they are the inter jioaitii'm of some invisible agent. really, in this case, contrary to the laws A miracle may either be discoverable 94 CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. SECT. The plain consequence is (and it is a general maxim worthy . r '_ , of our attention), ' That no testimony is sufficient to establish PAHT I. < a miracle, unless the testimony be of such a kind, that its * falsehood would be more miraculous, than the fact, which it ' endeavours to establish : And even in that case there is a ' mutual destruction of arguments, and the superior only * gives us an assurance suitable to that degree of force, which ' remains, after deducting the inferior.' When any one tells me, that he saw a dead man restored to life, I immediately consider with myself, whether it be more probable, that this person should either deceive or be deceived, or that the fact, which he relates, should really have happened. I weigh the one miracle against the other ; and according to the supe- riority, which I discover, I pronounce my decision, and always reject the greater miracle. If the falsehood of his testimony would be more miraculous, than the event which he relates ; then, and not till then, can he pretend to command my belief or opinion. PAET II. In the foregoing reasoning we have supposed, that the testimony, upon which a miracle is founded, may possibly amount to an entire proof, and that the falsehood of that testimony would be a real prodigy : But it is easy to shew, that we have been a great deal too liberal in our concession, and that there never was a miraculous event l established on so full an evidence. For first, there is not to be found in all history, any miracle attested by a sufficient number of men, of such unquestioned good-sense, education, and learning, as to secure us against all delusion in themselves ; of such undoubted integrity, as to place them beyond all suspicion of any design to deceive others ; of such credit and reputation in the eyes of man- kind, as to have a great deal to lose in case of their being detected in any falsehood ; and at the same time, attesting facts, performed in such a public manner, and in so celebrated a part of the world, as to render the detection unavoidable : }>y men or not. This alters not its requisite for that purpose, is as real a nature and essence. The raising of a miracle, though not so sensible with re- house or ship into the air is a visible pard to us. miracle. The raising of a feather, when ' [In any History : Editions E and F.] the wind wants ever so little of a force OF MIRACLES. !ir, All which circumstances are requisite to give us ;i full assu- SECT. ranee in tho testimony of men. ,_ " r - . Htronilty. We may observe in human nature a principle, if those natural causes, which we experience. Prodigies, .miens, oracles, judgments, quite obscure the few natural events, that are intermingled with them. But as the former grow thinner every page, in proportion as we advance nearer the enlightened ages, we soon learn, that there is nothing mysterious or supernatural in the case, but that all proceeds from the usual propensity of mankind towards the marvel- lous, and that, though this inclination may at intervals receive a check from sense and learning, it can never be thoroughly extirpated from human nature. // /.s- *tr , PART IT. general, to deride its absurdity, without informing them- selves of the particular facts, by which it may be distinctly refuted. And thus the impostor above-mentioned was enabled to proceed, from his ignorant PAPHLAGONIANS, to the enlist- ing of votaries, even among the GRECIAN philosophers, and men of the most eminent rank and distinction in ROME : Nay, could engage the attention of the sage emperor MARC us AURELIUS ; so far as to make him trust the success of a mili- tary expedition to his delusive prophecies. The advantages are so great, of starting an imposture among an ignorant people, that, even though the delusion should be too gross to impose on the generality of them (which, though seldom, is sometimes the case) it has a much better chance for succeeding in remote countries, than if the first scene has been laid in a city renowned for arts and knowledge. The most ignorant and barbarous of these bar- barians carry the report abroad. None of their countrymen have a large correspondence, or sufficient credit and autho- rity to contradict and beat down the delusion. Men's incli- nation to the marvellous has full opportunity to display itself. And thus a story, which is universally exploded in the place where it was first started, shall pass for certain at a thousand miles distance. But had ALEXANDER fixed his residence at ATHENS, the philosophers of that renowned mart of learning had immediately spread, throughout the whole ROMAN em- pire, their sense of the matter ; which, being supported by so great authority, and displayed by all the force of reason and eloquence, had entirely opened the eyes of mankind. It is true ; LUCIAN, passing by chance through PAPHLAGONIA, had an opportunity of performing this good office. But, though much to be wished, it does not always happen, that every ALEXANDER meets with a LUCIAN, ready to expose and detect his impostures. 1 I may add as a fourth reason, which diminishes the autho- rity of prodigies, that there is no testimony for any, even 1 [Editions E to P append the follow- ing note: It may here, perhaps, be ob- jected, that I proceed rashly, and form my notions of ALEXANDER merely from the account given of him by LUCIAN, a professed enemy. It were, indeed, to be wished, that some of the accounts published by his followers and accom- plices had remained. The opposition and contrast between the character and conduct of the same man, as drawn by friend or enemy, is as strong, even in common life, much more in these relitri- ous matters, as that betwixt any two men in the world, betwixt ALEXANDER and St. PAUL, for instance. See a letter ro GILBERT WEST, Esq ; on the conversion and apostloship of St. PAUL.] OF MII!.U'M-:S. M those; which have not been expressly detected, that is not SKCT. opposed by an infinite number of witnesses ; so that not only , the miracle destroys the credit of testimony, but the testi- I'AKT II. mony destroys itself. To make this the better understood, let us consider, that, in matters of religion, whatever is dif- ferent is contrary ; and that it is impossible the religions of ancient ROME, of TURKEY, of SIAM, and of CHINA should, all of them, be established on any solid foundation. Every miracle, therefore, pretended to have been wrought in any of these religions (and all of them abound in miracles), as its o v / 7 direct scope is to establish the particular system to which it is attributed ; so has it the same force, though more indi- rectly, to overthrow every other system. In destroying a rival system, it likewise destroys the credit of those miracles, on which that system was established ; so that all the pro- digies of different religions are to be regarded as contrary facts, and the evidences of these prodigies, whether weak or strong, as opposite to each other. According to this method of reasoning, when we believe any miracle of MAHOMET or his successors, we have for our warrant the testimony of a few barbarous ARABIANS : And on the other hand, we are to regard the authority of TITUS LIVIUS, PLUTARCH, TACITUS, and, in short, of all the authors and witnesses, GRECIAN, CHINESE, and ROMAN CATHOLIC, who have related any miracle in their particular religion ; I say, we are to regard their testimony in the same light as if they had mentioned that MAHOMETAN miracle, and had in express terms contradicted it, with the same certainty as they have for the miracle they relate. This argument may appear over subtile and refined ; but is not in reality different from the reasoning of a judge, who supposes, that the credit of two witnesses, maintaining a crime against any one, is destroyed by the testimony of two others, who affirm him to have been two hundred leagues distant, at the same instant when the crime is said to have been committed. One of the best attested miracles in all profane history, is that which TACITUS reports of VESPASIAN, who cured a blind man in ALEXANDRIA, by means of his spittle, and a lame man by the mere touch of his foot ; in obedience to a vision of the god SERAPIS, who had enjoined them to have recourse to the Emperor, for these miraculous cures. The story may be 100 CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. SECT. seen in that fine historian ;' where every circumstance seems ._ ^- _ to add weight to the testimony, and might be displayed at P/sr II. large with all the force of argument and eloquence, if any one were now concerned to enforce the evidence of that ex- ploded and idolatrous superstition. The gravity, solidity, age, and probity of so great an emperor, who, through the whole course of his life, conversed in a familiar manner with his friends and courtiers, and never affected those extraor- dinary airs of divinity assumed by ALEXANDER and DEME- TRIUS. The historian, a cotemporary writer, noted for candour and veracity, and withal, the greatest and most penetrating genius, perhaps, of all antiquity ; and so fm from any tendency to credulity, that he even lies under the contrary imputation, of atheism and profaneness : The per- sons, from whose authority he related the miracle, of esta- blished character for judgment and veracity, as we may well presume ; eye-witnesses of the fact, and confirming their testimony, after the FLAVIAN family was despoiled of the empire, and could no longer give any reward, as the price of a lie. Utrumque, qui interfuert, nunc quoque memorant, post qnam nullum mendacio pretium. To which if we add the public nature of the facts, as related, it will appear, that no evidence can well be supposed stronger for so gross and so palpable a falsehood. There is also a memorable story related by Cardinal DK RETZ, which may well deserve our consideration. When that intriguing politician fled into SPAIN, to avoid the per- secution of his enemies, he passed through SARAGOSSA, the capital of ARRAGON, where he was shewn, in the cathedral, a man, who had served 2 seven years as a door-keeper, and was well known to every body in town, that had ever paid his devotions at that church. He had been seen, for so long a time, wanting a leg ; but recovered that limb by the rubbing of holy oil upon the stump ; 3 and the cardinal assures us tli at he saw him with two legs. This miracle was vouched by all the canons of the church ; and the whole company in town were appealed to for a confirmation of the fact ; whom the cardinal found, by their zealous devotion, to be thorough 1 Hist. lib. v. cap. 8. STJETONITS ! [Editions E and F substitute : And gives nearly the same account in vita when the Cardinal examin'd it, he found VKSP. 7. [The reference to Suetonius it to be a true natural Leg, like the was added in the Errata to Ed. F.] other.] - IL'D. Editions K to N.I OF MIKACLKS. 101 believers of the miracle. Here the relater was also cotem- SECT. porary to the supposed prodigy, of an incredulous and liber- ._ '/. _, tine character, as well as of great genius ; the miracle of so * if - >///.*, though a learned body, supported by the civil magistrate, and determined enemies to those opinions, in whose favour the miracles were said to have been wrought, ever able distinctly to refute 01- detect them. 1 Where shall we find such a number of cir- 1 This book was writ by Mons. MONT- hamont of PARIS a man of figure ;md KKKOX, counsellor or judge of the p;ir- elm HI CUT, \vliu was- a ISM a nurtyr t<> the 102 CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. SECT. X. cumstances, agreeing to the corroboration of one fact ? And what have we to oppose to such a cloud of witnesses, but cause, and is now said to be somewhere in a dungeon on account of his book. There is another book in three vol- umes (called Recueil des Miracles de I' Abbe PARIS) giving an account of many of these miracles, and accompanied with prefatory discourses, which are very well written. There runs, how- ever, through the whole of these a ridiculous comparison between the miracles of our Saviour and those of the Abbe ; wherein it is asserted, that the evidence for the latter is equal to that for the former : As if the testimony of men could ever be put in the balance with that of God himself, who con- ducted the pen of the inspired writers. If these writers, indeed, were to be con- si, lered merely as human testimony, the FRENCH author is very moderate in his comparison : since he might, with some appearance of reason, pretend, that the JAXSKXIST miracles mucli surpass the other in evidence and authority. The following circumstances are drawn from authentic papers, inserted in the above- mentioned book. Many of the miracles of Abbe PARIS were proved immediately by witnesses before the officiality or bishop's court at PARIS, under the eye of cardinal NOAILLES, whose character for integrity and capacity was never contested even by his enemies. His ' successor in the archbishopric was an enemy to the JANSEXISTS, and for that reason promoted to the see by the court. Yet 22 rectors or cures o'f PARIS, with infinite earnestness, press him to examine those miracles, which they assert to be known to the whole world, and undisputably certain : But he wisely forbore. The MOI.IXIST party had tried to dis- credit these miracles in one instance, that of Madamoiselle le FRANC. But, besides that their proceedings were in many respects the most irregular in the world, particularly in citing only a few of the JAXSKNIST witnesses, whomtJioy tampered with : Besides this. I say. they soon found themselves overwhelmed by a cloud of now witnesses, one hun- dred and twenty in number, most of them persons of credit and substance in PAULS, who gave onth for the miracle. This was accompanied with a solemn and earnest appeal to the parliament. But the parliament were forbidden by authority to meddle in the affair. It was at last observed, that where men are heated by zeal and enthusiasm, there is no degree of human testimony so strong as may not be procured for the greatest absurdity : And those who will be so silly as to examine the affair by that medium, and seek particular flaws in the testimony, are almost sure to be confounded. It must be a miserable imposture, indeed, that does not prevail in that contest. All who have been in FRANCE about that time have heard of the reputation of Mons. IlERArr, the lieutenant de Police, whose vigilance, penetration, activity, and extensive intelligence have been much talked of. This magistrate, who by the nature of his office is almost absolute, was invested with full powers, on purpose to suppress or discredit these miracles ; arid he frequently seized im- mediately, and examined the witnesses and subjects of them : But never could reach any thing satisfactory against them. In the case of Madamoiselle THIBAUT he sent the famous DE SYLVA to ex- amine her : whose evidence is very curious. The physician declares, that it was impossible she could have been so ill as was proved by witnesses; because it was impossible she could, in so short a time, have recovered so per- fectly as he found her. He reasoned, like a man of sense, from natural causes ; but the opposite party told him, that the whole was a miracle, and that his evidence was the very best proof of it. The MOLIXISTS were in a sad dilemma. They durst not assert the absolute in- sufficiency of human evidence, to prove a miracle. They were obliged to say, that these miracles were wrought by witchcraft and the devil. But they were told, that this was the resource of the JEWS of old. No JANSENIST was ever embarrassed to account for the cessation of the miracles, when the church-yard was shut up by the king's edict. It was the touch of the tomb, which produced [M. de Vfutimille. ED. ] OF MIRACLES. 103 the absolute impossibility or miraculous nature of the events, A'hich they relate ? And this surely, in the eyes of all reasonable people, will alone be regarded as a sufficient refutation. is the consequence just, because some human testimony has the utmost force and authority in some cases, when it relates the battle of PHILIPPI or PHAKSALIA for instance ; that therefore all kinds of testimony must, in all cases, have equal force and authority ? Suppose that the C.-ESARKAX and POMPEIAN factions had, each of them, claimed the victory in these battles, and that the historians of each party had uniformly ascribed the advantage to their own side ; how couUl mankind, at this distance, have been able SECT. X. PAUT II. /hese extraordinary effects; and when no one could approach the tomb, no effects could be expected. God, indeed, could have thrown down the walls in a moment ; but he is master of his own graces arid, works, and it belongs not to TIS to account for them. He did not throw down the walls of every city like those of JF.KICHO, on the sounding of the ranis' horns, nor break up the prison of every apostle, like that of St. PATL. No less a man. than the Ihic do ('HATH.I.OX. a duke and peer of FKAXCE, of the highest rank and family, gives evidence of a. miraculous cure, per- f Tnied upon a servant of his, who had lived several years in his house with a visible and palpable infirmity. I shall conclude with, observing, that no clergy are more celebrated for strict- ness of life and manners than the. secu- lar cleriry of FKAXCE. particularly the rectors or cures of PARIS, who bear testimony to these impostures. The learning, genius, and probity of the gentlemen, and the austerity of the nuns of PORT-ROYAL, have been much cele! rated all fiver KCROPK. Yet they all give evidence for a miracle, wrought on the niece of the famous PASCAL, whose sanctity of life, as well as ex- traordinary capacity, is well known.' Tin' fanniiis KACIXK gives an account of this miracle in his famous history of PiiKT-RoYAi.. and fortifies it with all the proofs, which a multitude of nuns, priests, physicians, and men of the world, all of them of undoubted credit, could bestow upon it. Several men of letters, particularly the bishop of Torit- NAY, thought this miracle so certain, as to employ it in the refutation of atheists and free-thinkers. The queen-regent of FKAXCE. who was extremely pre- judiced against the POKT-ROYAL, sent her own physician to examine the mira- cle, who returned an absolute convert. In short, the supernatural cure was so incontestable, that it saved, for a time, that famous monastery from the ruin with which it was threatened by the JKsriTS. Had it been a cheat, it had certainly been detected by such saga- cious and powerful antagonists, and must have hastened the ruin of the con- trivers. Our divines, who can build up a formidable castle from such despicable materials; what a. prodigious fabric could they have reared from these and many other circumstances, which I have not mentioned ! How often would the great names of PASCAL. KACINK, An- NATD. NicoLK, have resounded in our ears? But if they be wise, they had better adopt the miracle, as being more worth, a thousand times, than all the rest of their collection. Besides, it may serve very much to their purpo.se. For that miracle was really performed by the touch of an authentic holy prickle of the holy thorn, which com- posed the holy crown, which, especially when men's passions have taken part on either M-: following para- 106 COXCERXIXG HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. SECT. JANUARY 1600, there was a total darkness over the -whole . V < earth for eight days : Suppose that the tradition of this PART II. extraordinary event is still strong and lively among the people : That all travellers, who return from foreign coun- tries, bring us accounts of the same tradition, without the least variation or contradiction : It is evident, that our pre- sent philosophers, instead of doubting the fact, ought to receive it as certain, and ouerht to search for the causes 7 O whence it might be derived. ' The decay, corruption, and dissolution of nature, is an event rendered probable by so many analogies, that any phenomenon, which seems to have a tendency towards that catastrophe, comes within the reach of human testimony, if that testimony be very extensive and uniform. But suppose, that all the historians who treat of ENG- LAND, should agree, that, on the first of JANUARY 1(300, Queen ELIZABETH died ; that both before and after her death she was seen by her physicians and the whole court, as is usual with persons of her rank ; that her successor was acknow- ledged and proclaimed by the parliament ; and that, after being interred a month, she again appeared, resumed the throne, and governed ENGLAND for three years : I must con- fess that I should be surprized at the occurrence of so many odd circumstances, but should not have the least inclination to believe so miraculous an event. I should not doubt of her pretended death, and of those other public circumstances that followed it : I should only assert it to have been pretended, and that it neither was, nor possibly could be real. You would in vain object to me the difficulty, and almost impos- sibility of deceiving the world in an affair of such conse- quence ; the wisdom 2 and solid judgment of that renowned queen; with the little or no advantage which she could reap from so poor an artifice : All this might astonish me ; but I would still reply, that the knavery and folly of men are such common phenomena, that I should rather believe the most extraordinary events to arise from their concurrence, than admit of so signal a violation of the laws of nature. But should this miraele be ascribed to any new system of religion ; men, in all ages, have been so much imposed on \-\ ridiculous stories of that kind, that this very eircum- 1 [This -sentence WAS ,uMul in FA. K.j ' [ \tnl integrity: Editions E to I'.] OF MIRACLES. 107 stance would be a full proof of a cheat, and sufficient, with SKn not only was at first attended with miracles, but even at this day cannot be believed bv any reasonable person without one. Mere reason is insufficient to convince us of its veracity : And whoever is moved by Faith to assent to it, is conscious of a continued miracle in his own person, which .subverts all the principles of his un- derstanding, and gives him a determination to believe what is most contrary to custom and experience. OF A I'linVIDEXCK AND FUTL'HK STATK. Kin SKCTION XI. "/' ; Ntrtti'..* I WAS lately engaged in conversation with a friend who loves sceptical paradoxes ; where, though he advanced many principles, of which 1 can by no means approve, yet as they seem to be curious, and to bear some relation to the chain of reasoning carried on throughout this enquiry, I shall here copy them from my memory as accurately as 1 can, in order to submit them to the judgment of the reader. Our conversation began with my admiring the singular good fortune of philosophy, which, as it requires entire liberty above all other privileges, and chiefly flourishes from the free opposition of sentiments and argumentation, received its first birth in an age and country of freedom and tolera- tion, and was never cramped, even in its most extravagant principles, by any creeds, confessions, or penal statutes. For, except the banishment of PROTAGORAS, and the death of SOCRATES, which last event proceeded partly . from other motives, there are scarcely any instances to be met with, in ancient history, of this bigotted jealousy, with which the presev.t a<>-e is so much infested. EPICURUS lived at ATHKXS J. to an advanced age, in peace and tranquillity: EPICUREANS* were even admitted to receive the sacerdotal character, and to officiate at the altar, in the most sacred rites of the estab- lished religion : And the public encouragement 3 of pensions and salaries was afforded equally, by the wisest of all the KOMAX emperors, 4 to the professors of every sect of philosophy. How requisite such kind of treatment was to philosophy, in her early youth, will easily be conceived, if we reflect, that, even at present, when she may be supposed more hardy and robust, she bears with much difficulty the inclemency of the seasons, and those harsh winds of calumny and persecution, which blow upon her. You admire, says my friend, as the singular good fortune of philosophy, what seems to result from the natural course of things, and to be unavoidable in every age and nation. This pertinacious bigotry, of which you complain, as so fatal 1 [Of the Practical Consoquonces of 3 LTJCIANT tvvovxoi. 3. Natural Religion: Ed. K. j * Id. & I>if. " LrciA.M juuir. 7) \atridai. 9. SHOT. XI. 110 CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. SECT, to philosophy, is really her offspring, who, after allying- with _J^1__ superstition, separates himself entirely from the interest of his parent, and becomes her most inveterate enemy and per- secutor. Speculative dogmas of religion, the present occa- sions of such furious dispute, could not possibly be conceived or admitted in the early ages of the world ; when mankind, being wholly illiterate, formed an idea of religion more suitable to their weak apprehension, and composed their sacred tenets of such tales chiefly as were the objects of tra- ditional belief, more than of argument or disputation. After the first alarm, therefore, was over, which arose from the new paradoxes and principles of the philosophers ; these teachers seem ever after, during the ages of antiquity, to have lived in great harmony with the established superstition, and to have made a fair partition of mankind between them ; the former claiming all the learned and wise, the latter possessing all the vulgar and illiterate. It seems then, say I, that you leave politics entirely out of the question, and never suppose, that a wise magistrate can justly be jealous of certain tenets of philosophy, such as those of EPICURUS, which, denying a divine existence, and con- sequently a providence and a future state, seem to loosen, in a great measure, the ties of morality, and may be sup- posed, for that reason, pernicious to the peace of civil society. I know, replied he, that in fact these persecutions never, in any age, proceeded from calm reason, or from experience of the pernicious consequences of philosophy ; but arose entirely from passion and prejudice. But what if I should advance farther, and assert, that, if EPICURUS had been accused before the people, by am- of the Ki/cophants or in- formers of tho;e days, he could easily have defended his cause, and proved his principles of philosophy to be as salu- tary as those of his adversaries, who endeavoured, with such zeal, to expose him to the public hatred and jealousy. I wish, said I, you would try your eloquence upon so ex- traordinary a topic, and make a speech for EPICURUS, which might satisfy, not the mob of ATHENS, if you will allow that ancient and polite city to have contained any mob, but the more philosophical part of his audience, such as might be supposed capable of comprehending his arguments. The matter would not be difficult, upon such conditions, replied he : And if you please, I shall suppose myself OF A PROVIDENCE AM) FLTUUE STATE. Ill EPICTKUS for a moment, and make you stand for the SF<*r, ATHKXIAX people, and shall deliver you such an harangue as , will fill all the uni with white beans, and leave not a black one to gratify the malice of my adversaries. Very well : Pray proceed upon these suppositions. I come hither, (.) ye ATHENIANS, to justify in vour assembly what I maintained in my school, and I find myself impeached by furious antagonists, instead of reasoning 1 with calm and dispassionate enquirers. Your deliberations, which of right should be directed to questions of public, good, and the in- terest of the commonwealth, are diverted to the disquisitions of speculative philosophy; and these magnificent, but per- haps fruitless enquiries, take place of your more familiar but more useful occupations. But so far as in me lies, I will prevent this abuse. We shall not here dispute concerning the origin and government of worlds. "We shall only enquire how far such questions concern the public interest. And if I can persuade you, that they are entirely indifferent to the peace of society and security of government, 1 hope that you will presently send us back to our schools, there to examine, at leisure, the question, the most sublime, but, at the same time, the most speculative of all philosophy. The religious philosophers, not satisfied with the tradition of your forefathers, and doctrine of your priests (in which I willingly acquiesce), indulge a rash curiosity, in trying how far they can establish religion upon the principles of reason ; and they thereby excite, instead of satisfying, the doubts, which naturally arise from a diligent and scrutinous enquiry. They paint, in the most magnificent colours, the order, beauty, and wise arrangement of the universe ; and then ask, if such a glorious display of intelligence could proceed from the fortuitous concourse of atoms, or if chance could produce what the greatest genius can never sufficiently admire. T shall not examine the justness of this argument. I shall allow it to be as solid as my antagonists and accusers can desire. It is sufficient, if I can prove, from this very reason- ing, that the question is entirely speculative, and that, when, in my philosophical disquisitions, I deny a providence and a future state, I undermine not the foundations of society, but advance principles, which they themselves, upon their own topics, if they argue consistently, must allow to be solid and satisfactory. 112 CONCERNING IIL'MAN UNDERSTANDING. SECT. You then, who are my accusers, have acknowledged, that _^ T ' _^ the chief or sole argument for a divine existence (which I never questioned) is derived from the order of nature ; where there appear such marks of intelligence and design, that you think it exti*avagant to assign for its cause, either chance, or the blind and ungraded force of matter. You allow, that this is an argument drawn from effects to causes. From the order of the work, you infer, that there must have been pro- ject and forethought in the workman. If you cannot make out this point, you allow, that your conclusion fails ; and you pretend not to establish the conclusion in a greater latitude than the phenomena of nature will justify. These are your concessions. I desire you to mark the consequences. When we infer any particular cause from an effect, we must proportion the one to the other, and can never be allowed to ascribe to the cause any qualities, but what are exactly sufficient to produce the effect. A body of ten ounces raised in any scale may serve as a proof, that the counter- balancing weight exceeds ten ounces ; but can never afford a reason that it exceeds a hundred. If the cause, assigned for any effect, be not sufficient to produce it, we must eithei reject that cause, or add to it such qualities as will give it a just proportion to the effect. But if we ascribe to it farthei qualities, or affirm it capable of producing other effects, we can only indulge the licence of conjecture, and arbitrarily suppose the existence of qualities and energies, without rea- son or authority. The same rule holds, whether the cause assigned be brute unconscious matter, or a rational intelligent being. If the cause be known only by the effect, we never ought to ascribe to it any qualities, beyond what are precisely requisite to produce the effect : Nor can we, by any rules of just reason- ing, return back from the cause, and infer other effects from it, beyond those by which alone it is known to us. No one, merely from the sight of one of ZKUXIS'S pictures, could know, that he was also a statuary or architect, and was an artist no less skilful in stone and marble than in colours. The talents and taste, displayed in the particular work before us; these we may safely conclude the workman to be pos- sessed of. The cause must be proportioned to the effect ; and if we exactly and precisely proportion it, we shall never find in it any qualities, I hat point farther, or afford a,n in- OK A I'UUVIUKNTK AND 1-TTL'IlK STATK. !].'< ference concerning 1 any other design or performance. Such sF.rr. qualities must be somewhat beyond what is merely requisite for producing 1 the etl'eet, which we examine. Allowing, therefore, the gods to be the authors of the ex- istence or order of tin.' universe ; it follows, that they possess that precise degree of power, intelligence, and benevolence, which appears in their workmanship; but nothing farther can ever be proved, except we call in the assistance of ex- aggeration ami flattery to supply the defects of argument and reasoning. So far as the traces of any attributes, at present, appear, so far may we conclude these attributes to exist. The supposition of farther attributes is mere hypo- thesis ; much more the supposition, that, in distant regions of space or periods of time, there has been, or will be, a more magnificent display of these attributes, and a scheme of ad- ministration more suitable to such imaginary virtues. We can never be allowed to mount up from the universe, the effect, to JUPITKK, the cause ; and then descend downwards, to infer any new effect from that cause ; as if the present effects alone were not entirely worthy of the glorious attri- butes, which we ascribe to that deity. The knowledge of the cause being derived solely from the effect, they must be ex- actly adjusted to each other; and the one can never refer to any thing farther, or be the foundation of any new inference and conclusion. You find certain phenomena in nature. You seek a cause or author. You imagine that you have found him. You afterwards become so enamoured of this offspring of your brain, that you imagine it impossible, but he must produce something greater and more perfect than the present scene of things, which is so full of ill and disorder. You forget, that this superlative intelligence and benevolence are entirely imaginary, or, at least, without any foundation in reason ; and that you have no ground to ascribe to him any qualities, but what you see he has actually exerted and displayed in his productions. Let your gods, therefore, philosophers, be suited to the present appearances of nature : And presume not to alter these appearances by arbitrary suppositions, in order to suit them to the attributes, which you so fondly ascribe to your deities. When priests and poets, supported by your authority, O ATHENIANS, talk of a golden or silver age, which preceded VOL. IV. 1 114 CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. SECT. the present state of vice and misery, I hear them with atten- _ X T L _^ tion and with reverence. But when philosophers, who pre- tend to neglect authority, and to cultivate reason, hold the same discourse, I pay them not, I own, the same obsequious submission and pious deference. I ask ; who carried them into the celestial regions, who admitted them into the coun- cils of the gods, who opened to them the book of fate, that they thus rashly affirm, that their deities have executed, or will execute, any purpose beyond what has actually appeared'? If they tell me, that they have mounted l on the steps or by the gradual ascent of reason, and by drawing inferences from effects to causes, I still insist, that they have aided the 2 ascent of reason by the wings of imagination ; otherwise they could not thus change their manner of inference, and argue from causes to effects ; presuming, that a more perfect production than the present world would be more suitable to such perfect beings as the gods, and forgetting that they have no reason to ascribe to these celestial beings any per- fection or any attribute, but what can be found in the present world. Hence all the fruitless industry to account for the ill ap- pearances of nature, arid save the honour of the gods; while we must acknowledge the reality of that evil and disorder, with which the world so much abounds. The obstinate and intractable qualities of matter, we are told, or the observance of general laws, or some such reason, is the sole cause, which controlled the power and benevolence of JUPITER, and obliged him to create mankind and every sensible creature so imper- fect and so unhappy. These attributes, then, are, it seems, beforehand, taken for granted, in their greatest latitude. And upon that supposition, I own, that such conjectures may, perhaps, be admitted as plausible solutions of the ill phenomena. But still I ask; Why take these attributes for granted, or why ascribe to the cause any qualities but what actually appear in the effect? Why torture your brain to justify the course of nature upon suppositions, which, for aught yon know, may be entirely imaginary, and of which there are to be found no traces in the course of nature P The religious hypothesis, therefore, must be considered only as a particular method of accounting for the visible 1 [On the Steps or Sculo of Rwtson : Ed. E.] - |S C alo: Ed. E.] OF A PROVIDENCE AND KITI'IIK STATE. I].', pliamomena of the universe : I!ut no just reasoner will ever si-XT. v r presume to inter from it any single fact, and alter or ai'k has proceded from the skill and industry of man; as we arc otherwise acquainted with the nature of the animal, we can draw a hundred inferences concerning what maybe expected from him ; and these inferences will all be founded in ex- perience and observation. But did we know man only from the single work or production which we examine, it were im- possible for us to argue in this manlier; because our know- 1< dge of all the qualities, which we ascribe to him, bring in that case derived from the production, it is impossible they could point to any tiling farther, or be the foundation of any new inference. The print, of a foot in the sand can only prove, when considered alone, that there was some figure OF A rnnviDKNC'i-: AND i-vrntH STATE. no idapted to if, by which it, was produced : But the print of a SECT, liuiiian Coot proves likewise, from our other experience, ihat there was probably another Coot, which also left its impres- sion, though effaced by time or other accidents. Here wo mount from the effect to the cause ; and descending again from the cause, infer alterations in the effect; but this is not a continuation of the same simple chain of reasoning. A\ e comprehend in this case a hundred other experiences and observations, concerning the nxim! figure and members of that species of animal, without which this method of argu- ment must be considered as fallacious and sophistical. The case is not the same with our reasonings from the works of nature. The Deity is known to us only by his pro- ductions, and is a single being in the universe, not compre- hended under any species or genus, from whose experienced attributes or qualities, we can, by analogy, inter any attribute or quality in him. As the universe shews wisdom and good- ness, we infer wisdom and goodness. As it shews a particular degree of these perfections, we infer a particular degree of them, precisely adapted to the effect which we examine. But farther attributes or farther degrees of the same attri- butes, we can never be authorised to infer or suppose, by any rules of just reasoning. Now, without some such licence of supposition, it is impossible for us to argue from the cause, or infer any alteration in the effect, beyond what has immedi- ately fallen under our observation. Greater good produced by this Being must still prove a greater degree of goodness: A more impartial distribution of rewards and punishments must proceed from a greater regard to justice and equity. Every supposed addition to the works of nature makes an addition to the attributes of the Author of nature ; and consequently, being entirely unsupported by any reason or argument, can never be admitted but as mere conjecture and hypothesis. 1 The great source of our mistake in this subject, and of 1 In LTeneral. it may, I think, be PS- superior, or of m~re extensive open- tablislu-il as a maxim, that where any tion. than thu.se which r-imply produced eaii'-o is known only by its particular the effect, whence alone the oaii.se is effects, ii must be impossible to infer supposed to be known to us. A\ e can any new effects from that cause ; since never, therefore, have any reason to the Dualities, which are requisite to pro- suppose the existence of these qualities, (luce these new effects alon^ with the 'To say. that the new effects procce 1 former, must either be different, or only from a continuation of the same 1 [Editions E and F print in the text as far as 'qualities,' an 1 throw the rest into a note.] 120 CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. SECT, the unbounded licence of conjecture, which we indulge, is, ^ . that we tacitly consider ourselves, as in the place of the Supreme Being, and conclude, that he will, on every occasion, observe the same conduct, which we ourselves, in his situa- tion, would have embraced as reasonable and eligible. But, besides that the ordinary course of nature may convince us, that almost everything is regulated by principles and maxims very different from ours ; besides this, I say, it must evidently appear contrary to all rules of analogy to reason, from the intentions and projects of men, to those of a Being so dif- ferent, and so much superior. In human nature, there is a certain experienced coherence of designs and inclinations ; so that when, from any fact, we have discovered one inten- tion of any man, it may often be reasonable, from experience, to infer another, and draw a long chain of conclusions con- cerning his past or future conduct. But this method of reasoning can never have place with regard to a Being, so remote and incomprehensible, who bears much less analogy to any other being in the universe than the sun to a waxen taper, and who discovers himself only by some faint traces or outlines, beyond which we have no authority to ascribe to him any attribute or perfection. What we imagine to be a superior perfection, may really be a defect. Or were it ever so much a perfection, the ascribing of it to the Supreme Being, where it appears not to have been really exerted, to the full, in his works, savours more of flattery and panegyric, than of just reasoning and sound philosophy. All the philosophy, therefore, in the world, and all the reli- gion, which is nothing but a species of philosophy, will never be able to carry us beyond the usual course of experience, or give us measures of conduct and behaviour different from those which are furnished by reflections on common life. !No new fact can ever be inferred from the religious hypo- thesis ; no event foreseen or foretold ; no reward or punish- ment expected or dreaded, beyond what is already known by energy, winch is alr< ady known from position, and what there cannot possibly the first effects, will not remove the be any traces of in the effects, from difficulty. For even granting this to lie which all our knowledge, of the cause is lik'- enerpv (tor it is iinpos>ible it can I.e. should he; to the known effect ; and ir is absolutely the same). I say. this exertion impossible that it can possess any of a like ener-r\, in ;i different period of qualities, from which new or different space and lime, is a very arbitrary sup- effects cation inferred. OF A PROVIDENCE AND FlTl.'HK STATE. I*} practice and observation. So that my apology for KPICTKUS will still appear solid and satisfactory ; nor have the political interests of society any connexion with the philosophical disputes concerning' metaphysics and religion. There is still one circumstance, replied I, which yon seem to have overlooked. Though I should allow your premises, I must deny your conclusion. Yon conclude, that religious doctrines and reasonings can have no influence on life, because tliev ought to have no influence ; never considering, that men reason not in the same manner as you do, lint draw many consequences from the belief of a divine Existence, and suppose that the Deity would inflict punishments on vice, and bestow r rewards on virtue, beyond what appear in the ordinary course of nature. Whether this reasoning of theirs be just or not, is no matter. Its influence on their life and conduct must still be the same. And, those, wiio attempt to disabuse them of such prejudices, may, for aught I know, be good reasoners, but I cannot allow them to be good citizens and politicians ; since they free men from one restraint upon their passions, and make the infringement of the laws of society, in one respect, more easy and secure. After all, I may, perhaps, agree to your general conclusion in favour of liberty, though upon different premises from those, on which you endeavour to found it. I think, that the state ought to tolerate every principle of philosophy ; nor is there an instance, that any government has suffered in its political interests by such indulgence. There is no enthusiasm among philosophers ; their doctrines are not very alluring to the people ; and no restraint can be put upon their reason- ings, but what must be of dangerous consequence to the sciences, and even to the state, by paving the way for perse- cution and oppression in points, "where the generality ot mankind are more deeply interested and concerned. But there occurs to me (continued I) with regard to your main topic, a difficulty, which I shall just propose to you, without insisting on it ; lest it lead into reasonings of too nice and delicate a nature. In a word, I much doubt whether it be possible for a cause to be known only by its effect (as you have all along supposed) or to be of so singular and particular a nature as to have no parallel and no simi- larity with any other cause or object, that has ever fallen 'inder our observation. It is only when two spccica of objects 122 CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING*. SECT. are found to be constantly conjoined, that we can infer the _- one from the other ; and were an effect presented, which was entirely singular, and could not be comprehended under any known species, I do not see, that we could form any con- jecture or inference at all concerning its cause. If experience and observation and analogy be, indeed, the only guides which we can reasonably follow in inferences of this nature ; both the effect and cause must bear a similarity and resem- blance to other effects and causes, which we know, and which we have found, in many instances, to be conjoined with each other. I leave it to your own reflection to pursue the con- sequences of this principle. I shall just observe, that, as the antagonists of EPICURUS always suppose the universe, an effect quite singular and unparalleled, to be the proof of a Deity, a cause no less singular and unparalleled ; your reasonings, upon that supposition, seem, at least, to merit our attention. There is, I own, some difficulty, how we can ever return from the cause to the effect, and, reasoning from our ideas of the former, infer any alteration on the latter, or any addition to it. SECTION XII. Of the Academical or Sceptical Philosophy. PART I. THERE is not a greater number of philosophical reasonings, displayed upon any subject, than those, which prove the existence of a Deity, and refute the fallacies of Atheists ; and yet the most religious philosophers still dispute whether any man can be so blinded as to be a speculative atheist. How shall we reconcile these contradictions P The knights-errant, who wandered about to clear the world of dragons and giants, never entertained the least doubt with regard to the exist- ence of these monsters. The Scf]>tic, is another enemy of religion, who naturally provokes the indignation of all divines and graver philo- sophers ; though it is certain, that no man ever met with any such absurd creature, or conversed with a man, who had no opinion or principle concerning any subject, either of action or speculation. This begets a very natural question; What is meant by a, sceptic? And how far it is possible to push these philosophical principles of doubt and uncertainty: 3 There is a species of scepticism, antecedent to all study and Af'ADK.MirAL OR SfKI'TICAL PHILOSOPHY. IL'.", philosophy, which is much inculcated hv DKS CARTES and SF/T. " \] 1 others, as a sovereign preservative against error and pre- ._' '_ cipitate judgment. It recommends an universal doubt, not I'AKT!. onlv of all our iormer opinions and principles, but also of our very faculties; of whose veracity, say they, we must assure ourselves, by a chain of reasoning, deduced from some original principle, which cannot possibly be fallacious or deceit ful. Ijiit neither is there any such original principle, which has a prerogative above others, that are self-evident and convincing: Or if there were, could we advance a step beyond it, but by the use of those very faculties, of which we are supposed to be already diffident. The CARTESIAN doubt, therefore, were it ever possible to be attended by any human creature (as it plainly is not) would be entirely incurable ; and no reasoning could ever bring us to a state of assurance and conviction upon any subject. It must, however, be confessed, that this species of scepti- cism, when more moderate, may be understood in a very reasonable sense, and is a necessary preparative to the study of philosophy, by preserving a proper impartiality in our judgments, and weaning our mind from all those prejudices, which we may have imbibed from education or rash opinion. To begin, with clear and self-evident principles, to advance by timorous and sure steps, to review frequently our conclu- sions, and examine accurately all their consequences ; though by these means we shall make both a slow and a short progress in our systems; are the only methods, by which we can ever hope to reach truth, and attain a proper stability and certainty in our determinations. There is another species of scepticism, consequent to science and enquiry, when men are supposed to have discovered, either the absolute fallaciousness of their mental faculties, or their unh'tness to reach any fixed determination in all those curious subjects of speculation, about which they are com- monly employed. Even our very senses are brought into dis- pute, bv a cert-iin species of philosophers ; and the maxims of common life are subjected to the same doubt as the most profound principles or conclusions of metaphysics and theology. As these paradoxical tenets (if they may be called tenets) are to be met with in some philosophers, and the refutation of them in several, they naturally excite our 124 CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. SECT. curiosity, and make us enquire into tlie arguments, on which __!_,. J - they may be founded. PABT I. I need not insist upon the more trite topics, employed by the sceptics in all ages, against the evidence of sense ; such as those which are derived from the imperfection and fal- laciousness of our organs, on numberless occasions ; the crooked appearance of an oar in water ; the various aspects of objects, according to their different distances ; the double images which arise from the pressing one eye ; with many other appearances of a like nature. These sceptical topics, indeed, are only sufficient to prove, that the senses alone are not implicitly to be depended on ; but that we must correct their evidence by reason, and by considerations, derived from the nature of the medium, the distance of the object, and the disposition of the organ, in order to render them, within their sphere, the proper criteria of truth and falsehood. There are other more profound arguments against the senses, which admit not of so easy a solution. It seems evident, that men are carried, by a natural in- stinct or prepossession, to repose faith in their senses ; and that, without any reasoning, or even almost before the use of reason, we always suppose an external universe, which depends not on our perception, but would exist, though we and every sensible creature were absent or annihilated. Even the animal creation are governed by a like opinion, and pre- serve this belief of external objects, in all their thoughts, designs, and actions. It seems also evident, that, when men follow this blind and powerful instinct of nature, they always suppose the very images, presented by the senses, to be the external objects, and never entertain any suspicion, that the one are nothing but representations of the other. This very table, which we see white, and which Ave feel hard, is believed to exist, independent of our perception, and to be something external to our mind, which perceives it. Our presence bestows not being on it : Our absence does not annihilate it. It preserves its existence uniform and entire, indepen- dent of the situation of intelligent beings, who perceive or contemplate it. But this universal and primary opinion of all men is soon destroyed by the slightest philosophy, which teaches us, that nothing can ever be present to the mind but an image or ACADEMICAL Oil SCKI'TK'AL PHILOPOPH N '. l'jr> perception, ami that the senses ;ire only the inlets, through SI-XT, which these images are conveyed, without beiiif able to pro- %/ O 1 ~ - , duce any immediate intercourse between the mind arid the J'AUT I. object. The table, which we see, seems to diminish, as we remove farther from it : But the real table, which exists in- dependent of us, suffers 110 alteration : It was, therefore, nothing but its image, which was present to the mind. These are the obvious dictates of reason ; and no man, who reflects, ever doubted, that the existences, which we con- sider, when we say, tin's house and ihtit Irac, are nothing but perceptions in the mind, and fleeting copies or representa- tions of other existences, which remain uniform and inde- pendent. So far, then, are we necessitated by reasoning to contradict or depart from the primary instincts of nature, and to em- brace a new system with regard to the evidence of our senses. But here philosophy finds herself extremely embarrassed, when she would justify this new system, and obviate the cavils and objections of the sceptics. She can no longer plead the in- fallible and irresistible instinct of nature : For that led us to a quite different system, which is acknowledged fallible and even erroneous. And to justify this pretended philosophical system, by a chain of clear and convincing argument, or even any appearance of argument, exceeds the power of all human capacity. By what argument can it be proved, that the perceptions of the mind must be caused by external objects, entirely dif- ferent from them, though resembling them (if that be pos- sible) and could not arise either from the energy of the mind itself, or from the suggestion of some invisible and unknown spirit, or from some other cause still more unknown to us ? It is acknowledged, that, in fact, many of these perceptions arise not from any thing external, as in dreams, madness, and other diseases. And nothing can be more inexplicable than the manner, in which body should so operate upon mind as ever to convey an image of itself to a substance, sup- posed of so different, and even contrary a nature. It is a question of fact, whether the perceptions of the senses be produced by external objects, resembling them : How shall this question be determined ? By experience surely ; as all other questions of a like nature. But here ex- perience is, and must be entirely silent. The mind has never any thing present to it but the perceptions, and cannot pos- 126 CONCERNING HUMAN 1 UNDERSTANDING. SECT, sibly reach any experience of their connexion with objects. ^_ T '_. The supposition of such a connexion is, therefore, without PAET J. any foundation in reasoning. To have recourse to the veracity of the supreme Being, in order to prove the veracity of our senses, is surely making a very unexpected circuit. If his veracity were at all concerned in this matter, our senses would be entirely infallible ; because it is not possible that he can ever deceive. Not to mention, that, if the external world be once called in question, we shall be at a loss to find arguments, by which we may prove the existence of that Being- or any of his attributes. This is a topic, therefore, in which the profounder and more philosophical sceptics will always triumph, when they endeavour to introduce an universal doubt into all subjects of human knowledge and enquiry. Do you follow the in- stincts and propensities of nature, may they say, in assenting to the veracity of sense ? But these lead you to believe, that the very perception or sensible image is the external object. Do you disclaim this principle, in order to embrace a more rational opinion, that the perceptions are only representa- tions of something external ? You here depart from your natural propensities and more obvious sentiments ; and yet are not able to satisfy your reason, which can never find any convincing argument from experience to prove, that the per- ceptions are connected Avith any external objects. There is another sceptical topic of a like nature, derived from the most profound philosophy; which might merit our attention, w r ere it requisite to dive so deep, in order to dis- cover arguments and reasonings, which can so little serve to any serious purpose. It is universally allowed by modern enquirers, that all the sensible qualities of objects, such as hard, soft, hot, cold, white, black, &c., are merely secondary, and exist not in the objects themselves, but are perceptions of the mind, without any external archetype or model, which they represent. If this be allowed, with regard to secondary qualities, it must also follow, with regard to the supposed primary qualities of extension and solidity ; nor can the latter be any more entitled to thai denomination than the former. The idea of extension is entirely acquired from the senses of sight and feeling ; and if all the qualities, perceived by the senses, be in the mind, not in the object, the same conclu- sion must reach the idea of extension, which is wholly do- ACADKMirAL OK SCKITK 'A L I'HILOSOI'II Y. litf pendent on the sensible ideas or llic ideas of secondary SK'T. qualities. Nothing can save ns from this conclusion, but the ' J_ assorting, that the ideas of those primary qualities are at- I'AKT L tained by Al>xlf i/ admit of >i/> form the liest lessons of scepticism. fi)i.--iccr and /ira/iti-e >/ cn>'icti n. which are to lie found either amonti the Their only effect is to cause that m<>- BAYI.K mentarv amazement and irresolution and confusion, which is the result of scepticism. - [This sentence was added in Ed R.] in his titli'-pafre (and undoubtedly with li'S COXCERXIXQ HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. SECT. deavour to find objections, both to our abstract reasonings, ^ xn - , and to those which regard matter of fact and existence. PART II. The chief objection against all abstract reasonings is de- rived from the ideas of space and time ; ideas, which, in common life and to a careless view, are very clear and intel- ligible, but when they pass through the scrutiny of the pro- found sciences (and they are the chief object of these sciences) afford principles, which seem full of absurdity and contra- diction. No priestly dogmas, invented on purpose to tame and subdue the rebellious reason of mankind, ever shocked common sense more than the doctrine of the infinite divisi- bility of extension, with its consequences ; as they are pom- pously displayed b}- all geometricians and metaphysicians, with a kind of triumph and exultation. A real quantity, infinitely less than any finite quantity, containing quantities infinitely less than itself, and so on in infinitum $ this is an edifice so bold and prodigious, that it is too weighty for any pretended demonstration to support, because it shocks the clearest and most natural principles of human reason. 1 But what renders the matter more extraordinary, is, that these seemingly absurd opinions are supported by a chain of reasoning, the clearest and most natural ; nor is it pos- sible for us to allow the premises without admitting the consequences. Nothing can be more convincing and satis- factory than all the conclusions concerning the properties of circles and triangles ; and yet, when these are once received, how can we deny, that the angle of contact between a circle and its tangent is infinitely less than any rectilineal angle, that as you may encrease the diameter of the circle in injini- turn, this angle of contact becomes still less, even in infinitum, and that the angle of contact between other curves and their tangents may be infinitely less than those between any circle and its tangent, and so on, in infinitum ? The demonstration of these principles seems as unexceptionable as that which proves the three angles of a triangle to be equal to two right 1 Whatever disputes there may lie mathematicians to be infinitely les about mathematical points, we must than any real allow that there are physical points ; yet nothing app that is, parts of extension, which can- reason, than that not be divided or lessened, either by the them composes eye or imagination. These images, How much more then, which are present to the fancy or those infinitely sn rt of extension ; and ars more certain to in infinite number <>f n infinite extension, n infinite number of nil parts of extension, senses, are, absolutely indivisible, and which are still supposed infinitely divi- consequently must be allowed by s;ble? ACADEMICAL OR SCEPTICAL PHILOSOPHY. 1-JO ones, though the latter opinion be natural and easy, and the Mitficieiit ticular size or figure : But as that term ' [ Editions V. and F insert : In gene- ral, we may pronounce, that the Ideas of <;rtiittf. /(.<.<. or cqiiti 7 , which are the chief Objects of Geometry, are far from VOL. IV. 130 CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. The sceptical objections to moral evidence, or to the reasonings concerning matter of fact, are either popular or philosophical. The popular objections are derived from the natural weakness of human understanding ; the contra- dictory opinions, which have been entertained in different ages and nations ; the variations of our judgment in sickness and health, youth and old age, prosperity and adversity ; the perpetual contradiction of each particular man's opinions and sentiments ; with many other topics of that kind. It is needless to insist farther on this head. These objections are but weak. For as, in common life, we reason every moment concerning fact and existence, and cannot possibly subsist, without continually employing this species of argu- ment, any popular objections, derived from thence, must be insufficient to destroy that evidence. The great subverter of Pyrrhonism or the excessive principles of scepticism, is action, and employment, and the occupations of common life. These principles may flourish and triumph in the schools ; where it is, indeed, difficult, if not impossible, to refute them. But as soon as they leave the shade, and by the presence of the real objects, which actuate our passions and sentiments, are put in opposition to the more powerful principles of our nature, they vanish like smoke, and leave the most determined scep- tic in the same condition as other mortals. The sceptic, therefore, had better keep within his proper sphere, and display those philosophical objections, which arise from more profound researches. Here he seems to have ample matter of triumph; while he justly insists, that all our evidence for any matter of fact, which lies beyond the testimony of sense or memory, is derived entirely from the relation of cause and effect ; that we have no other idea of this relation than that of two objects, which have been fre- quently conjoined together; that we have no argument to convince us, that objects, which have, in our experience, been to have droppoc] tin's hint at present, and contempt of the iernorant by their without prosecuting it :uiv f;irtl conclusions : ami tin certainly concurn not to expose themselves to theridicul is n:i Appeal to ti Quantities to be equal, and lin must say. pciieral Appearances of Objects to ih that the Idea ot' Kiualily is 01 ACADEMICAL nil SCEPTICAL IMIIM ) ^nl'il V. I ;l frequently conjoined, will likewise, in other instances, he con- joined in the .sainc milliner; and that nothing lends us to this ini'rrt-ncc l>ut custom or ;i certain instinct of our nature ; I'AUT il. which it is indeed difficult to resist, but which, like other instincts, ma y be fallacious and deceitful. "While, the sceptic insists upon these topics, he shews his i'orce, or rather, indeed, his own and our weakness : and seems, for the time at least, to destroy all assurance and conviction. These arguments might be displayed at greater length, if any durable good or benefit to society could ever be expected to result from them. For here is the chief and most confounding 1 objection to f.ro'.s'.s'/jy scepticism, that no durable good can ever result from it ; while it remains in its full force and vigour. We need only ask such a sceptic, What his meaning is? And what Jte proposes bij all tltese curious researches ? He is im- mediately at a loss, and knows not what to answer. A COPEKXICAX or PTOLEMAIC, who supports each his different system of astronomy, may hope to produce a conviction, which will remain constant and durable, with his audience. A STOIC or EPICUKEAX displays principles, which mav not only be durable, but which have an effect on conduct ;:nd behaviour. But a PYRRHOXIAX cannot expect, that his philosophy will have any constant influence on the mind : Or if it had, that its influence would be beneficial to society. On the contrary, he must acknowledge, if he will acknowledge any thing, that all human life must perish, were his principles universally and steadily to prevail. All discourse, all action would immediately cease ; and men remain in a total lethargy, till the necessities of nature, unsatisfied, put an end to their miserable existence. It is true ; so fatal an event is very little to be dreaded. Nature is always too strong for prin- ciple. And though a PYRRHOXIAX may throw himself or others into a momentary amazement and confusion by his profound reasonings ; the first and most trivial event in life will put to flight all his doubts and scruples, and leave him the same, in every point of action and speculation, with the philosophers of every other sect, or with those who never concerned themselves in any philosophical researches. "U lieu he awakes from his dream, ho will be the first to join in the laugh against himself, and to confess, that nil his objections are mere amusement, and can have no other ' 'iidency 'hail K '-.' 132 CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. SECT. to sliow the whimsical condition of mankind, who must act "VTT ^ T ' ^ and reason and believe ; though they are not able, by their PAUT II. most diligent enquiry, to satisfy themselves concerning the foundation of these operations, or to remove the objections, which may be raised against them. PART III. There is, indeed, a more mitigated scepticism or academical philosophy, which may be both durable and useful, and which may, in part, be the result of this PYRRHONISM, or excessive scepticism, when its undistinguished doubts are, in somo measure, corrected by common sense and reflection. Tho greater part of mankind are naturally apt to be affirmative and dogmatical in their opinions ; and while they see objects only on one side, and have no idea of any counterpoising argu- ment, they throw themselves precipitately into the principles, to which they are inclined ; nor have they any indulgence for those who entertain opposite sentiments. To hesitate or balance perplexes their understanding, checks their passion, and suspends their action. They are, therefore, impatient till they escape from a state, which to them is so uneas} r ; and they think, that they can never remove themselves far enough from it, by the violence of their affirmations and obstinacy of their belief. But could such dogmatical reasoners become sensible of the strange infirmities of human understanding, even in its most perfect state, and when most accurate and cautious in its determinations ; such a reflection would naturally inspire them with more modesty and reserve, and diminish their fond opinion of themselves, and their pre- judice against antagonists. The illiterate may reflect on the disposition of the learned, who, amidst all the advantages of study and reflection, are commonly still diffident in their determinations : And if any of the learned be inclined, from their natural temper, to haughtiness and obstinacy, a small tincture of PYRRHONISM might abate their pride, by shewing them, that the few advantages, which they may have attained over their fellows, arc.; but inconsiderable, if compared with the universal perplexity and confusion, which is inherent in human nature. In general, there is a degree of doubt, and caution, and modesty, which, in all kinds of scrutiny and decision, ought for ever to accompany a just reasoner. ACADEMICAL OR SCKl'TICAL PHILOSOPHY. l:i., Another species of mitiyated scepticism, which may be of SKI "I'. advantage to mankind, and which may he the natural result _ x "' of the PYUKHONIAN doubt and scruples, is the limitation of J'AUTU our enquiries to such subjects as are best adapted to the narrow capacity of human understanding. The imtujindtum of man is naturally sublime, delighted with whatever is remote and extraordinary, and running, without controul, into the most distant parts of space and time in order to avoid the objects, which custom has rendered too familiar to it. A correct Judgment observes a contrary method, and avoiding all distant and high enquiries, confines itself to common life, and to such subjects as fall under daily practice and experience; leaving the more sublime topics to the em- bellishment of poets and orators, or to the arts of priests and politicians. To bring us to so salutary a determination, nothing can be more serviceable, than to be once thoroughly convinced of the force of the PYEIIHONIAN doubt, and of the impossibility, that any thing, but the strong power of natural instinct, could free us from it. Those who have a propensity to philosophy, will still continue their researches; because they reflect, that, besides the immediate pleasure, attending such an occupation, philosophical decisions are nothing but the reflections of common life, methodized and corrected. But they will never be tempted to go beyond common life, so long as they consider the imperfection of those faculties which they employ, their narrow reach, and their inaccurate operations. While we cannot give a satisfactory reason, why we believe, after a thousand experiments, that a stone will fall, or fire burn ; can we ever satisfy ourselves concerning any determination, which we may form, with regard to the origin of worlds, and the situation of nature, from, and to eternity ? This narrow limitation, indeed, of our enquiries, is, in every respect, so reasonable, that it suffices to make the slightest examination into the natural powers of the human mind, and to compare them with their objects, in order to recommend it to us. We shall then find what are the proper subjects of science and enquiry. It seems to me, that the only objects of the abstract sciences or of demonstration are quantity and number, and that all attempts to extend this more perfect species of knowledge beyond these bounds are mere sophistry and ] 34 COXCEILMXG HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. SECT. illusion. As the component parts of quantity and number _J1._!_^ are entirely similar, their relations become intricate and in- AUT III. volved ; and nothing can be more curious, as well as useful, than to trace, by a variety of mediums, their equality or in- equality, through their different appearances. But as all other ideas are clearly distinct and different from each other, we can never advance farther, by our utmost scrutiny, than to observe this diversity, and, by an obvious reflection, pro- nounce one thing not to be another. Or if there be any difficulty in these decisions, it proceeds entirely from the un- determinate meaning of words, which is corrected by juster definitions. That the square of the hypothenuse is equal to the squares of the other two sides, cannot be known, let the terms be ever so exactly defined, without a train of reasoning and enquiry. But to convince us of this proposition, that where there is no property, there can be no injustice, it is only necessary to define the terms, and explain injustice to be a violation of property. This proposition is, indeed, nothing but a more imperfect definition. It is the same case with all those pretended syllogistical reasonings, which may be found in every other branch of learning, except the sciences of quantity ajid number ; and these may safely, I think, be pronounced the only proper objects of knowledge and demon- stration. All other enquiries of men regard only matter of fact and existence ; and these are evidently incapable of demonstration. Whatever is may not be. No negation of a fact can involve a contradiction. The non-existence of any being, without exception, is as clear and distinct an idea as its existence. The proposition, which affirms it not to be, * however false, is no less conceivable and intelligible, than that which affirms it to be. The case is different with the sciences, properly so called. Every proposition, which is not true, is there con- fused and unintelligible. That the cube root of 04 is equal to the half of 10, is a false proposition, and can never be distinctly conceived. But that CAESAR, or the angel GABRIEL, or any being never existed, may be a false proposition, but btill is perfectly conceivable, and implies no contradiction. The existence, therefore, of any being can only bo proved by arguments from its cause or its effect ; and these argu- ments are founded entirely on experience. If we reason ACADEMICAL oil SCEPTICAL PHILOSOPHY. l.'io a ftriori, any tiling may appear able to produce any tiling. SKK DiipJumvivs pvlls avisi Afagis rclictis ; nun, vf adsit, nuxili A virgin on her bridal-night goes to bed full of fears and 1 fin the Trrntisc. Vol. ii. quot;iliun iv;iiiti-adi<-t:,,-y views of the same object, the passions are like oil and vinegar, which, however mingled, never perfectly unite and incorpo- rate. The effect of a mixture of passions, when one of them is predominant, and swallows up the other, shall be explained afterwards. 144 A DISSERTATION ON THE PASSIONS. ECT. SECT. II. ~ 1 ' 1. Besides those passions above-mentioned, which from a direct pursuit of good and aversion to evil, there are others which are of a more complicated nature, and imply more than one view or consideration. Thus Pride is a certain satisfaction in ourselves, on account of some accomplishment or possession, which we enjoy : Humility, on the other hand, is a dissatisfaction with ourselves, on account of some defect or infirmity. Love or Friendship is a complacency in another, on account of his accomplishments or services : Hatred, the contrary. 2. In these two sets of passion, there is an obvious dis- tinction to be made between the object of the passion and its cause. The object of pride and humility is self : The cause of the passion is some excellence in the former case ; some fault, in the latter. The object of love and hatred is some other person : The causes, in like manner, are either excel- lencies or faults. With regard to all these passions, the causes are what excite the emotion ; the object is what the mind directs its view to when the emotion is excited. Our merit, for instance, raises pride ; and it is essential to pride to turn our view on ourselves with complacency and satisfaction. Now, as the causes of these passions are very numerous and various, though their object be uniform and simple ; it may be a subject of curiosity to consider, what that circum- stance is, in which all these various causes agree ; or in other words, what is the real efficient cause of the passion. We shall begin with pride and humility. .'}. In order to explain the causes of these passions, we must reflect on certain principles, which, though they have a mighty influence on every operation, both of the under- standing and passions, are not commonly much insisted on by philosophers. The first of these is the association of ideas, or that principle, by which we make an easy transition from one idea to another. However uncertain and change- able our thoughts may be, they are not entirely without rul ;ni(l method in their changes. They usually pass with regu- hirity, from one object, to what resembles it, is contiguous to A DISSERTATION (N TIIK 1'A^SIONS. 11." it, or produced by if. 1 When one idea is present to the imagi- SK' T. ii.it i<-!i, any other, united by t hese relat ions, n:if.n rally follows it, ._ and enters with more facility, liy means of thai introduction. The .svro?i(? property, which I sh;i!l observe in tin- human mind, is a like association of impressions or emotions. All / X'liiliHinj impressions arc connected together ; and no sooner one arises, than the rest naturally follow. (Jrief and dis- appoint in en t ^ive rise f o a n^vr. ;;ugvr to i-uvv, euvv to malice, and malice to grief again. I n like manner, our temper, when elevated with joy, naturally throws itself into love, generosity, courage, pride, and other resembling af'eci i'>ns. In the t/iti'il place, it is observable of these two kinds of association, that thev ver\ r much assist and forward each other, and that the transition is more easily made, where they both concur in the. same object. Thus, a man, who, bv an injury received from another, is very much discomposed and ru filed in. his temper, is apt to find a hundred subjects of hatred, discontent, impatience, fear, and other uneasy pas- sions ; especially, if he can discover these subjects in or near the person, who was the object of his first emotion. Those principles, which forward the transition of ideas, here concur with those which operate on the passions; and both, uniting in one action, bestow on the mind a double impulse. Upon this occasion I may cite a passage from an elegant writer, who expresses himself in the following manner: 2 1 As the fancy delights in every tiling, that is great, strange, ' or beautiful, and is still the more pleased the more it finds ' of these perfections in the tame object, so it is capable cf ' receiving- new satisfaction by the assistance of another ' sense. Thus, any continual sound, as the music of birds, ' or a fall of waters, awakens every moment the mind of tin.' ' beholder, and makes him more attentive to the several ' beauties of the place, that lie before him. Thus, if there ' arises a fragrancy of smells or perfumes, they heighten tho ' pleasure of the imagination, and make even the colours and ' verdure of the landscape appear more agreeable; for the ' ideas of both senses recommend each other, and art' ' pleasanter together than where they enter the mind sepa- ' rately : As the different colours of a picture, when th >' are well disposed, set off one another, and receive an a-icii- 1 Pfe Enonirv concf-rnnia Hum.-iii ciation of Iclsas. p. 1". Understanding, Sect. Ill, Of'tho Asso- '' AmHsnx. ^peeruu>r, No. 112. VOL. IV. 146 A DISSERTATION OX THE PASSIONS. SECT. ' tional beautv from the advantage of the situation.' In II ^-^_* these phrenomena, we may remark the association both of impressions and ideas : as well as the mutual assistance these associations lend to each other. 4. It seems to me, that both these species of relations have place in producing Pride or Humility, and are the real, efficient causes of the passion. With regard to the first relation, that of ideas, there can be no question. Whatever we are proud of must, in some manner, belong to us. It is always our knowledge, our sense, beauty, possessions, family, on which we value ourselves. Self, which is the object of the passion, must still be related to that quality or circumstance, which causes the passion. There must be a connexion between them; an easy transition of the imagination ; or a facility of the conception in passing from one to the other. Where this connexion is wanting, no object can either excite pride or humility ; and the more you weaken the connexion, the more you weaken the passion. 5. The only subject of enquiry is, whether there be a like relation of impressions or sentiments, wherever pride or humility is felt ; whether the circumstance, which causes the passion, previously excites a sentiment similar to the pas- sion ; and whether there be an easy transfusion of the one into the other. The feeling or sentiment of pride is agreeable ; of humility, painful. An agreeable sensation is, therefore, related to the former ; a painful, to the latter. And if we find, after ex- amination, that every object, which produces pride, produces also a separate pleasure ; and every object, which causes humility, excites in like manner a separate uneasiness ; we must allow, in that case, that the present theory is fully proved and ascertained. The double relation of ideas and sentiments will be acknowledged incontestable. 6. To begin with personal merit and demerit, the most obvious causes of these passions; it would be entirely foreign to our present purpose to examine the foundation of moral distinctions. It is sufficient to observe, that ihe foregoing theory concerning the origin of the pa.ssions may be defended on any hypothesis. The most probable system, which has been advanced to explain the difference between vice and virtue, is, that either from a primary constitution of nature, or from a sense of public or private interest, certain charac- ).\ 'III!-; PASSIONS. 1)7 Lers, u'>on tin 1 vcrv view iind contemplation, produce uneasi- SECT, ness; and others, in like manner, excite pleasure. The nil- v J: easiness and satisfaction, produced in the spectator, are es- sential to vice and virtue. To approve of a character, is to feel a delight upon its appearance. To disapprove of it, is to be sensible of an uneasiness. The pain and pleasure, there- fore, bein^r, in a manner, the primary source of blame or praise, must also be the causes of ail their effects; and con- sequently, the causes of pride and hunulitv, which are the unavoidable attendants of tha.t distinction. Hut supposing tliis theory of morals should not, be re- ceived; it is still evident that pain and pleasure, if not the sources of moral distinctions, rre at least inseparable from them. A generous and noble character affords a satisfaction even in the survey; and when presented to us, though only in a poem or fable, never fails to charm and delight us. On the other hand, cruelty and treachery displease from their very nature; nor is it possible ever to reconcile us to these qualities, either in ourselves or others. Virtue, therefore, produces always a pleasure distinct from the pride or self- satisfaction which attends it : Vice, an uneasiness separate* from the humility or remorse. But a high or low conceit of ourselves arises not from those qualities alone of the mind, which, according to common systems of ethics, have been defined parts of moral dutv ; but from any other, which have a connexion with pleasure or uneasiness. Nothing flatters our vanity more than the talent of pleasing by our wit, good-humour, or any other accom- plishment ; and nothing gives ns a more sensible mortifica- tion, than a. disappointment in any attempt of that kind. No one has ever been able to tell precisely, what n-it is, and to shew why such a system of thought must be received under that denomination, and such another rejected. It is by taste alone we can decide concerning it ; nor are we possessed of any other standard, by which we can form a judgment of this nature. Now what is this /iv.vfa, from which time and false wit in a manner receive their being, and without which no thought can have a title to either of these denominations? It is plainly nothing but a sensation of pleasure from true wit, and of disgust from false, without our being able to tell the reasons of that satisfaction or uneasiness. The power of exciting these opposite sensations is, therefore, the very es- 148 A DISSERTATION ON THE PASSIONS. SECT, sence of true or false wit ; and consequently, the cause of that /_. vanity or mortification, which arises from one or the other. 7. Beauty of all kinds gives us a peculiar delight and satisfaction; as deformity produces pain, upon whatever subject it may be placed, and whether surveyed in an ani- mate or inanimate object. If the beauty or deformity belong to our own face, shape, or person, this pleasure or uneasiness is converted into pride or humility ; as having- in this case all the circumstances requisite to produce a perfect transi- tion, according to the present theory. It would seem, that the very essence of beauty consists in its power of producing pleasure. All its effects, therefore, must proceed from this circumstance : And if beauty is so universally the subject of vanity, it is only from its being the cause of pleasure. Concerning all other bodily accomplishments, we may observe in general, that whatever in ourselves is either useful, beautiful, or surprizing, is an object of pride ; and the contrary of humility. These qualities agree in producing a separate pleasure ; and agree in nothing else. We are vain of the surpri/ing adventures which we have met with, the escapes which we have made, the dangers to which we have been exposed ; as well as of our surprizing feats of vigour and activity. Hence the origin of vulgar lying ; where men, without any interest, and merely out of vanity, heap up a number of extraordinary events, which are either the fictions of their brain ; or, if true, have no connexion with themselves. Their fruitful invention supplies them with a variety of adventures ; and where that talent is want- ing, they appropriate such as belong to others, in order to gratify their vanity : For between that passion, and the sentiment of pleasure, there is always a close connexion. 8. But though pride and humility have the qualities of our mind and body, that is, of self, for their natural and more immediate causes; we find by experience, that ma.nv other objects produce these affections. We found vanity upon houses, gardens, equipage, and other external objects ; as well as upon personal merit and accomplishments. This happens when external objects acquire any particular rela- tion to ourselves, and are associated or connected with us. A beautiful fish in the ocean, a well-proportioned animal in a forest, and indeed, any thing, which neither belongs nor is related to us, has no manner of influence on our vanitv ; A lUSSKKTATluN n\ 'nil-: 1 ASSIONS. MO whatever extraordinary qualities it in;iy be endowed witli, SECT. and whatever decree of surprize and admiration it may natu- _ rally occasion. It must bo someway associated with us, in order to touch our pride. Its idea must hang, in a manner, upon that of ourselves; and the transition from one to the other must be easy and natural. Men are vain of the beauty either of tlu-ir country, or their county, or even of tli<'ir parish. Mere the idea of beauty plainly produces a pleasure. This pleasure is related to pride. The object or cause of this pleasure is, by the sup- position, related to self, the object of pride. By this double relation of sentiments and ideas, a transition is made from one to the other. Men are also vain of the happy temperature of the cli- mate, in which they are born ; of the fertility of their native soil ; of the goodness of the wines, fruits, or victuals, produced by it ; of the softness or force of their language, with other particulars of that kind. These objects have plainly a reference to the pleasures of sense, and are origin- ally considered as agreeable to the feeling, taste or hearing. How could they become causes of pride, except by means of that transition above explained ? There are some, who discover a vanity of an opposite kind, and affect to depreciate their own country, in comparison of those, to which they have travelled. These persons find, Avhen they are at home, and surrounded with their countrymen, that the strong relation between them and their own nation is shared with so many, that it is in a manner lost to them ; whereas, that distant relation to a foreign country, which is formed by their Laving seen it, and lived in it, is augmented by their considering how few have done the same. For this reason, they always admire the beauty, utility, and rarity of what they met with abroad, above what they find at home. Since we can be vain of a country, climate or any inani- mate object, which bears a relation to us ; it is no wonder we should be vain of the qualities of those, who art connected with ns by blood or friendship. Accordingly we find, that any qualities which, when belonging to ourselves, produce pride, produce also, in a less degree, the same affection, when discovered in persons, related to us. The beauty, ad- dress, merit, credit, and honours of their kindred are care- fully displayed by the proud, and are considerable sources of their van it v. 160 A DISSEKTATIOX UN THE PASSIONS. As we are proud of riches in ourselves, we desire, in order to gratify our vanity, that every one who has any connexion with us, should likewise be possessed of them, and are ashamed of such as are mean or poor am on our friends and relations. Our forefathers being regarded as our nearest relations ; every one; naturally affects to be of a good family, and to be descended from a long succession of rich and honourable ancestors. Those, who boast of the antiquity of their families, are glad when they can join this circumstance, that their an- cestors, for many generations, have been uninterrupted pro- prietors of the same portion of land, and that their family has never changed its possessions, or been transplanted into any other county or province. It is an additional subject of vanity, when they can boast, that these possessions have been transmitted through a descent, composed entirely of males, and that the honours and fortune have never passed through any female. Let us endeavour to explain these phenomena from the foregoing theory. When any one values himself on the antiquity of his family, the subjects of his vanity are not merely the extent of time and number of ancestors (for in that respect all mankind are alike), but these circumstances, joined to the riches and credit of his ancestors, which are supposed to reflect a lustre on himself, upon account of his connexion with them. Since therefore the passion depends on the connexion, whatever strengthens the connexion must also encrease the passion, and whatever weakens the connexion must diminish the passion. But it is evident, that the sameness of the possessions must strengthen the relation of ideas, arising from blood and kindred, and convey the fancy with greater facility from one generation to another; from the remotest ancestors to their posterity, who are both their heirs and their descendants. By this facility, the sentiment is trans- mitted more entire, and excites a greater degree of pride and vanity. The case is the same with the transmission of the honours and fortune, through a succession of males, without their passing through any female. It is an obvious quality of human nature, that the imagination naturally turns to what- ever is important and considerable ; mid where two objects are presented, a small and a great, it usually leaves the former, and dwells entirely on (he lalier. This is the reason, why A DISSEKTATIUN ON T1IK PASSIONS. 1.11 children coiiiiuonly bear their father's nam< i , and arc es- teemed to bi i of a nobler or meaner birth, according io lux familv. And though tin- mother should be possessed of superior qualities to the father, as often happens, tin- :nr.ri, as it gives the fullest power and authority over any object, is the relation, which has the greatest in- fluence on these passions. 1 Every thing, belonging to a vain man, is the best that is any where to be found. His houses, equipage, furniture, cle-aths, horses, hounds, excel all others in his conceit ; and it is easy to observe, that, from the least advantage in any of these he draws a new subject of pride and vanity. His wine, if you will believe him, has a finer flavour than any other; his cookery is more exquisite ; his table more orderly ; his servants more expert : the air, in which he lives, more healthful ; the soil, which he cultivates, more fertile ; his fruits ripen earlier, and to greater perfection : Such a thing is remarkable for its novelty ; such another for its antiquity : 1 That property is a sperirs of n a- of it : and in fact does comnv nly pri. which produces a c:;nexion !*> cure him that advanta^. Fc>r rights. twt-en the person and the object is evi- which had no influence, and never l""k dent: The imagination passes naturally p!a--e. V"iild 1'e no rights at all. \w and easily fi'nin the consideration < f a a ]> r-o;i who disposes o;' an olivet, arid field to thai of the person to whom it reap- b.-nefit from if. li.,th products, or tielonps. It nviy only lie ask'-d, liow may pr-nlui-e. rrtvets n:\ it. an : i-afi'--ef- thi- r.'l-'.tion is resolvalile into any nf ed i.y it. I'ro]i,-riy thcvfore - ;; spe- t!,n-e tlirep. r/-. cat/srif/tr,!. rnntifitnfi/. cies of i:nn.-~i'' '"n , T: era!! e rers"! and r>*i i,i'i/n ><<'', Tvhich we have affiriiie-i to prnJui-e altl inlhe present case the phenomena seem prei.ty strong and satisfactory in confirmation of the foregoing principle. We receive a muc!) greater satisfaction from the approba- A DISSKIITATION r as continuations of our own opinion. And if the opinions of others have more influence in this subject than in any other, it is easily accounted for from the nature of the subject. 1 1. Thus few objects, however related to us, and whatever pleasure they produce, are able to excite a great decree of pride or self-satisfaction; unless they be also obvious to others, and engage the approbation of the spectators. What disposition of mind so desirable as the peaceful, resigned, contented ; which readily submits to all the dispensations of providence, and preserves a, constant sorenitv amidst the greatest misfortunes and disappointments ? Vet this dispo- sition, though acknowledged to be a virtue or excellence, is seldom the foundation of great vanity or self-applause ; having no brilliancy or exterior lustre, and rather cheering t lie heart, than animating the behaviour and conversation. The case is the same with many other qualities of the mind, body, or fortune ; and this circumstance, as well as the double relations above mentioned, must be admitted to be of con- sequence in the production of these passions. A. second circumstance, which is of consequence in this affair, is the constancy and durableness of the object. What is very casual and inconstant, beyond the common course ot human atl'airs, gives little joy, and less pride. We are not much satisfied with the thing itself; and are still less apt to feel any new degree of self-satisfaction upon its account. Wo foresee and anticipate its change : which makes us little satisfied with the thing itself: Wo compare it to ourselves. m A DISSERTATION OX TIIK PASSION'S. SECT. whoso existence is more durable ; by which means its in- __^'_ . constancy appears still greater. It seems ridiculous to make ourselves the object of a passion, on account of a quality or possession, which is of so much shorter duration, and attends us during so small a part of our existence. A third circumstance, not to be neglected, is that the objects, in order to produce pride or self-value, must be peculiar to us, or at least common to us with a few others. The advantages of sun- shine, good weather, a happy climate, &c. distinguish us not from any of our companions, and give us no preference or superiority. The comparison, which we are every moment apt to make, presents no inference to our advantage ; and we still remain, notwithstanding these en- joyments, on a level with all our friends and acquaintance. As health and sickness vary incessantly to all men, and there is no one, who is solely or certainly iixed in either; these accidental blessings and calamities are in a manner separated from us, and are not considered as a foundation for vanity or humiliation. But wherever a malady of any kind is so rooted in our constitution, that we no longer en- tertain any hope of recovery, from that moment it damps our self-conceit, as is evident in old men, whom nothing mortifies more than the consideration of their age and in- firmities. The} r endeavour, as long as possible, to conceal their blindness and deafness, their rheums and gouts ; nor do they ever avow them without reluctance and uneasiness. And though young men are not ashamed of every head-ach or cold which they fall into; yet no topic is more proper to mortify human pride, and make us entertain a mean opinion of our nature, than this, that we are every moment of our lives subject to such infirmities. This proves, that bodily pain and sickness are in themselves proper causes of hu- mility ; though the custom of estimating every thing, by comparison, more than by its intrinsic worth and value, makes us overlook those calamities, which we find incident to every one, and causes us to form an idea of our merit and character, independent of them. We are ashamed of such maladies as affect others, and are either dangerous or disagreeable to them. Of the epi- lepsy ; because it gives horror to evrv one present: Of the itch; because it is infectious: Of the king's evil ; became A DISSERTATION < >.\ Till: I'ASSIONS. ]'>'> it often goes to posterity. Men always consider the senti- Jients of others in their judgment of themselves. A fourth circumstance, which has an influence on these passions, is yant'rftl ruli's br which we form a notion <>i difForent ranks of men, suitably to the power or riches of which thev are possessed ; and this notion is not changed by any peculiarities of health or temper of the persons, which may deprive them of all enjoyment in their possessions. Custom readily carries us beyond the just bounds in our passions, as well as in our reasonings. It may not be amiss to observe on this occasion, that the influence of general rules and maxims on the passions very much contributes to facilitate the effects of all the principles or internal mechanism, which we here explain. For it seems evident, that, if a person full grown, and of the same nature with ourselves, were on a sudden transported into our world, he would be much embarrassed with every object, and would not readily determine what decree of love or hatred, of pride or humility, or of any other passion should be ex- cited by it. The passions are often varied by very inconsider- able principles ; and these do not always play with perfect regularity, especially on the first trial. Init as custom or practice has brought to light all these principles, and has tv-ttled the just value of every thing : this must certainly contribute to the easy production of the passions, and guide us, by means of general established rules, in the proportions, which we ought to observe in preferring one object to another. This remark may, perhaps, serve to obviate difficulties, that arise concerning some causes, which we here ascribe to par- ticular passions, and which may be esteemed too refined to operate so universally and certainly, as they are found to do. SECT. TFT. 1. In running over all the causes, which produce the pas- sion of pride or that of humility ; it would readily occur, that the same circumstance, if transferred from ourselves to another person, would render him the object of love or hatred, esteem or contempt. The virtue, genius, beauty, family, riches, and authority of others beu'et favourable senti- ments in their behalf: and their vice, folly, deformity, poverty, and meanness excite the contrary sentiments. The 150 A DISSERTATION OA THE PASSIONS. SECT, double relation of impressions and ideas still operates _ ._/ _^ on these r assions of love and hatred ; as on the former of pride and humility. Whatever gives a separate pleasure or pain, and is related to another person or connected with him, makes him the object of our affection or disgust. Hence too injury or contempt towards iis is one of the greatest sources of our hatred ; services or esteem, of our friendship. 2. Sometimes a relation to ourselves excites affection towards any person. But there is always here implied a relation of sentiments, without which the other relation would have no influence. 1 A person, who is related to us, or connected with us, by blood, by similitude of fortune, of adventures, profession, or country, soon becomes an agreeable companion to us ; because we enter easily and familiarly into his sentiments and concep- tions : Nothing is strange or new to us : Our imagination, passing from self, which is ever intimately present to us, runs smoothly along the relation or connexion, and conceives with a full sympatlry the person, who is nearly related to self. He renders himself immediately acceptable, and is at once on an easy footing with us : No distance, no reserve hag place, where the person introduced is supposed so closely connected with us. Relation has here the same influence as custom or ac- quaintance, in exciting affection ; and from like causes. The ease and satisfaction, which, in both cases, attend our inter- course or commerce, is the source of the friendship. 3. The passions of love and hatred are always followed by, or rather conjoined with, benevolence and anger. It is this conjunction, which chiefly distinguishes these affections from pride and humility. For pride and humility are pure emotions in the soul, unattended with any desire, and not immediately exciting us to action. But love and hatred are not compleat within themselves, nor rest in that emo- tion, which they produce ; but carry the mind to some- thing farther. Love is always followed by a desire of happiness to the person beloved, and an aversion to his misery: As hatred produces a desire of the misery, and !s on tlu A niSSKKTATK.'N : iN THK I'ASSloXS. 1T,7 an aversion to the happiness of the person hated. These opposite desires seem to be originally ami primarily conjoined with the passions of love and hatred. It is a Constitution of nature, of which we can give no farther explication. 4. Compassion frequently arises, where there is no pre- ceding esteem or friendship ; and compassion is an uneasiness in the sufferings of another. It seems to spring from the intimate and strong conception of his sufferings; and our imagination proceeds by degrees, from the lively idea to the real feeling of another's misery. Malice and envy also arise in the mind without any pre- ceding hatred or injury; though their tendency is exactly the same with that of anger and ill-will. The comparison of ourselves with others seems to be the source of envy and malice. The more unhappy another is, the more happy do we ourselves appear in our own conception. "). The similar tendency of compassion to that of bene- volence, and of envy to anger, forms a, very close relation between these two sets of passions : though of a different kind from that which was insisted on above. Tt is not a resemblance of feeling or sentiment, but a resemblance of tendency or direction. Its effect, however, is the same, in producing an association of passions. Compassion is seldom or never felt without some mixture of tenderness or friendship : and envy is naturally accompanied witli anger oi' ill-will. To desire the happiness of another, from what- ever motive, is a good preparative to affection; and to delight in another's misery almost unavoidably begets aversion to- wards him. Even where interest is the source of our concern, it is commonly attended with the same consequences. A partner is a natural object of friendship ; a rival of enmity. (i. Poverty, meanness, disappointment, produce contempt and dislike : But when these misfortunes are very great, or are represented to us in very strong colours, they excite Compassion, and tenderness, and friendship. Plow is this contradiction to be accounted for? The poverty and mean- ness of another, in their common appearance, gives us un- easiness, by a species of imperfect sympathy ; and this un- easiness produces aversion or dislike, from the resemblance of sentiment. But when we enter more intimately in*o another's concerns, and wish for his happiness, as well as feel 158 A DISSERTATION OX THE PASSIONS. SECT, his misery, friendship or goodwill arises, from the similar ^1_ tendency of the inclinations. 1 A bankrupt, at first, while the idea of his misfortunes is fresh and recent, and while the comparison of his present unhappy situation with his former prosperity operates strongly upon us, meets with compassion and friendship. After these ideas are weakened or obliterated by time, he is in danger of compassion and contempt. 7. In respect, there is a mixture of humility, with the esteem or affection : In contempt, a mixture of pride. The amorous passion is usually compounded of compla- cency in beauty, a bodily appetite, and friendship or affec- tion. The close relation of these sentiments is very obvious, as well as their origin from each other, by means of that rela- tion. Were there 110 other phenomenon to reconcile us to the present theory, this alone, methinks, were sufficient. !SECT. IV 1. The present theory of the passions depends entirely on the double relations of sentiments and ideas, and the mutual assistance, which these relations lend to each other. It may not, therefore, be improper to illustrate these prin- ciples by some farther instances. 2. The virtues, talents, accomplishments, and possessions of others, make us love and esteem them : Because these objects excite a pleasing sensation, which is related to love ; and as they have also a relation or connexion with the person, this union of ideas forwards the union of sentiments, ac- cording to the foregoing reasoning. But suppose, that the person, whom we love, is also re- lated to us, by blood, country, or friendship ; it is evident, that a species of pride must also be excited by his accom- plishments and possessions; there being the same double relation, which we have all along insisted on. The person is related to us, or there is an easy transition of thought from him to us ; and sentiments, excited by his advantages and virtues, are agreeable, ;ind consequently related to pride. Accordingly we find, that people are naturally vain of the good qualities or high fortune of their friends and countrymen. 1 [Thi- p.uMgnij'h v;is udded in MJition R.j \ DISSERTATION ON !!!!: I'ASSiONS. 159 'j. Hut it is observable, that, if we reverse the order of the SECT, passions, the same effect d(es not follow. We pass easily _ T * from love and affection to pride and vanity; but not from *Jie latter passions to the former, though all tlie relations be the same. \Ve love not those who are related to us, on ac- count of our own merit ; though they are naturally vain on account of our merit. What is the reason of this difference ? The transition of the imagination to ourselves, from objects related to us, is always easy; both on account of the rela- tion, which facilitates the transition, and because we there pass from remoter objects, to those which are contiguous. Hut in passing from ourselves to objects, related to us; though the former principle forwards the transition of thought, yet the latter opposes it ; and consequently ther^ is not the same easy transfusion of passions from pride to love as from, love to pride. -1-. The virtues, services, and fortune of one man inspire us readily with esteem and affection for another related to him. The son of our friend is naturally entitled to our friendship* The kindred of a very great man value themselves, and are valued by others, on account of that relation. The force of the double relation is here fully displayed. o. The following are instances of another kind, where the operation of these principles may still be discovered. Envy arises from a superiority in others ; but it is observable, that it is not the great disproportion between us, which exites that passion, but on the contrary, our proximity. A great disproportion cuts off the relation of the ideas, and either keeps us from comparing ourselves with what is remote from us, or diminishes the effects of the comparison. A poet is not apt to envy a philosopher, or a poet of a dif- ferent kind, of a different nation, or of a different age. All these differences, if they do uot prevent, at least weaken the comparison, and consequently the passion. This too is the reason, why all objects appear great or little, merely by a comparison with those of the same species. A mountain neither magnifies nor diminishes a horse in our eyes : But when a E'LEMISH and a WELSH horse are seen to- gether, the one appears greater and the other less, than when viewed apart. From the same principle we may account for that remark of historians,, that any party, in a civil war. or even factious 1GO A DISSERTATION OX THE PASSIONS. SECT. division, always choose to call in a foreign, enemy at any ._ / _^ hazard, rather than submit to their fellow-citizens. GUICCI- ARDIN applies this remark to the wars in ITALY ; where the relations between the different states are, properly speaking-, nothing but of name, language, and contiguity. Yet even these relations, when joined with superiority, by making the comparison more natural, make it likewise more grievous, and cause men to search for some other superiority, which may be attended with no relation, and by that means, may have a less sensible influence on the imagination. When w r e cannot break the association, we feel a stronger desire to remove the superiority. This seems to be the reason, why travellers, though commonly lavish of their praise to the CHINESE and PERSIANS, take care to depreciate those neigh- bouring nations, which may stand upon a footing of rivalship with their native country. 6. The fine arts afford us parallel instances. Should an author compose a treatise, of which one part was serious and profound, another light and humorous ; every one would condemn so strange a mixture, and would blame him for the neglect of all rules of art and criticism. Yet we accuse not PRIOR, for joining liisAlma and Solomon in the same volume ; though that amiable poet has perfectly succeeded in the gaiety of the one, as well as in the melancholy of the other. Even suppose the reader should peruse these two compo- sitions without any interval, he would feel little or no diffi- culty in the change of the passions. Why ? but because he considers these performances as entirely different ; and by that break in the ideas, breaks the progress of the affections, and hinders the one from influencing or contradicting the other. An heroic and burlesque design, united in one picture, would be monstrous; though we place 1\vo pictures of so opposite a character in the same chamber, and even close to- gether, without any serunle. 7. It needs be no matter nf wonder, that the easy transi- tion of the imagination should have such an influence on all the passions. It is this very circumstance, which forms all the relations and connexions amongst objects. We know no real connexion between one thing and another. We only know, that the idea of one thing is associated with that of another, and that the imagination makes an easy transition A DISSERTATION ON THE PASSIONS. 1(31 between them. And as the easy transition of ideas, and that SKCT. of sentiments mutually assist each other ; we might before- - ,_!_ hand expect, that this principle must have a mighty influ- ence on all our internal movements and affections. And ex- perience sufficiently confirms the theory. For, not to repeat all the foregoing instances : Suppose, that I were travelling with a companion through a country, to which we are both utter strangers ; it is evident, that, if the prospects be beautiful, the roads agreeable, and the fields finely cultivated ; this may serve to put me in good-humour, both with myself and fellow-traveller. But as the country lias no connexion with myself or friend, it can never be the immediate cause either of self-value or of regard to him : And therefore, if I found not the passion on some other ob- ject, which bears to one of us a closer relation, my emotions are rather to be considered as the overflowings of an elevated or humane disposition, than as an established passion. But supposing the agreeable prospect before us to be surveyed either from his country-seat or from mine ; this new con- nexion of ideas gives a new direction to the sentiment of pleasure, derived from the prospect, and raises the emotion of regard or vanity, according to the nature of the connexion. There is not here, methinks, much room for doubt or difficulty. SECT. V. 1. It seems evident, that reason, in a strict sense, as meaning the judgment of truth and falsehood, can never, of itself, be any motive to the will, and can have no influence but so far as it touches some passion or affection. Abstract relations of ideas are the object of curiosity, not of volition. And matters of fact, where they are neither good nor evil, where they neither excite desire nor aversion, are totally in- different, and whether known or unknown, whether mistaken or rightly apprehended, cannot be regarded as any motive to action. 2. What is commonly, in a popular sense, called reason, and is so much recommended in moral discourses, is nothing but a general and a calm passion, which takes a comprehen- sive and a distant view of its object, and actuates the will, without exciting any sensible emotion. A man, we say, is diligent in his profession from reason ; that is, from a calm VOL. IV. il 1G2 A DISSERTATION ON THE PASSIONS. SECT. desire of riclies and a fortune. A man adheres to justice _ ' ^ from reason ; that is, from a calm regard to public good, or to a character with himself and others. 3. The same objects, which recommend themselves to reason in this sense of the word, are also the objects of what we call passion, when they are brought near to us, and ac- quire some other advantages, either of external situation, or congruity to our internal temper ; and by that means excite a turbulent and sensible emotion. Evil, at a great distance, is avoided, we say, from reason : Evil, near at hand, produces aversion, horror, fear, and is the object of passion. 4. The common error of metaphysicians has lain in ascribing the direction of the will entirely to one of these principles, and supposing the other to have no influence. Men often act knowingly against their interest : It is not therefore the view of the greatest possible good which always influences them. Men often counteract a violent passion, in prosecution of their distant interests and designs : It is not therefore the present uneasiness alone, which determines them. In general, we may observe, that both these princi- ples operate on the will ; and where they are contrary, that either of them prevails, according to the general character or present disposition of the person. What we call strength, of mind implies the prevalence of the calm passions above; the violent; though we may easily observe, that there is no person so constantly possessed of this virtue, as never, OH any occasion, to yield to the solicitation of violent affection and desire. From these variations of temper pi-oceeds the great difficulty of deciding with regard to the future actions and resolutions of men, where there is any contrariety of motives and passions. SECT. VI. 1. We shall here enumerate some of those circumstances, which render a passion calm or violent, which heighten or diminish any emotion. It is a property in human nature, that any emotion, which attends a passion, is easily converted into it; though in their natures they be originally different from, and oven contrary to each other. It is true, in order to cause a perfect union amongst passions, and make one produce the other, there is A IUSSF.HTATION ON THK I'ASSIONS. Hi:', always required a double relation, according to the theory above delivered. But when two passions are already pro- duced by their separate causes, and are both present in the mind, they readily mingle and nnite; though they have but one relation, and sometimes without any. The predominant passion swallows np the inferior, and converts it into itself. The spirits, when once excited, easily receive a change in their direction ; and it is natural to imagine, that this change will come from the prevailing affection. The con- nexion is in many cases closer between any two passions than between any passion and indifference. When a person is once heartily in love, the little faults and caprices of his mistress, the jealousies and quarrels, to which that commerce is so subject : however unpleasant they be, and rather connected with anger and hatred ; are yet found, in many instances, to give additional force to the pre- vailing passion. It is a common artifice of politicians, when they would affect any person very much by a matter of fact, of which they intend to inform him, first to excite his curiosity ; delay as long as possible the satisfying of it ; and by that means raise his anxiety and patience to the utmost, before they give him a full insight into the business. They know, that this curiosity will precipitate him into the passion, which they purpose to raise, and will assist the object in its influence on the mind. A soldier advancing to battle, is naturally inspired with courage and confidence, when he thinks on his friends and fellow-soldiers ; and is struck with fear and terror, when he reflects 011 the enemy. Whatever new emotion therefore proceeds from the former, naturally encreases the courage ; as the same emotion proceeding from the latter, augments the fear. Hence in martial disci- pline, the uniformity and lustre of habit, the regularity of figures and motions, with all the pomp and majesty of war, encourage ourselves and our allies ; while the same objects in the enemy strike terror into us, though agreeable and beautiful in themselves. Hope is, in itself, an agreeable passion, and allied to friendship and benevolence ; yet is it able sometimes to blow up anger, when that is the predominant passion. ${ns addita xnxriiitf ira*. VlRG. 2. Since passions, however independent, are naturally transfused into each other, if they be both present at tho 1G4 A DISSERTATION UN THE TASSIOXS. $Ei'T. same time; it follows, that when good or evil is placed in _ , such a situation as to cause any particular emotion, besides its direct passion of desire or aversion, this latter pnssion must acquire new force and violence. 3. This often happens, when any object excites contrary passions. For it is observable, that an opposition of passions commonly causes a new emotion in the spirits, and produces more disorder than the concurrence of any two affections of equal force. This new emotion is easily converted into the predominant passion, and in many instances, is observed to enerease its violence, beyond the pitch, at which it would have arrived, had it met with no opposition. Hence we naturally desire what is forbid, and often take a pleasure in performing actions, merely because they are unlawful. The notion of duty, when opposite to the passions, is not always able to overcome them ; and when it fails of that effect, is apt rather to encrease and irritate them, by producing an opposition in our motives and principles. 4. The same effect follows, whether the opposition, arise from internal motives or external obstacles. The passion commonly acquires new force in both cases. The efforts, which the mind makes to surmount the obstacle, excite the spirits, and enliven the passion. 5. Uncertainty has the same effect as opposition. The agitation of the thought, the quick turns which it makes, from one view to another, the variety of passions which suc- ceed each other, according to the different views: All these produce an emotion in the mind; and this emotion transfuses itself into the predominant passion. Security, on the. contrary, diminishes the passions. The mind, when left to itself, immediately languishes; and in order to preserve its ardour, must be every moment supported by a new flow of passion. For the same reason, despair, though contrary to security, ha< a like influence. (5. Nothing more powerfully exvitcs any affection than to conceal some part of its object, by throwing it into a, kind of shade, which at the same time that it shows enough to pi-epossess us in favour of the object, leaves still some work for the imagination. Besides that obscurity is always attended with a kind of uncertainty ; the effort, which the fancy makes to compleat the idea, rou/es the spirits, and gives an additional force to the passion. A niSSKHTATIo.N ON THK PASSIONS. ]r,fi 7. As despair and security, though contrary, produce the stf( Rame effects ; so absence is observed to have contra rv effect.*., and in different circumstances, either encreases or diminishes our affection. RoCHEFOUCAULT has very well remarked, that absence destroys weak passions, but enereases strong; as the wind extinguishes a cardie, but blows up a (ire. Long absence naturally weakens our idea, and diminishes the pas- sion : J?ut where the affection is so strong and lively as to support itself, the uneasiness, arising from absence, enereases the passion, and gives it new force and influence. S. When the soul applies itself to the performance of a:iv action, or the conception of any object, to which it is nut. accustomed, there is a certain unpliableness in the faculties, and a difficulty of the spirits moving 1 in their new direction. As this difficulty excites the spirits, it is the source of wonder, surprize, and of all the emotions, which arise from novelty ; and is, in it-self, agreeable, like every thing which enlivens the mind to a moderate degree. But though surprize be agreeable in itself, yet, as it puts the spirits in agitation, it not only augments our agreeable affections, but also our painful, according to the foregoing principle. Hence every thing that is new, is most affecting, and gives us either more pleasure or pain, than what, strictly speaking, should naturally follow from it. When it often returns upon us, the novelty wears off; the passions subside; the hurry of the spirits is over ; and we survey the object with greater tranquillity. 9. The imagination and affections have a close union together. The vivacity of the former gives force to the latter. Hence the prospect of any pleasure, with which we are acquainted, affects us more than any other pleasure, -which we may own superior, but of whose nature we are wholly ignorant. Of the one we can form a particular and determinate idea. The other we conceive under the general notion of pleasure. Any satisfaction, which we lately enjoyed, and of which the memory is fresh and recent, operates on the will with more violence, than another of which the traces are decayed and almost obliterated. A pleasure, which is suitable to the way of life, in which we are engaged, excites more our desire and appetite than another, which is foreign to it. Nothing is m're capable of infixing anv passion into the 106 A DISSERTATION ON THE PASSIONS. SECT, mind, than eloquence, by which objects are represented in _^ the strongest and most lively colours. The bare opinion of another, especially when enforced with passion, will cause nn idea to have an influence upon us, though that idea might otherwise have been entirely neglected. It is remarkable, that lively passions commonly attend a lively imagination. In this respect, as well as in others, the force of the passion depends as much on the temper of the person, as on the nature and situation of the object. What is distant, either in place or time, has not equal in- fluence with what is near and contiguous. * * * * * * * * * I pretend not to have here exhausted this subject. It is sufficient for my purpose, if I have made it appear, that, in the production and conduct of the passions, there is a certain regular mechanism, which is susceptible of as accurate a disquisition, as the laws of motion, optics, hydrostatics, or any part of natural philosophy. ENQUIRY CONCERNING THE PRINCIPLES OF MORALS. AN ENQUIRY CONCERNING T1IK PRINCIPLES OF MOEALS. SECTION I. Of the General Principles of Morals. DISPUTES with men, pertinaciously obstinate in their prin- SECT. ciples, are, of all others, the most irksome ; except, perhaps, . . ; those with persons, 'entirely disingenuous, who really do not believe the opinions they defend, but engage in the con- troversy, from affectation, from a spirit of opposition, or from a desire of showing wit and ingenuity, superior to the rest of mankind. The same blind adherence to their own arguments is to be expected in both; the same contempt of their antagonists ; and the same passionate vehemence, in inforcing sophistry and falsehood. And as reasoning is not the source, whence either disputant derives his tenets ; it is in vain to expect, that any logic, which speaks not to the affections, will ever engage him to embrace sounder prin- ciples. Those who have denied the reality of moral distinction?, may be ranked among the disingenuous disputants ; nor is it conceivable, that any human creature could ever seriously believe, that all characters and actions were alike entitled to the affection and regard of every one. The difference, whk-h nature has placed between one man and another, is so wide, and this difference is still so much farther widened, by education, example, and habit, that, where the opposite extremes come at once under our apprehension, there is no scepticism so scrupulous, and scarce any assurance so deter- mined, as absolutely to deny ah distinction between them. ' [Entirely disingenuous : added in Edition il.J 170 CONCERNING THE PRINCIPLES OF MORALS. Let a man's insensibility be ever so great, he must often bo touched with the images of EIGHT "and WEONG ; and let his prejudices be ever so obstinate, he must observe, that others are susceptible of like impressions. The only way, therefore, of converting an antagonist of this kind, is to leave him to himself. For, finding that no body keeps up the controversy with him, it is probable he will, at last, of himself, from mere weariness, come over to the side of com- mon sense and reason. There has been a controversy started of late, much better worth examination, concerning the general foundation of MORALS ; whether they be derived from REASON, or from SENTIMENT ; whether we attain the knowledge of them by a chain of argument and induction, or by an immediate feeling and finer internal sense ; whether, like all sound judgment of truth and falsehood, they should be the same to every rational intelligent being ; or whether, like the per- ception of beauty and deformity, they be founded entirely on the particular fabric and constitution of the human species. The ancient philosophers, though they often affirm, that virtue is nothing but conformity to reason, yet, in general, seem to consider morals as deriving their existence from taste and sentiment. On the other hand, our modern en- quirers, though they also balk much of the beauty of virtue, and deformity of vice, yet have commonly endeavoured to account for these distinctions by metaphysical reasonings, and by deductions from the most abstract principles of the understanding. Such confusion reigned in these subjects, that an opposition of the greatest consequence could prevail between one system and another, and even in the parts of almost each individual system ; and yet no body, till very lately, was ever sensible of it. The elegant ' Lord SHAFTES- BURY, who first gave occasion to remark tbis distinction, and who, in general, adhered to the principles of the ancients, is not, himself, entirely free from the same confusion. tt must be acknowledged, that botli sides of the question are susceptible of specious arguments. Moral distinctions, it may be said, are discernible by pure reason : Else, whence the many disputes that reign in common life, as well as in philosophy, with regard to this subject : The long chain of 1 [Elegant ami sublime: Ivlitiuns G ami K.j OF Till-; (JKNKKAL IMMNTII'LKS OF MORALS. 171 ] 'roofs often produced on both sides ; the. examples cited, the SK'T. authorities appealed to, the analogies employed, the fallacies ./__ detected, tho inferences drawn, and the several conclusions adjusted to their proper principles. Truth is disputable; not taste: What exists in the nature of things is the standard of our judgment ; what each man feels within him- self is the standard of sentiment. Propositions in geometry may he proved, systems in physics may he controverted; but the harmony of verse, the tenderness of passion, the bril- liancy of wit, must give immediate pleasure. No man reasons concerning another's beauty ; but frequently con- cerning the justice or injustice of his actions. In every criminal trial the first object of the prisoner is to disprove the facts alleged, and deny the actions imputed to him : The second to prove, that, even if these actions were real, they might be justified, as innocent and lawful. It is confessedly by deductions of the understanding, that the first point is ascertained : How can we suppose that a different faculty of the mind is employed in fixing the other P On the other hand, those who would resolve all moral determinations into sentiment, may endeavour to show, that it is impossible for reason ever to draw conclusions of this nature. To virtue, say they, it belongs to be amiable, and vice odious. This forms their very nature or essence. But can reason or argumentation distribute these different epithets to any subjects, and pronounce before-hand, that this must produce love, and that hatred ? Or what other reason can we ever assign for these affections, but the original fabric and formation of the human mind, which is naturally adapted to receive them 'P The end of all moral speculations is to teach us our duty ; and, by proper representations of the deformity of vice and beauty of virtue, beget correspondent habits, and engage us to avoid the one, and embrace the other. But is this ever to be expected from inferences and conclusions of the under- standing, which of themselves have no hold of the affections or set in motion the active powers of men 'P They discovei truths : But where the truths which they discover are in- different, and beget no desire or aversion, they can have no influence on conduct and behaviour. What is honourable, what is fair, what is becoming, what is noble, what is gene- rous, takes possession of the heart, and animates via to 172 CONCKIINING THE PPJN'CIl'LKS OF MOHALS. SECT, embrace and maintain it. What is intelligible, what is evi- I- _, dent, what is probable, what is true, procures only the cool assent of the understanding- ; and gratifying a speculative curiosity, puts an end to our researches. Extinguish all the warm feelings and prepossessions iu favour of virtue, and all disgust or aversion to vice : Render men totally indifferent towards these distinctions ; and morality is no longer a practical study, nor has any tendency to regulate our lives and actions. O These arguments on each side (and many more might be produced) are so plausible, that I am apt to suspect, they may, the one as well as the other, be solid and satisfactory, and that reason and sentiment concur in almost all moral determinations and conclusions. The final sentence, it is probable, which pronounces characters and actions amiable or odious, praise-worthy or blameable ; that which stamps on them the mark of honour or infamy, approbation or censure ; that which renders morality an active principle, and con- stitutes virtue our happiness, and vice our misery : It is pro- bable, I say, that this final sentence depends on some internal sense or feeling, which nature has made universal in the whole species. For what else can have an influence of this nature ? But in order to pave the way for such a sentiment, and give a proper discernment of its object, it is often neces- sary, we find, that much reasoning should precede, that nico distinctions be made, just conclusions drawn, distant com- parisons formed, complicated relations examined, and gene- ral facts fixed and ascertained. Some species of beauty, especially the natural kinds, on their first appearance, com- mand our affection and approbation ; and where they fail of this effect, it is impossible for any reasoning to redress their influence, or adapt them better to our taste and sentiment. But in many orders of beauty, particularly those of the finer arts, it is requisite to employ much reasoning, in order to i'eel the proper sentiment ; and a false relish may frequently be corrected by argument and reflection. There are just grounds to conclude, that moral beauty partakes much of this latter species, and demands the assistance of our intel- lectual faculties, in order to give it a suitable influence on the human mind. But though this question, concerning the general principles of morals, be curious and important, it is needless for us, at OK T1IK. (SKNKIJAL I'KI.M 'Il'I.KS OK MOHAL.S. 17:; present, to employ farther care in our researches concerning it. For if we csin be so hit]>])y, in the course of this enquiry, as to discover the true origin of morals, it will thru easily appear how far either sentiment or reason enters into all determinations of this nature. 1 2 In order to attain thU purpo.se, we shall endeavour to follow a very simple, method : We shall analyse that complication of mental qualities, v.'hich form what, in common life, we call PKKSOXAL MERIT : AYe shall consider every attribute of the mind, which renders a man an object either of esteem and affection, or of hatred and contempt; every habit or sentiment or faculty, which, if ascribed to any person, implies either praise or blame, and may enter into any panegyric or satire of his character and manners. The quick sensibility, which, 011 this head, is so universal among mankind, gives a philosopher sufficient assurance, that he can never be considerably mistaken in framing the catalogue, or incur any danger of misplacing the objects of his contemplation: He needs only enter into his own breast for a moment, and consider whether or not he should desire to have this or that quality ascribed to him, and whether such or such an imputation would proceed from a friend or an enemy. The very nature of language guides us almost infallibly in forming a judgment of this nature ; and as every tongue possesses one set of words which are taken in a good sense, and another in the opposite, the least acquaintance with the idiom suffices, without any reasoning, to direct us in collecting and arranging the estimable or blameable qualities of men. The only object of reasoning is to discover the circumstances on both sides, which are com- mon to these qualities ; to observe that particular in which the estimable qualities agree on the one hand, and the blameable on the other ; and thence to reach the foundation of ethics, and find those universal principles, from which all 1 See Appendix I. Concerning Mural pall evrt/ f/n?i'v or (ictinn if the //ii>,,/. Sentiment. virtuous, t/'/iich in uttt-iideil 'rith tlic IK n- - 2 [Editions G to X omit as far as ro! approbation of "mankind: and we, 'ultimately derived,' and substitute the shall denominate vicious, ti'crtj r-imU''/ following: Mean while, it will scarce which is th>' object of general blpiiis or lie possible for us, er< tiiiscontr versy is cras>irf. Those qualities we shall en- fully decided, to proceed in that ami- deavour to collect ; and after examining, rate manner, required in the sciences : on both sides, the several circumstances, bv beginning with exact definitions of in which they agree, 'tis hoped \\v may, virtue and vice, which are the objects at last, reach the foundation of . t : iies, of our present enquiry. But we shall and Hnd th'-se universal principles, from do what may justly be esteemed as satis- w!;vh all moral h'air.e or ;:p; the envy or ill-will of the public : ' [This paragraph \v;is ad. led in Jvli- tif.n O.] -' |In IviitionsG t"Q this Section was Intro iuoc-'l l.y paragraphs, forming Par! r. \vliirn subsequently appeared as A p approbation, and &c: Editions Q to X.] OF HKNKYOLENX'K. 1" But as soon us the praises ;nv added of humane and beneii- SKCT cent; when instances are displayed of lenity, tenderness, or friendship: envy itself is silent, or joins the general voice l'\"r'L of approbation and applause. When PKUIOLKS, the great ATHEXTAX statesman and general, was on liis death-bed, his surrounding friends, deeming him now insensible, began to indulge their sorrow for their expiring patron, by enumerating his great qualities and successes, his conquests and victories, the unusual length of his administration, and his nine trophies erected over the enemies of the republic. You fort/ft, cries the dying hero, who had heard all, you fonj/'f tl/e moxt eminent of my praixes, while i/ou dwell xo much on those vulyar rHlurintcifjci*} in which fortune had a principal nhare. You hare not oJim'i-i'ed, that no citizen Jias ever yet iconic mourning on my nccount. 1 In men of more ordinary talents and capacity, the social virtues become, if possible, still more essentially requisite ; there being nothing eminent, in that case, to compensate for the want of them, or preserve the person from our severest hatred, as well as contempt. A high ambition, an elevated courage, is apt, says CICERO, in less perfect cha- racters, to degenerate into a turbulent ferocity. The more social and softer virtues are there chiefly to be regarded. These are always good and amiable. 2 The principal advantage, which JUVEXAL discovers in the extensive capacity of the human species is, that it renders our benevolence also more extensive, and gives us larger opportunities of spreading our kindly influence than what are indulged to the inferior creation. 3 It must, indeed, be confessed, that by doing good only, can a man truly enjoy the advantages of being eminent. His exalted station, of itself, but the more exposes him to danger and tempest. His sole prerogative is to afford shelter to inferiors, who repose themselves under his cover and protection. But I forget, that it is not my present business to recom- mend generosity and benevolence, or to paint, in their true colours, all the genuine charms of the social virtues. These, indeed, sufficiently engage every heart, on the first appre- hension of them ; and it is difficult to abstain from some sally of panegyric, as often as they occur in discourse or reasoning. But our object here being more the speculative, 1 PLCT. in FEKICI.F, 38. - Cic. Jo Offici'.s, lib. i. 3 Sat. sv. 139. & seq. 170 CONCERNING THE PRINCIPLES OF MORALS. than the practical part of morals, it will suffice to remark, (what will readily, I believe, be allowed) that no qualities are more intitled to the general good-will and approbation of mankind than benevolence and humanity, friendship and gratitude, natural affection and public spirit, or whatever proceeds from a tender sympathy with others, and a gene- rous concern for our kind and species. These, wherever they appear, seem to transfuse themselves, in a manner, into each beholder, and to call forth, in their own behalf, the same favourable and affectionate sentiments, which they exert on all around. PART II. 1 We may observe, that, in displaying the praises of any humane, beneficent man, there is one circumstance which never fails to be amply insisted on, namely, the happiness and satisfaction, derived to society from his intercourse and good offices. To his parents, we are apt to say, he endears himself by his pious attachment and duteous care, still more than by the connexions of nature. His children never feel his authority, but when employed for their advantage. With him, the ties of love are consolidated by beneficence and friendship. The ties of friendship approach, in a fond ob- servance of each obliging office, to those of love and incli- nation. His domestics and dependants have in him a sure resource ; and no longer dread the power of fortune, but so far as she exercises it over him. From him the hungry receive food, the naked cloathing, the ignorant and slothful skill and industry. Like the sun, an inferior minister of providence, he cheers, invigorates, and sustains the sur- rounding world. If confined to private life, the sphere of his activity is narrower; but his influence is all benign and gentle. If exalted into a higher station, mankind and posterity reap the fruit of his labours. As these topics of praise never fail to be employed, and with success, where we would inspire esteem for any one ; may it not thence be concluded, that the UTILITY, re- sulting from the social virtues, forms, at least, a part of their merit, and is one source of that approbation and regard so universally paid to them j* ' [I';irt in. iu Ivliiions G to Q.j OK I'.KNKvoLKXcK. irr When we recommend even nn animal or a plant ;is twl'al and l>i-n,'fi<-i(J. " SKKT. Eiir. adversus MATH. lib. ix. 8 Dion. Sic. passim. 291. is. VOL. IV. N 173 CONCERNING THE PRINCIPLES OF MORALS. SECT, putes arise, either in philosophy or common life, concerning _ _ _ . the bounds of duty, the question cannot, by any means, be i^u-rll. decided with greater certainty, than by ascertaining, on any side, the true interests of mankind. If any false opinion, embraced from appearances, has been found to prevail ; as soon as farther experience and sounder reasoning have given us juster notions of human affairs ; we retract our first sentiment, and adjust anew the boundaries of moral good and evil. Giving alms to common beggars is naturally praised ; because it seems to carry relief to the distressed and indi- gent : But when we observe the encouragement thence arising to idleness and debauchery, we regard that species of charity rather as a weakness than a virtue. Tyrannicide, or the assassination of usurpers and oppres- sive princes, was highly extolled in ancient times ; because it both freed mankind from many of these monsters, and seemed to keep the others in awe, whom the sword or poinard could not reach. But history and experience having since convinced us, that this practice encreases the jealousy and cruelty of princes, a TmoLEOX and a BRUTUS, though treated with indulgence on account of the prejudices of their times, are now considered as very improper models for imitation. Liberality in princes is regarded as a mark of beneficence : But when it occurs, that the homely bread of the honest and industrious is often thereby converted into delicious cates for the idle and the prodigal, we soon retract our heedless praises. The regrets of a prince, for having lost a day, were noble and generous : But had he intended to have spent it in acts of generosity to his greedy courtiers, it was better lost than misemployed after that manner. Luxury, or a refinement 011 the pleasures and conveniencies of life, had long been supposed the source of every corrup- tion in government, and the immediate cause of faction, sedition, civil wars, and the total loss of liberty. It was, therefore, universally regarded as a vice, and was an object of declamation to all satyrists, and severe moralists. Those, who prove, or attempt to prove, that such refinements rather tend to the encrease of industry, civility, and arts, regulate anew our moral as well as political sentiments, and represent, as laudable or innocent, what had formerly been regarded as pernicious and blameable. OF JJKNKYnU-lNCK. 179 Upon the whole, then, if serins undeniable, Hint nothing SECT. can bestow more merit, on any human creature than 1 he sentiment of benevolence in an eminent decree; and that, I'AUT Jl. a ]>!!, at least, of its incvi! arises from its tendency to promote the interests of our sp -cies, and bestow happiness on human society. ^\ e carry our view into the .::i luf ary con- sequences of such a character and disposition; and whatever has so benign an influence, and forwards so desirable an end, is beheld with complacency and pleasure. The social virtues are never regarded without their beueiieial tendencies, nor viewed as barren and unfruitful. The happiness of mankind, the order of society, the harmony of families, the mutual support of friends, are always considered as the result of their gentle dominion over the breasts of men. How considerable a jmi'f of their merit we ought to ascribe to their utility, will better appear from future disquisitions ; l as well as the reason, why this circumstance has such a command over our esteem and approbation. 2 SECTION III. Of Justice. PART I. THAT Justice is useful to society, and consequently that part of its merit, at least, must arise from that consideration, it would be a superfluous undertaking to prove. That public utility is the nolc origin of justice, and that reflections on the beneficial consequences of this virtue are the .W^ founda- tion of its merit ; this proposition, being more curious and important, will better deserve our examination and enquirv. Let us suppose, that nature has bestowed on the human race such profuse rh. Why I'liiiiy Pleases. Of Political .Society. 160 CONCERNING THE PRINCIPLES OF MURALS. >: Why give rise to property, where there cannot possibly be any injury"? Why call this object mine, when, upon the seizing of it by another, I need but stretch out my hand to possess myself of what is equally valuable '? Justice, in that case, being totally USELESS, would be an idle ceremonial, and could never possibly have place in the catalogue of virtues. We see, even in the present necessitous condition of man- kind, that, wherever any benefit is bestowed by nature in an unlimited abundance, we leave it always in common among the whole human race, and make no subdivisions of right and property. Water and air, though the most necessary of all objects, are not challenged as the property of individuals ; nor can any man commit injustice by the most lavish use and enjoyment of these blessings. In fertile extensive countries, with few inhabitants, land is regarded ou the same footing. And no topic is so much insisted on by those, who defend the liberty of the seas, as the unexhausted use of them in navigation. Were the advantages, procured by navigation, as inexhaustible, these reasoners had never had any adver- saries to refute ; nor had any claims ever been advanced of a separate, exclusive dominion over the ocean. It may happen, in some countries, at some periods, that there be established a property in water, none in land ; l if the Litter be in greater abundance than, can be used by the inhabitants, and the former be found, with difficulty, and in very small quantities. Again ; suppose, that, though the necessities of human race continue the same as at present, yet the mind is so en- larged, and so replete with friendship and generosity, that every man has the utmost tenderness for every man, and feels no more concern for his own interest than for that of his i'ellows: It seems evident, that the L'SK of justice would, in this case, be suspended by such an extensive benevolence, 1 GEXHSIS. chap. xiii. ;in<] x.\i. (! jusTin:. i.-i nor would (In 1 divisions and barriers of property and obli^ r ;i- SKv ;i deed or promise, to do me anv Ll'ood of'iee, \vlieii f know I'AICT J thiii, lie is already prompted, by the strongest inclination, to si-ek my happiness, and would, of liimselt', perform the desired service; except the hurt, he thereby receives, l>e Lj-reater than the benefit accruing 1 to me V in \vhieli case, lie knows, that, from mv innate humanity and friendship, I should he the first to oppose myself to his imprudent gene- rosity. Why raise land-marks b"tween my neighbour's (ield and mine, when my heart has made no division between our interests ; but shares all his joys and sorrows with the same force and vivacity as if originally my own ? livery man, njiou this supposition, being a second self to another, would trust all his interests to the discretion of every man ; without jealousy, without partition, without distinction. And the whole human race would form only one family; where all would lie in common, and be used freely, without regard to property; but cautiously too, with as entire regard to the necessities of each individual, as if our own interests were most intimately concerned. In the present disposition of tin. 1 human heart, it would, perhaps, be difficult to find compleat instances of such en- larged atfections; but still we may observe, that the case of families approaches towards it ; and the stronger the mutual benevolence is among the individuals, the nearer it ap- proaches ; till all distinction of property be, in a great measure, lost and confounded among them. Between mar- ried persons, the cement of friendship is by the laws supposed so strong as to abolish all division of possessions : and has often, in reality, the force ascribed to it. And it is observ- able, that, during the ardour of new enthusiasms, when every principle is inflamed into extravagance, the community of goods has frequently been attempted : and nothing but ex- perience of its incouveniencies, from the returning or dis- guised selfishness of men, could make the imprudent fanatics adopt anew the ideas of justice and of separate property. So true is it, that this virtue derives its existence entirely from its necessary use to the intercourse and social state of mankind. To make this truth more evident, let us reverse the fore- going suppositions; and carrying every thing to the opposite 182 CONCERNING THE PRINCIPLES OF MORALS. extreme, consider what would be tlie effect of these new situations. Suppose a society to fall into such want of all common necessaries, that the utmost frugality and industry cannot preserve the greater number from perishing, and the whole from extreme misery : It will readily, I believe, be admitted, that the strict laws of justice are suspended, in such a pressing emergence, and give place to the stronger motives of necessity and self-preservation. Is it any crime, after a shipwreck, to seize whatever moans or instrument of safety one can lay hold of, without regard to former limita- tions of property ? Or if a city besieged were perishing with hunger; can w r e imagine, that men will see any means of preservation before them, and lose their lives, from a scru- pulous regard to what, in other situations, would be the rules of equity and justice? The USE and TENDENCY of that virtue is to procure happiness and security, by preserving- order in society : But where the society is ready to perish from extreme necessity, no greater evil can be dreaded from violence and injustice ; and every man may now provide for himself by all the means, which prudence can dictate, or humanity permit. The public, even in less urgent necessi- ties, opens granaries, without the consent of proprietors ; as justly supposing, that the authority of magistracy may, consistent with equity, extend so far : But were any number of men to assemble, without the tye of laws or civil jurisdic- tion ; would an equal partition of bread in a famine, though effected by power and even violence, be regarded as criminal or injurious ? Suppose likewise, that it should be a virtuous man's fate to fall into the society of ruffians, remote from the protection of laws and government ; what conduct must he embrace in that melancholy situation? He sees such a desperate rapa- ciousness prevail; such a disregard to equity, such contempt of order, such stupid blindness to future consequences, as must immediately have the most tragical conclusion, and must terminate in destruction to the greater number, and in a total dissolution of society to the rest. He, mean while, can have no other expedient than to arm himself, to whom- ever the sword he seizes, or the buckler, may belong: To make provision of all means of defence and security : And his particular regard to justice being no longer of U S E to his own safety or that of others, he must consult the dictates of self-preservation alow, without concern for those who no longer merit liis care and attention. When any man, even in political society, renders himself, r.utri. by his crimes, obnoxious to the public, he is punished by tin; laws in his goods and person ; that is, the ordinary rules of justice are, with regard to him, suspended tor a moment, and it becomes equitable to inflict on him, for the liou'lit of societv, what, otherwise, he could not suffer without wrong or injury. The rage and violence of public, war; what is it but a suspension of justice among the warring parties, who per- ceive, that this virtue is now no longer of any vxc or advan- tage to them'J The laws of Avar, which then succeed to those of equity and justice, are rules calculated for the advantage and -utility of that particular state, in which men are now placed. And were a civilized nation engaged with barbarians, who observed no rules even of war; the former must also suspend their observance of them, where they no longer serve to any purpose ; and must render every action or rencounter as bloody and pernicious as possible to the first aggressors. Thus, the rules of equity or justice depend entirely on the particular state and condition, in which men are placed, and owe their origin and existence to that UTILITY, which results to the public from their strict and regular obser- vance. Reverse, in any considerable circumstance, the condition of men: Produce extreme abundance or extreme necessity : Implant in the human breast perfect moderation and humanity, or perfect rapaciousness and malice : By ren- dering justice totally v.aclcss, you thereby totally destroy its essence, and suspend its obligation upon mankind. The common situation of society is a medium amidst all these extremes. "We are naturally partial to ourselves, and to our friends ; but are capable of learning the advantage resulting from a more equitable conduct. Few enjoyments are given us from the open and liberal hand of nature ; but by art, labour, and industry, we can extract them in great abundance. Hence the ideas of property become necessary in all civil society : Hence justice derives its usefulness to the public : And hence alone arises its merit and moral obligation. These conclusions are so natural and obvious, that they 184 CONCERNING THE PRINCIPLES OF MORALS. SECT have not escaped even the poets, in their descriptions of the ,..'_, felicity, attending the golden age or the reign of SATUEN. PART I. The seasons, in that first period of nature, were so tem- perate, if we credit these agreeable fictions, that there was no necessity for men to provide themselves with cloaths and houses, as a security against the violence of heat and cold : The rivers flowed with wine and milk : The oaks yielded honey ; and nature spontaneously produced her greatest delicacies. Nor were these the chief advantages of that happy age. Tempests were not alone removed from nature; but those more furious tempests were unknown to human breasts, which now cause such uproar, and engender such confusion. Avarice, ambition, cruelty, selfishness, were never heard of: Cordial affection, compassion, sympathy, were the only movements with which the mind was yet acquainted. Even the punctilious distinction of mine and thine was banished from among that happy race of mortals, and carried with it the very notion of property and obligation, justice and injustice. This poetical fiction of the golden age is, in some respects, of a piece with the pldlosoplucal fiction of the state of nature', only that the former is represented as the most charming and most peaceable condition, which can possibly be ima- gined ; whereas the latter is painted out as a state of mutual war and violence, attended with the most extreme necessity. On the first origin of mankind, we are told, their ignorance and savage nature were so prevalent, that they could give no mutual trust, but must each depend upon himself, and his own force or cunning for protection and security. No law was heard of: No rule of justice known : No distinction of property regarded : Power was the only measure of right ; and a perpetual war of all against all was the result of men's untamed selfishness and barbarity. 1 1 This fiction of ;i state of nature, on the contrary, supposes it certain and universally acknowledged in the follow- as a state of war. wa l>y Mr. HOBBKS, as is Quis enim vestrum. judict'S. ignorat, ita naturam re nun hypothesis very like it in the 2nd, 3rd. tempore homines, ni neque natural!, neque eivili 1 4th books do repul 1 [Kditions to N add : Which is the OVID or PI.AITTUS or PKTUONIUS a neces- only authority I shall cite for these sary warrant for every moral truth; or reasonings: not imitating in thin the the example of Mr. WOOI.ASTUX, who example of PI'KFKNDOKF, nor even that has constant recourse to HKHRKW and of OHOTITS, who think a verse from AHAHK' authors for the same purpossti.j Whether such a condition of human nature could ever exist, or if it did, could continue so long as to merit the appellation of a atnti', may jusllv he doubted. Men an; necessarily horn in a family-society, at least ; and are trained up hv their parents to some rule of conduct and behaviour. Rut this must he admitted, that, if such a state of mutual war and violence was ever real, the suspension of all laws of justice, from their absolute iuutility, is a necessary and infallible consequence. The more we vary our views of human life, and the newer and more unusual the lights are, in which we survey it, the more shall we he convinced, that the origin here assigned for the virtue of justice is real and satisfactory. Were there a species of creatures, intermingled with men, which, though rational, were possessed of such inferior strength, both of bod}' and mind, that they were incapable of all resistance, and could never, upon the highest provoca- tion, make us feel the effects of their resentment ; the neces- sary consequence, I think, is, that we should be bound, by the laws of humanity, to give gentle usage to these crea- tures, but should not, properly speaking, lie under any restraint of justice with regard to them, nor could they possess any right or property, exclusive of such arbitrary lords. Our intercourse with them could not be called society, Avhich supposes a degree of equality ; but absolute command on the one side, and servile obedience on the other. What- ever we covet, they must instantly resign : Our permission is the only tenure, by w T hich they hold their possessions : Our compassion and kindness the only check, by which they curb our lawless will : And as no inconvenience ever results from the exercise of a power, so firmly established in nature, the restraints of justice and property, being totally ;^v?tw, would never have place in so unequal a confederacy. NFJT. III. I'AHT I. jure descripto. fusi per np;ros. :ic dis- persi va!_'aivntur taut unique hal>erent quantum manu ac viriljus, per civdem ac viiluera. aut eripere. ant retinero potuissent ? Qui igitnrprimi virtutett eonsilio prirstnnti extitemnt, ii per- .speeto ireneiv humana- doeilitatis atquc ingenii, dissipatos, unum in locum con- pre^annit. eosqwe ex feritate ilia ad justitiam ae mansuetudinem transdux- t'runt. Turn res ad communcm utili- tatem. cpias puMioas appellamus. tuin L'ouvtntk'ula lioinininn. quit' posstea civi- tates nominatao sunr. turn clonriei'.ia eon;uiK'ta. quas urlies dicamns. invei.ro et divino et liumano jure. i;:o';ii!'iis -..j-,- serunt. Atqm 1 inter hane vitam. ]ier- politam humanitate. et illa'n iiiiiuaiii'Tn, iiil-.il lam interest quam JL'Satque VJS. Horum utro uti nolimus, altiToest ntfa- dum. Vim volr.mus ext intrui ? Jus valcat neee.-se cst. id est. judieia. qnihus onnie jus eontinetur. Judieia displi- c-ent, a ut nulla sunt ? ^"is duminetur neeesseest. Ha?e vident omnes.' I'm Sixt. I. -12. ISO CONCERNING THE PRINCIPLES OF MORALS, This is plainly the situation of men, with regard to 1 / > O animals; and how far these maybe said to possess reason, PART I. I leave it to others to determine. The great superiority of civilized EUEOPEASTS above barbarous INDIANS, tempted us to imagine ourselves on the same footing with regard to them, and made us throw off all restraints of justice, and even of humanity, in our treatment of them. In many nations, the female sex are reduced to like slavery, and are rendered incapable of all property, in opposition to their lordly masters. But though the males, when united, have, in all countries, bodily force sufficient to maintain this severe tyranny ; yet such are the insinuation, address, and charms of their fair companions, that women are commonly able to break the confederacy, and share with the other sex in all the rights and privileges of society. Were the human species so framed by nature as that each individual possessed within himself every faculty, requisite both for his own preservation and for the propagation of his kind : Were all society and intercourse cut off between man and man, by the primary intention of the supreme Creator : It seems evident, that so solitary a being would be as much incapable of justice, as of social discourse and conversation. Where mutual regards and forbearance serve to no manner of purpose, they would never direct the conduct of any rea- sonable man. The headlong course of the passions would be checked by no reflection on future consequences. And as each man is here supposed to love himself alone, and to depend only on himself and his own activity for safety and happiness, he would, on every occasion, to the utmost of his power, challenge the preference above every other being, to none of which he is bound by any ties, either of nature or of interest. But suppose the conjunction of the sexes to be established in nature, a family immediately arises; and particular rules being found requisite for its subsistence, these are imme- diately embraced ; though without comprehending 1 the rest of mankind within their prescriptions. tSnppo.se, that several families unite together into one society, whieh is totally disjoined from all others, the rules, which preserve peace and order, enlarge themselves to the utmost extent of that society; but becoming then entirely useless, lose their force when carried one step farther. But again suppose, that several di.-'inct societies maintain a kind of intercourse for SITT. mutual convenience and advantage, tin 1 boundaries of jii.stict: still :_;TO\V larger, in proportion to the largeness of men's I'^UT I. views, anil tlie force of tlieir mutual connexions, llistorv, experience, reason suHiciently instruct us in thin natural progress of human sentiments, and in Ih-- ^-radiia! enlarge- ment of our regards to justice, in proportion as we become :ic(|iiainted with the extensive utilitv of that virtue. TAUT II. If we examine the p' t-nrth \ but tlie civil magistrate A*ery justly puts these sublime theorists on the same footing Avith common robbers, and teaches them 1)y the severest dis- cipline, that a rule, which, in speculation, may seem the most advantageous to society, may yet be found, in practice, totally pernicious and destructive. That there Avere n'Uijwns fanatics of this kind in ENGLAND, 1*3 COXCEI1XIXG THE I'lUXCIPLKS OF MOIIALS. SP.OT. during the civil wars, we learn from history ; though it is ill . T " probable, that the obvious tendency of these principles excited PAUT II. suc h horror in mankind, as soon obliged the dangerous en- J o <:j thnsiasts to renounce, or at least conceal their tenets. Per- haps, the levellers, who claimed an equal distribution of property, were a kind of political fanatics, which arose from the religious species, and more openly avowed their preten- sions ; as carrying a more plausible appearance, of being practicable in themselves, as well as useful to human society. It must, indeed, be confessed, that nature is so liberal to mankind, that, were all her presents equally divided among the species, and improved by art and industry, every indivi- dual would enjoy all the necessaries, and even most of the comforts of life ; nor would ever be liable to any ills, but such as might accidentally arise from the sickly frame and constitution of his body. It must also be confessed, that, wherever we depart from this equality, we rob the poor of more satisfaction than we add to the rich, and that the slight gratification of a frivolous vanity, in one individual, frequently costs more than bread to many families, and even provinces. It may appear withal, that the rule of equality, as it would be highly nsffnl, is not altogether impracticnblc ; but has taken place, at least in an imperfect degree, in some I'epublics ; particularly that of SPARTA ; where it was attended, it is said, w r ith the most beneficial consequences. Not to mention, that the AGRARIAN laws, so frequently claimed in ROME, and carried into execution in many GREEK cities, proceeded, all of them, from a general idea of the utility of this principle. But historians, and even common sense, may inform us, that, however specious these ideas of pi-rh-d equality may seem, they are really, at bottom, impracticable; and wen; they not so, would be extremely pernicious to human society. J tender possessions ever so equal, men's different degrees of art, care, and industry will immediately break that equality. Or if you check these virtues, you reduce society to the most extreme indigence ; and instead of preventing want and beggary in a few, render it unavoidable to the whole com- munity. The most rigorous inquisition too is requisite to watch every inequality on its first appearance ; and the most severe jurisdiction, to punish and redress it. But besides, that so much authority must soon degenerate into tyranny, OF JUSTICE. 189 and bo exerted with great partialities; who can possibly be sn:-!/<>/;,"//'/ ? Any lai.'iu'. which il is lawful :'::<' i. II 1 for him, and tor him alone, t-> use. />'"/ u:lud nil,- Inn-' <'<-, _ " _ In/ ii-/n'i-,'i a-,' at H. ilixliii'jiiixlt ///.- n- slant and inflexible, some variable and arbitrary. J>ut, r,' ultimate jtoint, in whiMi they all professedly terminate, is, the interest and lr,ij>;>i:ie.-s of human society. Where this enters not into consideration, not lin;:.;' can appear more whimsical, unnatural, and even superstitious, than all or most of the laws of justice and of property. Those, who ridicule vulgar superstitions, and expose tin,' 1'ol'y of particular regards to ine;its, clays, places, postures, ap[>arel, have an c-asy task; while they consider all the qualities and relations of the objects, and discover no ade- quate cause for that affection or antipathy, veneration or horror, \\hich have so miirhty an influence over a consider- able part of inaiilchid. A SYUIAX would liuve starved rather than taste pi-von ; ;in MCYPTIAX would not h.avj approached haco;i; But if these species of food be examined by the, senses of sh_;!it. smell, or taste, or scrnt i:ii/.ed by the sciences 5I.\i.v.:'.i;.vycK. ;is I'K- MS I fan li.-irn, ti-n^ts of Mi^it-ty. it ld.-c; all its ;ni- w.is the tirr-t tliai st;!PU'.l tliis alistract th'-rity. iii'.ii mm j: ru 1 :! .;.- f y ut' nioiM s. wiiic'h was :ilterw:tr.!s iNitui'Miju-iu'i 1 , wlr.fh aiT i-o'ifoniiul'leto :itli>p!i'.l ly 1 Cri)\Vi)i;TH. t'l.Al:KK. ;;n.l tliiist- inl'.Ti^ls. SuiiiftiiiH-s also civil dtlu-l'.s; ar.ii as i; rvi;i>i'S all si-mi- laws. luiMisi-ful pur] IM s. r /:;;:., i\- iiii'iit, and jn-ctriuls to toiiiul every thint; iiiDny in- fonu to any iii-c-1 ; a;ul \vhi-re oa rcasnti, it lias ::dt wa'itc 1 I'ullowi rs thai is \v.c.; i;,^. thrir thnvrs ran cun- ia this |>hi!<>so;>hv :<.:<-. S'c Sui'iior, 1. trary to tl'.r r.si.al ti-iii.'Ui'of jiL-ticu: l>ut anil Ajiju'iiilix 1. \\'i;ii i-f^aivl to jiistii'i-, one who takes advantiifri' of such i-lnoants, tin: virtue luTr ti'raU'd ot. t!u- iiiiviviuv is i.nt eniiniionly rt-;.r ; { us an holiest apaiiist thi* theory st/enis short am! L-OII- nan. '!..!'.-. tlu 1 i:.: rc.-ts of .-:,:,- c'iiisivi-. Pr-'yerty is sillfnvi-d to i>e de- i-i'i^niiv. that contracts re iV.lfillcd ; :ua.I pein!e:;t oa civil laws; civil l:\vs art 1 lii'-ru is nut n niori- inatt-rial ;:rticlo ullnu'iil to have no other oK'ivr, l.iut caiier ut' natural or civil justice: l!ur tlu- intci-t st nt' s'i'i'ty: This therefore the oiuission of a trilling circiim- luust lie allowe.l to hu the- sole foir.nia- f-tance \\iil oi'teii, ly law. iavaliilate a lion ut' property aii'! ju.-tice. No: to con; rift, i>> foro )iii.inUiiO,\t\A \i: in inrnti.iii. that our n!>li<_:atioa itseif to furn <-.'-.--'/;//-/'/. as divines express ol'ev the magistrate and Ids laws is themselves. la these cases, the !a::::;s- founded on nothing but tLu iiiteivsrs of trate is suppose! only to wit! iraw his society. p \\\ , r i.f eiiforci::^ t :,- i ; _ '... - : to It' the ideas of justice, sometimfs, do have altered the rijrht. Where his in 11 >: foil >\v the dUu.'srionsi.t 1 civil law: teiitimi extends to tli - riiilit. ;i : : - CDII- wo s'nall iind. that these cases, instead toni.aMe to ; he inviv-ts c f s c'ety: it of ohjections, are contii'nia r io:.s of the never fails tn alti c the r'.::.; : ;i clear theory delivered above. "Wiu-re a civil pvoof of t'a origin of jur-ticu and of law is S" perverse as to cross all the in- p;vp<-i"y. as assi^aed al uVe. [The refer, ]<>2 CONCERNING THE PRINCIPLES OF MORALS. SI-XT, of chymistry, medicine, or physics; no difference is ever % __. found between them and any other species, nor can that PART II. precise circumstance he pitched on, which may afford a just foundation for the religions passion. A fowl 011 Thursday is lawful food : on Friday abominable : Eggs, in this house, nnd in this diocese, are permitted during Lent ; a hundred paces farther, to eat them is a damnable sin. This earth or building, yesterday was profane ; to-day, by the muttering of certain words, it has become holy and sacred. Such re- flections as these, in the mouth of a philosopher, one may safely say, are too obvious to have any influence ; because they must always, to every man, occur at first sight; and where they prevail not, of themselves, they are surely ob- structed by education, prejudice, and passion, not by igno- rance or mistake. It may appear to a careless view, or rather a too abstracted reflection, that there enters a like superstition into all the sentiments of justice ; and that, if a man expose its object, or what AVC call property, to the same scrutiny of sense and science, he will not, by the most accurate enquiry, find any foundation for the difference made by moral sentiment. I may lawfully nourish myself from this tree ; but the fruit of another of the same species, ten paces off, it is criminal for me to touch. Had I worne this apparel an hour ago, I had merited the severest punishment ; but a man, by pronounc- ing a few magical syllables, has now rendered it fit for my use and service. Were this house placed in the neighbour- ing territory, it had been immoral for me to dwell in it ; but being built on this side of the river, it is subject to a dif- ferent municipal law, and, * by its becoming mine, I incur no blame or censure. The same species of reasoning, it may be thought, which so successfully exposes superstition, is also applicable to justice ; nor is it possible, in the one case more than in the other, to point out, in the object, that pre- cise' quality or circumstance, which is the foundation of the sentiment. Hut then: is this material difference between superstition and 'iiixt !<<', that the former is frivolous, useless, and burdensome ; the latter is absolutely requisite; to the well-being of mankind and existence of society. When we abstract from this cireum- 1 ' L iy its becoming IIIIMU: added in Edition Q.j OF JUSTICE, 1 !.". stance (for it is too apparent ever to be overlooked) it must be confessed, that all regards to right and property, seem entirely without foundation, as much as the grossest and most vulgar superstition. Were the interests of society nowise con- cerned, it is as unintelligible, why another's articulating certain sounds implying consent, should change the nature of my actions with regard to a particular object, as why the reciting of a liturgy by a priest, in a certain habit and pos- ture, should dedicate a heap of brick and timber, and render it, thenceforth and for ever, sacred.' SKCT. ill. J'AUT II. 1 It is evident, that the will or con- sent alone never transfers property, nor onuses the obligation of a promise (for the same reasoning extends to both) but the will must be expressed by words or signs, in order to impose a tye upon any man. The expression being once brought in as subservient to the will, soon becomes the principal part of the promise ; nor will a man be less bound by his word, though he secretly give a different direction to his intention, and with-hold the assent of his mind. But though the expression makes, on most, occasions, the whole of the promise, yet it does not always so ; and one who should make use of any expression, of which he knows not the meaning, and which he uses without any sense of the consequences, would not certainly be hound by it. Nay, though he know its meaning, yet if he use it in jest only, and with such signs as evidently show, that he has no serious intention of binding himself, he would not lie under any obligation of performance ; but it is necessary, that the words be a perfect expression of the will, without any con- trary signs. Xay, even this we must not carry so far as to imagine, that, one, whom, by our quickness of understand- ing, we conjecture, from certain signs, to have an intention of deceiving us. is not bound by his expression or verbal promise, if we accept of it ; but must limit this conclusion to those cases where the signs are of a different nature from those of deceit. All these con- tradictions are easily accounted for. if justice arise entirely from its usefulness to society ; but will never be explained on any other hypothesis. It is remarkable, that the moral deci- sions of the Jesuits and other relaxed casuists, were commonly formed in pro- secution of some such subtilties of reasoning as are hero pointed out, and proceed as much from the habit cf scholastic refinement as from any cor- ruption of the heart, if we may follow the authority of JVIons. BAYI.K. See his Dictionary, article LOYOLA. And why has the indignation of mankind risen so high against these casuists ; but because every one perceived, that human society could not subsist were such practices authorized, and that morals must alwavs be handled with a view to public in- terest, more than philosophical regu- larity? If tho secret direction of the intention, said every man of sense. could invalidate a contract ; where is our security ? And y.-t a met iphysical schoolman might think, that where an intention was supposed to lie requisite, if that intention really h;id not place, no consequence ought to follow, and no obligation be imposed. The casuistical subtilties may not be greater than the subtilties of lawyers, hinted at above; but as the former are pernicious, and the latter innocint and even necessary, this is the reason of the very different reception they meet with from tho world. - It is a doctrine of the church of ROME, that the priest, by a secret di- rection of his intention, can invalidate any sacrament. This position is de- rived from a strict and regular prosecu- tion of the obvious truth, that empty words alone, without any meaning or intention in the speaker, can never be attended with any effect. If the samo conclusion be not admitted in reason- ings concerning civil c"ii'r;>ets. where '-' [This paragraph was added in Edition 0,] O 194 CONCERNING THE PRINCIPLES OF MORALS. SECT. These reflections are far from weakening the obligations of 7 TT _ justice, or diminishing any thing from the most sacred at- AHT II. tention to property. On the contrary, such sentiments must acquire new force from the present reasoning. For what stronger foundation can be desired or conceived for any duty, than to observe, that human society, or even human nature could not subsist, without the establishment of it ; and will still arrive at greater degrees of happkiess and perfection, the more inviolable the regard is, which is paid to that duty ? l The dilemma seems obvious : As justice evidently tends to promote public utility and to support civil society, the sentiment of justice is either derived from our reflecting on that tendency, or like hunger, thirst, and other appetites, resentment, love of life, attachment to offspring, and other passions, arises from a simple original instinct in the human breast, which nature has implanted for like salutary pur- poses. 2 If the latter be the case, it follows, that property, which is the object of justice, is also distinguished by a simple, original instinct, and is not ascertained by any argu- ment or reflection. But who is there that ever heard of such an instinct? Or is this a subject, in which new dis- coveries can be made? We may as well attempt to discover, in the body, new senses, which had before escaped the ob- servation of all mankind. But farther, though it seems a very simple proposition to say, that nature, by an instinctive sentiment, distinguishes property, yet in reality we shall find, that there are required for that purpose ten thousand different instincts, and these employed about objects of the greatest intricacy and nicest discernment. For when a definition of property is required, that relation is found to resolve itself into any possession acquired by occupation, by industry, by prescription, by in- the affair is allowed to be of so much dogmatical any superstition may ap- less consequence than the eternal ealva- pear, it never am convey any thorough tion of thousands, it proceeds entirely persuasion of the reality of its objects, from men's sens* of the danger and in- or put, them, in any degree, on a balance convenience of the doctrine in the for- with the common incidents of life, merease: And we may thence observe, which we learn from daily observation that however positive, arrogant, and anil experimental reasoning. 1 [Edition G omits all between this from a simple, original instinct in the point and the concluding paragraph of human breast, without any reflection, the section.] even on those obvious interests of 2 [Edition N omits the preceding society, which absolutely require that sentence, mid reads: If justice arose virtue, it follows, &c.] OF JUSTICK 195 lieritance, bv contract, ctv. (Jan we think, that nature, by SECT. an original instinct, instructs us in all tbc.se methods of , acquisition? PAUT I! These words too, inheritance and contract, stand for ideas infinitely complicated ; and to define them exactly, a hundred volumes of laws, and a thousand volumes of commentators, have not been found sufficient. Does nature, whose instincts in men are all simple, embrace such complicated and artificial objects, and create a rational creature, without trusting any thing to the operation of his reason ? But even though all this were admitted, it would not be satisfactory. Positive laws can certainly transfer property. Is it by another original instinct, that we recognize the authority of kings and senates, and mark all the boundaries of their jurisdiction ? Judges too, even though their sen- tence be erroneous and illegal, must be allowed, for the sake of peace and order, to have decisive authority, and ultimately to determine property. Have we original, innate ideas of prretors and chancellors and juries? Who sees not, that all these institutions arise merely from the necessities of human society ? All birds of the same species, in every age and country, build their nests alike: In this we see the force of instinct. Men, in different times and places, frame their houses diffe- rently : Here we perceive the influence of reason and custom. A like inference may be drawn from comparing the instinct of generation and the institution of property. How great soever the variety of municipal laws, it must be confessed, that their chief out-lines pretty regularly con- cur ; because the purposes, to which they tend, are every where exactly similar. In like manner, all houses have a roof and walls, windows and chimneys; though diversified in their shape, figure, and materials. The purposes of the latter, directed to the conveniences of human life, discover not more plainly their origin from reason and reflection, than do those of the former, which point all to a like end. I need not mention the variations, which all the rules of property receive from the finer turns and connexions of the imagination, and from the subtilties and abstractions of law- topics and reasonings. There is no possibility of reconciling this observation to the notion of original instincts. What alone will beget a doubt eoneerning the theory, on 196 CONCERNING THE PRINCIPLES OF MORALS. SECT. -which I insist, is the influence of education and acquired habits, by which we are so accustomed to blame injustice, PART II. that we are not, in every instance, conscious of any imme- diate reflection on the pernicious consequences of it. The views the most familiar to us are apt, for that very reason, to escape us ; and what we have veiy frequently performed from certain motives, we are apt likewise to continue mechanically, without recalling, on every occasion, the re- flections, which first determined us. The convenience, or rather necessity, which leads to justice, is so universal, and every where points so much to the same rules, that the habit takes place in all societies ; and it is not without some scrutiny, that we are able to ascertain its true origin. The matter, however, is not so obscure, but that, even in common life, we have, every moment, recourse to the principle of public utility, and ask, What must become of the world, if such practices prevail ? How could society subsist under such disorders ? Were the distinction or separation of possessions entirely useless, can any one conceive, that it ever should have obtained in society P Thus we seem, upon the whole, to have attained a know- ledge of the force of that principle here insisted on, and can determine w r hat degree of esteem or moral approbation may result from reflections on public interest and utility. The necessity of justice to the support of society is the SOLE foundation of that virtue ; and since no moral excellence is more highly esteemed, we may conclude, that this circum- stance of usefulness has, in general, the strongest energy, and most entire command over our sentiments. It must, therefore, be the source of a considerable part of the merit ascribed to humanity, benevolence, friendship, public spirit, and other social virtues of that stamp ; as it is the SOLE source of the moral approbation paid to fidelity, justice, veracity, integrity, and those other estimable and useful qualities and principles. It is entirely agreeable to the rules of philosophy, and even of common reason ; where any principle has been found to have a great force and energy in one instance, to ascribe to it a like energy in all similar instances. l This indeed is NEWTON'S chief rule of philo- sophizing. 2 1 | This sentence is printed as a note it the xecond rule.] i:i l-Miiimis Why abridge our native freedom, when, in every instance, the utmost exertion of it is found innocent and beneficial ? It is evident, that, if government were totally useless, it never could have place, and that the SOLE foundation of the duty of ALLEGIANCE is the advantage, which it procures to society, by preserving peace and order among mankind. When a number of political societies are erected, and maintain a great intercourse together, a new set of rules are immediately discovered to be useful in that particular situa- tion ; and accordingly take place under the title of LAWS of NATIONS. Of this kind are, the sacredness of the person of ambassadors, abstaining from poisoned arms, quarter in war, with others of that kind, which are plainly calculated for the advantage of states and kingdoms, in their intercourse with each other. The rules of justice, such as prevail among individuals, are not entirely suspended among political societies. All princes pretend a regard to the rights of other princes ; and some, no doubt, without hypocrisy. Alliances and treaties are every day made between independent states, which would only be so much waste of parchment, if they were not found, by experience, to have some influence and authority. But here is the difference between kingdoms and individuals. Human nature cannot, by any means, subsist, without the association of individuals ; and that association never could have place, were no regard paid to the laws of equity and justice. Disorder, confusion, the war of all against all, are the necessary consequences of such a licentious conduct. 198 CONCERNING THE PRINCIPLES OF MORALS. SECT. But nations can subsist without intercourse. They may even __ ;' _. subsist, in some degree, under a general war. The obser- vance of justice, though useful among them, is not guarded by so strong a necessity as among individuals ; and the moral obligation holds proportion with the usefulness. All politicians will allow, and most philosophers, that SEASONS of STATE may, in particular emergencies, dispense with the rules of justice, and invalidate any treaty or alliance, where the strict observance of it would be prejudicial, in a considerable degree, to either of the contracting parties. But nothing less than the most extreme necessity, it is confessed, can justify individuals in a breach of promise, or an invasion of the properties of others. In a confederated commonwealth, such as the ACH.-EAN republic of old, or the Swiss Cantons and United Provinces in modern times ; as the league has here a peculiar utility, the conditions of union have a peculiar sac-redness and authority, and a violation of them would be regarded as no less, or even as more criminal, than any private injury or injustice. The long and helpless infancy of man requires the com- bination of parents for the subsistence of their young ; and that combination requires the virtue of CHASTITY or fidelity to the marriage bed. Without such a utility, it Avill readily be owned, that such a virtue would never have been thought of. 1 An infidelity of this nature is much more pernicious in women than in men. Hence the laws of chastity are much stricter over the one sex than over the other. These rules have all a reference to generation ; and yet women past child-bearing are no more supposed to be ex- empted from them than those in the flower of their youth 1 The only solution, which PI.ATO meaning. Anil indeed to what other gives t.o all tlin objections, that might purpose do all the ideas of chastity and be raised against the community of modesty serve? AY*/ ii/ilc rut quod women, established in his imaginary Jacimus, frustra eft ql<>ria, says I'm> commonwealth. is K.d\\iura yap Srj rovro mu'.s. 3. 17. 12. Ka\bv ra>v /3Aa$pd' Kzl \iycrai KO.\ AeXf^frai. '6ri -rb /j.fv ovStv. says Pl.TJTARCH (If vitioxo pndore, w29. F. >"ihil eoruni qua- damnosa fy-ite cnim ithtd if dicitnr 4' dicrtvr. Id mint, pulc.hrum est. The same was the quod ntitc sit honc.ntum enxf. quod (tutnn opinion of the Stoics. $arnv ovv oi 'SrtaiKol inutile sit turpe f.v.sv. JJe ]{ep. lib. o. ji. 0706^^ fivai wf \eiav t) ov\ trfpav 457- ex edit. Her. And this maxim iLcpfAei'aj. w(pt\fiav /j.fiAtyni'Tc; rrii'apfrrif will admit of no doubt, where public KO.\ -r'rjv mrovSaini' irftn^ir. SKXT. KMPI utility is concerned; which is PLATO'S lih. ,'J. rap. 20. OF POLITICAL SOCIETY. 199 and beauty. General rn/c.s are often extended beyond the SECT, principle, whence they first arise; and this in all ma.tt.ers of ._ w ' 1;iste and sentiment. It is a vulgar story at PARIS, that, during the rage of the MISSISSHMM, a hump-backed fellow went every day into the RUE DK QuiNGEMPOlX, where the stock-jobbers met in great crowds, and was well paid for allowing them to make use of his hum}) as a desk, in order t.> sign their contracts upon it. Would the fortune, which h;' raised by this expedient, ma Ice him a handsome fellow ; though it be confessed, thai personal beauty arises very much from ideas of utility ? The imagination is influenced by associations of ideas ; which, though they arise at first from the judgment, are not easily altered by every particular exception that occurs to us. To which we may add, in the present case of chastity, that the example of the old would be pernicious to the young; and that women, con- tinually foreseeing that a certain time would bring them the liberty of indulgence, would naturally advance that period, and think more lightly of this whole duty, so requisite tj society. Those who live in the same family have such frequent opportunities of licence of this kind, that nothing could pre- serve purity of manners, were marriage allowed, among the nearest relations, or any intercourse of love between them ratified by law and custom. INCEST, therefore, being pernicious in a superior degree, has also a superior turpitude and moral deformity annexed to it. What is the reason, why, by the ATHENIAN' laws, one might marry a half-sister by the father, but not by the mother'^ Plainly this: The mariners of the ATHENIANS were so reserved, that a man was never permitted to approach the women's apartment, even in the same family, unless where he visited his own mother. His step-mother and her children were as much shut up from him as the women of any other family, and there was as little danger of any criminal correspondence between them. Uncles and nieces, for a like reason, might marry at ATHENS ; but neither these, nor half-brothers and sisters, could contract that alliance at ROME, where the intercourse was more open between the sexes. Public utility is the cause of all these variations. To repeat, to a man's prejudice, any thing that escaped him in private conversation, or to make any such usv of his 00 CONCERNING THE PRINCIPLES OF MORALS. Private letters, is highly blamed. The free and social inter- course of minds must be extremely checked, where no such rules of fidelity are established. Even in repeating stories, whence we can foresee no ill consequences to result, the giving of one's author is regarded as a piece of indiscretion, if not of immorality. These stories, in passing from hand to hand, and receiving all the usual variations, frequently come about to the persons con- cerned, and produce animosities and quarrels among people, whose intentions are the most innocent and inoffensive. To pry into secrets, to open or even read the letters of others, to play the spy upon their words and looks and actions ; what habits more inconvenient in society 'P What habits, of consequence, more blameable? This principle is also the foundation of most of the laws of good manners ; a kind of lesser morality, calculated for the ease of company and conversation. Too much or too little ceremony are both blamed, and every thing, which pro- motes ease, without an indecent familiarity, is useful and laudable. Constancy in friendships, attachments, and familiarities, is commendable, and is requisite to support trust and good correspondence in society. But in places of general, though casual concourse, where the pursuit of health and pleasure brings people promiscuously together, public conveniency has dispensed with this maxim ; and custom there promotes an unreserved conversation for the time, by indulging the privilege of dropping afterwards every indifferent acquaint- ance, without breach of civility or good manners. Even in societies, which are established on principles the most immoral, and the most destructive to the interests of the general society, there are required certain rules, which a species of false honour, as well as private interest, engages the members to observe. Robbers and pirates, it has often been remarked, could not maintain their pernicious con- federacy, did they not establish a new distributive justice among themselves, and recal those laws of equity, which they have violated with the rest of mankind. I hate a drinking companion, says the GREEK proverb, who never forgets. The follies of the last debauch should be buried in eternal oblivion, in order io give full scope to ihu lollies of the next. OK POLITICAL SOCILTY. 201 Among nations, where ;in immoral gallantry, if covered SECT, with a thin veil of mystery, is, in some degree, authorised by -_--,'- . custom, there immediately arise a set of rules, calculate;! for the eonveniency of that attachment. The famous court or parliament of love in PKOVKNCK formerly decided all difficult cases of this nature. In societies for play, there are laws required for the con- duct of the game; and these laws are different in each game. The foundation, I own, of such societies is frivolous ; and the laws are, in a great measure, though not altogether, capricious and arbitrary. So far is there a material difference between them and the rules of justice, fidelity, and loyalty. The general societies of men are absolutely requisite for tin.' subsistence of the species ; and the public eonveniency, which i-egulates morals, is inviolably established in the nature of man, and of the world, in which he lives. The com- parison, therefore, in these respects, is very imperfect. We may only learn from it the necessity of rules, wherever men have any intercourse with each other. They cannot even pass each other on the road without rules. Waggoners, coachmen, and postilions have principles, by which they give the way ; and these are chiefly founded on mutual ease and convenience. Sometimes also they are arbitrary, at least dependent on a kind of capricious analogy, like many of the reasonings of lawyers. 1 To carry the matter farther, we may observe, that it is im- possible for men so much as to murder each other without statutes, and maxims, and an idea of justice and honour. War has its laws as well as peace; and even that spoitive kind of war, carried on among wrestlers, boxers, cudgel- players, gladiators, is regulated by fixed principles. Common interest and utility beget infallibly a standard of right and wrong among the parties concerned. 1 That the lighter machine yield to the great city, and of the preference of rlie heavier, and, in machines of the the future to the past. From like rea- same kind, that the empty yield to the sons, among foot-walkers, the right- loaded: this rule is founded on con- hand intitles a man to the wall, and venience. That those who are going to prevents jostling, which peaceable peo- the capital take place of those who pie find very disagreeable and incon- are coming from it; this seems to be venient. founded on some idea of the dignity of 202 CONCERNING THE PRINCIPLES OF MORALS. SECT. V. Why Utility pleases. PART I. ShCT. J T seems so natural a thought to ascribe to their utility the praise, which \ve bestow on the social virtues, that one would expect to meet with this principle every where in moral writers, as the chief foundation of their reasoning and enquiry. In common life, we may observe, that the circumstance of utility is always appealed to; nor is it supposed, that a greater eulogy can be given to any man, than to display his usefulness to the public, and enumerate the services, which he has performed to mankind and society. What praise, even of an inanimate form, if the regularity and elegance of its parts destroy not its fitness for any useful purpose ! And how satis- factory an apology for any disproportion or seeming deformity, if we can show the necessity of that particular construction for the use intended ! A ship appears more beautiful to an artist, or one moderately skilled in navigation, where its prow is wide and swelling beyond its poop, than if it were framed with a precise geometrical regularity, in contradiction to all the laws of mechanics. A building, whose doors and windows were exact squares, would hurt the eye by that very propor- tion ; as ill adapted to the figure of a human creature, for whose service the fabric was intended. What wonder then, that a man, whose habits and conduct are hurtful to society, and dangerous or pernicious to every one who has an inter- course with him, should, on that account, be an object of disapprobation, and communicate to every spectator the strongest sentiment of disgust and hatred. 1 1 We ought not to imagine, because the very same qualities bo transferred an inanimate object may be useful as to an insensible, inanimate being, they well as a man, that therefore it outrht will not exeite the same sentiments, also, according to this system, to merit The benetieial qualities of herbs and the appellation of virtuous. Thesenti- minerals are. indeed, sometimes called ments, excited by utility, are, in the two their 1'irh'fn ; but this is an effect of the cases, very different; and the one is caprice of hint:uag<'. which ought not to mixed with afii'i-tion. esteem, approba- be regarded in reasoning. For though tion, <$~c. and not the other. In like there be a species of approbation attend- manner, an inanimate object may have ing even inanimate objects when bene- good colour and proportions as well as ficial.yetthis sentiment isso weak, and so a human figure. B.it can we evi-r be, different from that which is directed to in love with the former? Tli'Tt- are a beneficent magistrates or statesmen, numerous set, of passions and senti- that they ought not to bo ranked under ments. of which thinking rational be.ings. the >ame class or appellation, are, by th'-orifdrial const it\:t ion of nature, A very small variation of the object, the only pmpr ; objects: ,\i!'i though even where the same qualities are j>rr- WHY UTILITY I'l.KASES. 203 But perhaps the difficulty of accounting for these effects of .SECT. usefulness, or its contrary, has kept philosophers from ad- ^__._ mitting them into their systems of ethics, and has induced I'AUT!. them rather to employ any other principle, in explaining' the origin of moral good and evil. l>ut it is no ju^t reason for rejecting any principle, confirmed by experience, that we cannot give a satisfactory account of its origin, nor are able to resolve it into other more general principles. And if we would employ a little thought on the present subject, we need be at no loss to account for the influence of utility, and to deduce it from principles, the most known and avowed in human, nature. From the apparent usefulness of the social virtues, it has readily been inferred by sceptics, both ancient and modern, that all moral distinctions arise from education, and were, at first, invented, and afterwards encouraged, by the art of poli- ticians, in order to render men tractable, and subdue their natural ferocity and selfishness, which incapacitated them for society. This principle, indeed, of precept and education, must so far be owned to have a powerful influence, that it may frequently encrease or diminish, beyond their natural standard, the sentiments of approbation or dislike ; and may even, in particular instances, create, without any natural principle, a new sentiment of this kind ; as is evident in all superstitious practices and observances : But that all moral affection or dislike arises from this origin, will never surely be allowed by any judicious enquirer. Had nature made no such distinction, founded on the original constitution of the mind, the words, honourable and sltumffnl, lovely and odious, nobie and drftpicablr, had never had place in any language ; nor could politicians, had they invented these terms, ever have been able to render them intelligible, or make them convey any idea to the audience. So that nothing can be more superficial than this paradox of the sceptics ; and it were well, if, in the abstruser studies of logic and metaphysics, we could as easily obviate the cavils of that sect, as in the practical and more intelligible sciences of politics and morals. The social virtues must, therefore, be allowed to have a served, will destroy a sentiment. Thus. where nature ib nut extremely per- the same bounty, transferred to a dif- verted. fp.Tent sex. excites no amorous passion, 204 CONCERNING THE PRINCIPLES OF MORALS. natural beauty and amiableness, which, at first, antecedent to all precept or education, recommends them to the esteem of uninstructed mankind, and engages their affections. And as the public utility of these virtues is the chief circum- stance, whence they derive their merit, it follows, that the end, which they have a tendency to promote, must be some way agreeable to us, and take hold of some natural aifection. It must please, either from considerations of self-interest, or from more generous motives and regards. It has often been asserted, that, as every man has a strong connexion with society, and perceives the impossibility of his solitary subsistence, he becomes, on that account, favourable to all those habits or principles, which promote order in so- ciety, and insure to him the quiet possession of so inestimable a blessing. As much as we value our own happiness and welfare, as much must we applaud the practice of justice and humanity, by which alone the social confederacy can be main- tained, and every man reap the fruits of mutual protection and assistance. This deduction of morals from self-love, or a regard to private interest, is an obvious thought, and has not arisen wholly from the wanton sallies and sportive assaults of the sceptics. To mention no others, POLYBIUS, one of the gravest and most judicious, as well as most moral writers of antiquity, has assigned this selfish origin to all our sentiments of virtue. 1 But though the solid, practical sense of that author, and his aversion to all vain subtilties, render his authority on the present subject very considerable ; yet is not this an affair to be decided by authority, and the voice of nature and experi- ence seems plainly to oppose the selfish theory. We frequently bestow praise on virtuous actions, performed in very distant ages and remote countries ; where the utmost subtilty of imagination would not discover any appearance of self-interest, or find any connexion of our present happiness and security with events so widely separated from us. A generous, a brave, a noble deed, performed by an adver- 1 Undutifulness to parents is disap- t Siv vTroyi-yverai TIS fvvota trap' fKaffrtfi proved of \>y mankkld, Trpoo.ioj^eVouj rb TOU KaOriKOVTOS Surajuews xal Bedptas. /j.4\\ov, Kal ffv\\oyi(oij.tvuvs, '6-ri TO Lili. vi. cap. 6. Perhirps the historian 7rapairAr)moi/ fKaarois avruv a'/yKvpricrti. only meant, that our sympathy and hu- Ingr;ttitudo for a. like reason (though inanity was more enlivened, \>y our con- he seems there to mix a more ireticrotis sideritig the similarity of our rasp with regard) (Tii'a.yava.KTOvvTa.'i fj.'n> TM 7rt'\a?, that of the person suffering ; which is a 'u/n' tV H'.'Toin TO TTa^.'TTAyi (ni/. .]'!*' sontiinent. WHY UTILITY PLEASES. i'or, sary, commands our approbation ; while in its consequences SHOT. it msiv be acknowledged prejudicial to our particular interest. _ ^ . Where private advantage concurs with general affection for TAUT I. virtue, we readily perceive and avow the mixture of these distinct sentiments, which have a, very different feeling and influence on the mind. We praise, perhaps, with more alacrity, where the generous, humane action contributes to our par- ticular interest : But the topics of praise, which we insist on, are very wide of this circumstance. And we may attempt to bring over others to our sentiments, without endeavouring to convince them, that they reap any advantage from the actions which we recommend to their approbation and applause. Frame the model of a praise-worthy character, consisting of all the most amiable moral virtues: Give instances, in which these display themselves after an eminent and extra- ordinary manner: You readily engage the esteem and appro- bation of all your audience, who never so much as enquire in what age and country the person lived, who possessed these noble qualities : A circumstance, however, of all others, the most material to self-love, or a concern for our own individual happiness. Once on a time, a .statesman, in the shock and contest of parties, prevailed so far as to procure, by his eloquence, the banishment of an able adversary ; whom he secretly followed, offering him money for his support during his exile, and soothing him with topics of consolation in his misfortunes. Alas! cries the banished statesman, iritJi what regret -must I leave my friends in. tliis citi/, where even enemies are so generous! Virtue, though in an enemy, here pleased him : And we also give it the just tribute of praise and approbation ; nor do we retract these sentiments, when we hear, that the action passed at ATHENS, about two thousand years ago, and that the per- sons' names were ESCHIXES and DEMOSTHENES. What i* that to me ? There are few occasions, when this question is not pertinent : And had it that universal, infallible influence supposed, it would turn into ridicule every compo- sition, and almost every conversation, which contain any praise or censure of men and manners. It is but a weak subterfuge, when pressed by these facts and arguments, to say, that we transport ourselves, by the force of imagination, into distant ages and countries, and consider the advantage, wl>'ch we should havf reaped from 206 CONCERNING THE PRINCIPLES OF MORALS. these characters, had we been contemporaries, and had any -commerce with the persons. It is not conceivable, how a real sentiment or passion can ever arise from a known im- aginary interest ; especially when our real interest is still kept in view, and is often acknowledged to be entirely distinct from the imaginary, and even sometimes opposite to it. A man, brought to the brink of a precipice, cannot look down without trembling ; and the sentiment of imaginary danger actuates him, in opposition to the opinion and belief of real safety. But the imagination is here assisted by the presence of a striking object ; and yet prevails not, except it be also aided by novelty, and the unusual appearance of the object. Custom soon reconciles us to heights and precipices, and wears off these false and delusive terrors. The reverse is observable in the estimates, which we form of characters and manners ; and the more we habituate ourselves to an accurate scrutiny of morals, the more delicate feeling do we acquire of the most minute distinctions between vice and virtue. Such frequent occasion, indeed, have we, in common life, to pronounce all kinds of moral determinations, that no object of this kind can be new or unusual to us ; nor could any false views or prepossessions maintain their ground against an experience, so common and familiar. Experience being chiefly what forms the association of ideas, it is impossible, that any association could establish and support itself, in direct opposition to that principle. Usefulness is agreeable, and engages our approbation. This is a matter of fact, confirmed by daily observation. But, use- ful? For what? For some body's interest, surely. Whose interest then ? Not our own only : For our appi*obation frequently extends farther. It must, therefore, be the interest of those, who are served by the character or action approved of; and these we may conclude, however remote, are not totally indifferent to us. By opening up this principle, we shall discover one great source of moral distinctions. PART ir. Self-love is a principle in human nature of such extensive energy, and the interest of each individual is, in general, so closely connected with that of the community, that those phi- losophers were excusable, who fancied, that all our concern WHY UTILITY 1'LKASKS. L>07 for the public might be resolved into a concern for our own happiness and preservation. They saw every moment, in- _' stances of approbation or blame, satisfaction or displeasure I>AItT II - towards characters and actions ; they denominated the objects of these sentiments, virtue*, or vices ; they observed, that the former had a tendency to encrease the happiness, and the latter the misery of mankind ; they asked, whether it were possible that we could have any geno-al concern for society, or any disinterested resentment of the welfare or injury of others ; they found it simpler to consider all these sentiments as modifications of self-love ; and they discovered a pretence, at least, for this unity of principle, in that close union of interest, which is so observable between the public and each individual. But notwithstanding this frequent confusion of interests, it is easy to attain what natural philosophers, after lord BACON, have affected to call the experiment-urn crucix, or that experiment, which points out the right way in any doubt or ambiguity. We have found instances, in which private interest was separate from public ; in which it was even con- trary : And yet we observed the moral sentiment to continue, notwithstanding this disjunction of interests. And wherever these distinct interests sensibly concurred, we always found a sensible encrease of the sentiment, and a more warm affection to virtue, and detestation of vice, or what we pro- perly call, (jratitude and reveiif/e. Compelled by these in- stances, we must renounce the theory, which accounts for every moral sentiment by the principle of self-love. We must adopt a more public affection, and allow, that the interests of society are not, even on their own account, en- tirely indifferent to us. Usefulness is only a- tendency to a certain end ; aiid it is a contradiction in terms, that any tiling pleases as means to an end, where the end itself no wise affects us. If usefulness, therefore, be a source of moral sentiment, and if this usefulness be not always con- sidered with a reference to self; it follows, that every thing, which contributes to the happiness of society, recommends itself directly to our approbation and good-will. Here is a principle, which accounts, in great part, for the origin of morality : And what need we seek for abstruse and remote systems, when there occurs one so obvious and natural P ' 1 It is needless to push our researches or a fellow-feeling with others. It B SO far as to ask. \vhy \vt hare humanity sufficient, that this is experienced to be 208 CONCERNING THE PRINCIPLES OF MORALS. Have we any difficulty to comprehend the force of humanity and benevolence? Or to conceive, that the very aspect of happiness, joy, prosperity, gives pleasure ; that of pain, suf- fering sorrow, communicates uneasiness? The human O ' ' countenance, says HORACE,' borrows smiles or tears from the human countenance. Reduce a person to solitude, and he loses all enjoyment, except either of the sensual or specula- tive kind ; and that because the movements of his heart are not forwarded by correspondent movements in his fellow- creatures. The signs of sorrow and mourning, though arbitrary, affect us with melancholy ; but the natural symp- toms, tears and cries and groans, never fail to infuse compas- sion and uneasiness. And if the effects of misery touch us in so lively a manner ; can we be supposed altogether insensible or indifferent towards its causes ; when a malicious or treacherous character and behaviour are presented to us ? We enter, I shall suppose, into a convenient, warm, well- contrived apartment : We necessarily receive a pleasure from its very survey ; because it presents us with the pleasing ideas of ease, satisfaction, and enjoyment. The hospit- able, good-humoured, humane landlord appears. This circumstance surely must embellish the whole : nor can we easily forbear reflecting, with pleasure, on the satisfaction which results to every one from his intercourse and good- offices. His whole family, by the freedom, ease, confidence, and calm enjoyment, diffused over their countenances, sufficiently express their happiness. I have a pleasing sympathy in tho prospect of so much joy, and can never consider the source of it, without the most agreeable emotio ns He tells me, that an oppressive and powerful neighbour had attempted to dispossess him of his inheritance, and had long disturbed all his innocent and social pleasures. J feel a principle in human nature. We must, eiples more simple and universal, what- stop somewhere in our examinat causes; and there are. in every some general principles, beyond we cannot hope to tin- 1 any pri more general. No man is ahr-i indifferent to the happiness and .t' others. The first has a i tendency to give pleasure : the t pain. This everyone nny find i on of ever attempts may have been rnadc to that purpose. But if it were possible, it belongs not to the present subject ; and we may hero safely consider these principles as original: Happy, if \vf isery can render all the consequences suffici- tural ently plain and perspicuous! cond, ' Uti ridentibus arrident, ita flonti- him- bus adflent !f. It is not probable, that these Human! vultus. HOR. A. P. 101. can bo resolved int< "WHY irril.il Y I '!.!; ASKS. i'o.i au immediate indignation arise in me against sudi \iolrnce SF.CT. a, nd injury. But it is no wonder, lie adds, Unit, a private \\TOMLT sliould I'^urJ proceed from a man, who had enslaved provinces, depopulated cities, and made the field and scaffold stream with human blood. I am struck with horror at the prospect of so much misery, and am actuated by the strongest antipathy against its author. En general, it is certain, that, wherever we go, whatever we reflect on or converse about, every thing still presents ns with the view of human happiness or misery, a?id excites in our breast a sympathetic movement of pleasure or un- easiness. In our serious occupations, in our cureless amuse- ments, this principle still exerts its active energy. A man, who enters the theatre, is immediately struck with the view of so great a multitude, participating of one com- mon amusement ; and experiences, from their very aspect, a superior sensibility or disposition of being affected with every Sentiment, which he shares with his fellow-creatures. He observes the actors to be animated by the appearance of a full audience, and raised to a degree of enthusiasm, which they cannot command in any solitary or calm moment. Every movement of the theatre, by a skilful poet, is com- municated, as it were by magic, to the spectators ; who weep, tremble, resent, rejoice, and are enflamed with all the variety of passions, which actuate the several personages of the drama. Where any event crosses our wishes, and interrupts the happiness of the favourite characters, we feel a sensible anxiety and concern. But where their siifferings proceed from the treachery, cruelty, or tyranny of an enemy, our breasts are affected with the liveliest resentment against the author of these calamities. It is here esteemed contrary to the rules of art to repre- sent any thing cool and indifferent. A distant friend, or a confident, who has no immediate interest in the catastrophe, ought, if possible, to be avoided by the poet; as communi- cating a like indifference to the audience, and checking the progress of the passions. Few species of poetry are more entertaining than pastoral ; and every one is sensible, that the chief source of its pleasure arises from those images of a gentle and tender tranquillity. VOL. IV. F 2iO CONCERNING THE PRINCIPLES OF MORALS. Avhich it represents in its personages, and of which it com- municates a like sentiment to the reader. SANNAZARIUS, who II. transferred the scene to the sea-shore, though he presented the most magnificent object in nature, is confessed to have erred in his choice. The idea of toil, labour, and danger, suffered by the fishermen, is painful ; by an unavoidable sympathy, which attends every conception of human happi- ness or misery. When I was twenty, says a FRENCH poet, OVID was my favourite : Now I am forty, I declare for HORACE. We enter, to be sure, more readily into sentiments, which resemble those we feel every day : But no passion, when well represented, can be entirely indifferent to ns ; because there is none, of which every man has not, within him, at least the seeds and first principles. It is the business of poetry to bring every affection near to us by lively imagery and representation, and make it look like truth and reality : A certain proof, that, wherever that reality is found, our minds are disposed to be strongly affected by it. Any recent event or piece of news, by which the fate of states, provinces, or many individuals is affected, is extremely interesting even to those whose welfare is not immediately engaged. Such intelligence is propagated with celerity, heard with avidity, and enquired into with attention and concern. The interest of society appears, on this occasion, to be, in some degree, the interest of each individual. The imagination is sure to be affected ; though the passions excited may not always be so strong and steady as to have great influence on the conduct and behaviour. The perusal of a history seems a calm entertainment ; but would be no entertainment at all, did not our hearts beat with correspondent movements to those Avhich are described by the historian. THUCYDIDES and GUICCIARDIN support with difficulty our attention ; while the former describes the trivial rencounters of the small cities of GREECE, and the latter the harmless wars of PISA. The few persons interested, and the small interest fill not the imagination, and engage not the affec- tions. The deep distress of the numerous ATHENIAN army Ix'lbre SYRACUSE ; the danger, which so nearly threatens VENICE ; these excite compassion ; these move terror and anxiety. WHY ITII.ITY PI. MASKS. '-'11 Tin 1 indifferent, uninteresting stile of SrKToxirs, equally \vi!h the masterly pencil of T.\rrrrs, may convince us of the cniel depravity of NKHO or TlMKlMi'S : Hut what a difference of sent iinent ! While the former coldlv relates the fa <-ts ; ;i ml the latter sets before our eves the venerable figure.-; of a SMIANUS and a. TIIKASKA, intrepid in their fate, and only r,i'ved bv the melting sorrows of their friends and kindred. What sympathy then touches e\ery human heart ! What indie-nation against the tyrant, whoso causeless fear or un- provoked malice gave rise to such detestable barbarity ! If we bring these subjects nearer : If we remove all sus- picion of h'cliou ami deceit : What powerful concern is excited, and how much superior, in many instances, to the narrow attachments of self-love and private interest ! Popular sedition, party /eal, a, devoted obedience to factious leaders ; these are some of the most visible, though less laudable effects of this social sympathy in human nature. The frivolousness of the subject too, we may observe, is not able to detach us entirely from what carries an image of human sentiment and affection. When a person stutters, and pronounces with difficulty, we even sympathize with this trivial uneasiness, and suffer for him. And it is a rule in criticism, that every combination of syllables or letters, which gives pain to the organs of speech in the recital, appears also, from a species of sympathy, harsh and disagreeable to the ear. Nay, when we run o\\r a book with our eye, we are sensible of such unharmonious composi- tion ; because we still imagine, that a person recites it to us, and suffers from the pronunciation of these jarring sounds. So delicate is our sympathy ! Easy and unconstrained postures and motions are always beautiful : An air of health and vigour is agreeable : Cloaths which warm, without burdening the body ; which cover, with- out imprisoning the limbs, are well-fashioned. In every judg- ment of beauty, the feelings of the person affected enter into consideration, and communicate to the spectator similar touches of pain or pleasure. 1 What wonder, then, if we can pronounce no judgment concerning the character and conduct 1 IVivntim' equus ciijus astru-ta sunt ilia; sod idem vdncioi 1 . I'uK-luT a>]Hvtu s-it atlili'ta. i-ujns Lu'onistrn /i cannot be supposed to affect others in a like degree. (Jenera language, therefore, being formed lor general us* 1 , must b moulded on some more general views, and must affix the epi- l' A|;1 thets of praise or blame, in eoiiformity to sentiments, which arise from the general interests of tin- community. And if these sentiments, in most men, be not, so strong as those, which have a reference to private good; yet still they must make some distinction, even in persons {lie most depraved and selfish; and must attach the notion of good to a beneficent conduct, and of evil to the contrary. Sympathy, we shall allow, is much fainter than our concern for ourselves, and sympathy with persons remote from us, much fainter than that with persons near and contiguous ; but for this verv reason, it is necessary for us, in our calm judgments and dis- course concerning the characters (rf men, to neglect all these differences, and render our sentiments more public and social, Besides, that we ourselves often change our situation in this particular, we every day meet with persons, who are in a situation different from us, and who could never converse with us, were we to remain constantly in that position and point of view, which is peculiar to ourselves. The intercourse of sentiments, therefore, in society and conversation, makes us form some general unalterable standard, by which we may approve or disapprove of characters and manners. And th< mu'h the heart takes not part with those general notions, nor regu- lates all its love and hatred, by the universal, abstract differ- ences of vice and virtue, without regard to self, or the persons with whom we are more intimately connected ; yet have these moral differences a considerable influence, and bein^ 1 sufficient, at least, for discourse, serve all our purposes in company, hi the pulpit, on the theatre, and in the schools. 1 Thus, in Avhatever light we take this subject, the merit, ascribed to the social virtues, appears still uniform, and arises chiefly from that regard, which the natural sentiment of benevolence engages us to pay to the interests of mankind and society. If we consider the principles of the human make, 1 It is wisely ordained l>y nature, that sei,tim<-nts of lo\v and apjru'auon private connexions should commonly than a savat benefit <:<>ne to ;i distant prevail over universal views and con- commonwealth : But still we know here, sideratioiis ; otherwise our affections and as in ail the senses, to convet these actions would !>e <;i ipated and l-st, inequalities liv ivtl< in a lor want of a pr<>;>er limited object. LTeiu-ral standard if vic< and virtue. Thus i Miiall benefit done to our?e!ve&. K'Uiid^J cLi<_t!y nil LTeheral ;;SM In'. ih-sa OC onr iiuar friend,-, x/itcs more lively 210 CWCERM.XG THE PRINCIPLES OF MORALS. SECT. such as they appear to daily experience and observation, we , ^ . must, a priori, conclude it impossible for such a creature as PART II. m an to be totally indifferent to the well or ill-being of his fellow-creatures, and not readily, of himself, to pronounce, where nothing gives him any particular b} r ass, that what pro- motes their happiness is good, what tends to their misery is evil, without any farther regard or consideration. Here then are the faint rudiments, at least, or out-lines, of a general dis- tinction between actions ; and in proportion as the humanity of the person is supposed to eiicrease, his connexion with those who are injured or benefited, and his lively conception of their misery or happiness ; his consequent censure or appro- bation acquires proportionable vigour. There is no necessity, that a generous action, barely mentioned in an old history or remote gazette, should communicate any strong feelings of applanse and admiration. Virtue, placed at such a distance, is liked a fixed star, which, though to the eye of reason, it may appear as luminous as the sun in his meridian, is so infinitely removed, as to affect the senses, neither with light nor heat. Bring this virtue nearer, by our acquaintance or connexion with the persons, or even by an eloquent recital of the case ; our hearts are immediately caught, our sympathy enlivened, and our cool approbation converted into the warmest sentiments of friendship and regard. These seem necessary and infallible consequences of the general principles of human nature, as discovered in common life and practice. Again ; reverse these views and reasonings : Consider the matter a posteriori ; and weighing the consequences, enquire if the merit of social virtue be not, in a great measure, derived from the feelings of humanity, with which it affects the spectators. It appears to be matter of fact, that the cir- cumstance of utility, iii all subjects, is a source of praise and approbation : That it is constantly appealed to in all moral decisions concerning the merit and demerit of actions : That it is the ftnh' source of that high regard ]>;;ihi.'e'i !>v jMi-.-i^r.ipb.s, forming 218 CONCERNING THE riUXCIPLES OF MOItALS. SECT, for business and action, it is instantly blamed, and ranked ___~; . among liis faults and imperfections. Indolence, negligence, PAR: I. want of order and method, obstinacy, fickleness, rashness, credulity; these qualities were never esteemed by any one indifferent to a character ; much less, extolled as accom- plishments or virtues. The prejudice, resulting from, them, immediately strikes our eye, and gives us the sentiment of pain and disapprobation. No quality, it is allowed, is absolutely either blameable or praise-worthy. It is all according to its degree. A due medium, say the PERIPATETICS, is the characteristic of virtue. But, this medium is chiefly determined by utility. A proper celerity, for instance, and dispatch in business, is commendable. When defective, no progress is ever made in the execution of any purpose : When excessive, it engages us in precipitate and ill-concerted measures and enterprises : By such reasonings, we fix the proper and commendable mediocrity in all moral and prudential disquisitions ; and never lose view of the advantages, which result from any character or habit. Now as these advantages are enjoyed by the person pos- sessed of the character, it can never be self-love which renders the prospect of them agreeable to us, the spectators, and prompts our esteem and approbation. No force of imagina- tion can convert us into another person, and make us fancy, that we, being that person, reap benefit from those valuable qualities, which belong to him. Or if it did, no celerity of imagination could immediately transport us back, into ourselves, and make us love and esteem the person, as dif- ferent from us. Views and sentiments, so opposite to known truth, and to each other, could never have place, at the same time, in the same person. All suspicion, therefore, of selfish regards, is her*; totally excluded. It is a quite different principle, which actuates our bosom, and interests us in the felicity of the person whom we contemplate. Where his natural talents and acquired abilities give us the prospect of elevation, advancement, a figure in life, prosperous success, a steady command over fortune, and the execution of great or advantageous undertakings; we art; struck with such agreeable images, and feel a complacency and regard imme- diately arise towards him. The ideas of happiness, joy, triumph, pmsperil v, are connected with every circumstance ()[' QIJAUTIK.S TSKFL'L TO orKSF.l.VKS. i'1'.l of his character, and diffuse over our minds a pleasing senti- >K in ap- there is no human creature 1 , to whom ply tothe, object either honourable or dis- the appearance of happiness (where honourable appellations. Agripingmi.-er, envy or revenge has no place) does not for instance, prai>es extremely iiiil .;,// i:ive pleasure, that of misery, unea>i- Hivi fritifulify uYfU in other:-, and sets ne>s. 1'his seems inseparable from our them, in his ustuu;!tion, above all the make and constitution. l!ur they are other virtues. lie knows the good that onlv the mure generous minds, that are re.sults from them, and feels that species thenee prompted to set k zealously the of happiness with a more lively svni- "ood of others, and to have a real pas- pathy. than any other you could n ; : - sioii for their welfare. AVitli men of M-nt to him : thoiurli perhaps he would narrow and ungenerous spirits, this not part with a .--lii.ling to make the sympathy goes not beyond a. slight fortune of the indiiMrious man, whom feeling of the iniagmai ion. which >erve-i he praise*- >o liijhlv. onlv to exeiie seJitinii.n'.s o; coinpla- 220 CONCERNING THE PRINCIPLES OF MORALS. of tlie one sentimeui and of the other ; and the same altera- tion in the objects, by their nearer approach or by connexions, PAKT I. enlivens the one and the other. By all the rules of philo- sophy, therefore, we must conclude, that these sentiments' are originally the same ; since, in each particular, even the most minute, they are governed by the same laws, and are moved by the same objects. Why do philosophers infer, with the greatest certainty, that the moon is kept in its orbit by the same force of gravity, that makes bodies fall near the surface of the earth, but because these effects are, upon computation, found similar and equal? And must not this argument bring as strong conviction, in moral as in natural disquisitions ? To prove, by any long detail, that all the qualities, useful to the possessor, are approved of, and the contrary censured, would be superfluous. The least reflection on what is every day experienced in life, will be sufficient. We shall only mention a few instances, in order to remove, if possible, all doubt and hesitation. The quality, the most necessary for the execution of any useful enterprise, is DISCRETION ; by which we carry on a safe intercourse with others, give due attention to our own and to their character, weigh each circumstance of the business which we undertake, and employ the surest and safest means for the attainment of any end or purpose. To a CROMWELL, perhaps or a DE RKTZ, discretion may appear an alderman-like virtue, as Dr. SWIFT calls it ; and being incompatible with those vast designs, to which their courage and ambition prompted them, it might really, in them, be a fault or imperfection. But in the conduct of ordinary life, no virtue is more requisite, not only to obtain success, but to avoid the most fatal miscarriages and disappointments. The greatest parts without it, as observed by an elegant writer, may be fatal to their owner; as POLYPHEMUS, deprived of his eye, was only the more exposed, on account of his enor- mous strength and stature. The best character, indeed, were it not rather too perfect for human nature, is that which is riot swayed by temper of any kind ; but alternately employs enterprise and caution, as each is useful to the particular purpose intended. Such is the excellence which ST. EVRKMOXD ascribes to mareschal TURENNK, who displayed every campaign, as he grew older, or gru.!Tii;s rsKi-ri, r<> nrnsr.i.vi-is. .M more temerity in his military enterprises ; and being now, SF.CT. from long experience, perfeetly ac(juainted with every incident ' '_ in war, lie advanced with greater firmness and security, in a PART I. road s<> well known to him. Faluns, says M ACHIAVKL, was cautious; Scipio enterprising: And both succeeded, because the situation of the ROMAN all'.iirs, during the command of ouch, was peculiarly adapted to his genius ; but both would have failed, had these situations been reversed, lie is happy, whose circumstances suit his temper; but he is more excel- lent, who ca,n suit his temper to any circumstances. What, need is there to display the praises of INDUSTRY, find to extol its advantages, in the acquisition of power and riches, or in raising what we call u furl nun in the world ? The tortoise, according to the fable, by his perseverance, gained the race of the hare, though possessed of much superior swift- ness. A man's time, when well husbanded, is like a cultivated field, of which a few acres produce more of what is useful to lite, than extensive provinces, even of the richest soil, when over-run with weeds and brambles. But all prospect of success in life, or even of tolerable sub- sistence, must fail, where a reasonable "FliUGA-LITY is want- ing. The heap, instead of encreasing, diminishes daily, and leaves its possessor so much more unhappy, as, not having been able to confine his expences to a large revenue, he will siill less be able to live contentedly on a small one. The souls of men, according to PLATO', inflamed with impure appetites, and losing the bod}-, which alone afforded means of satisfac- tion, hover about the earth, and haunt the places where their bodies are deposited; possessed with a longing desire to re- cover the lost organs of sensation. So may we see worthless prodigals, having consumed their fortune in wild debauches, thrusting themselves into every plentiful table, and every party of pleasure, hated even by the vicious, and despised even by fools. The one extreme of frugality is avarice, which, as it both deprives a man of all use of his riches, and checks hospitality and every social enjoyment, is justly censured on a double account. Prodigallh/, the other extreme, is commonly more hurtful to a man himself; and each of these extremes is blamed above the other, according to the temper of the person 1 Phfedo. 81. 2:?2 CONCERNING Till-: PRINCTPT/KS OF M01IALS. who censures, and according* to liis greater or less sensibility to pleasure, either social or sensual. i Q UALITIES often derive their merit from complicated sources. Honesty, fidelity, truth, are praised for their immediate ten- dency to promote the interests of society ; but after those virtues are once established upon this foundation, they are also considered as advantageous to the person himself, and as the source of that trust and confidence, which can alone give a man any consideration in life. One becomes contemptible, no less than odious, when he forgets the duty, which, in this particular, he owes to himself as well as to society. Perhaps, this consideration is one chief source of the high blame, which is thrown on any instance of failure among women in point of chastity. The greatest regard, which can be acquired by that sex, is derived from their fidelity; and a woman becomes cheap and vulgar, loses her rank, and is exposed to every insult, who is deficient in this particular. The smallest failure is here sufficient to blast her character. A female has so many opportunities of secretly indulging these appetites, that nothing can give us security but her absolute modesty and reserve; and where a breach is once made, it can scarcely ever be fully repaired. If a man behave with cowardice on one occasion, a contrary conduct reinstates him in his character. But by what action can a woman, whose behaviour has once been dissolute, be able to assure us, that she has formed better resolutions, and has self-command enough to carry them into execution: 3 All men, it is allowed, are equally desirous of happiness ; but few are successful in the pursuit : One considerable cause is the want of STRENGTH of MIND, which might enable them to resist the temptation of present ease or pleasure, and carry them forward in the search of more distant profit and enjoyment. Our affections, on a general prospect of their objects, form certain rules of conduct, and certain measures of preference of one above another: And these decisions, though really the result of our calm passions and propensities, (for what else can pronounce any object eligible or the con- trary?) are yet said, by a natural abuse of terms, to be the determinations of pure rcfoum, and reflection. But when some of these objects approach nearer to us, or acquire the advaii- 1 [This paragraph .uidtlir n<-.\t were addud in Edition X.J OF (.H'AUTIKS ISKFn, TO < >f KSKLYKS. tages of favourable lights and posit ions, which cat'-h the heart or imagination; our general resolutions arc frequently con- founded,:! small enjoyment preferred, and lasting sliaine and sorrov: entailed upon us. And however poets may employ their wit and eloquence, in celebrating present pleasure, and rejecting all distant views to lame, health, or fortune; it is obvious, that this practice is the source of all dissoluteness and disorder, repentance and misery. A man of a strong and determined temper adheres tenaciously to his general resolu- tions, and is neither seduced by the allurements of pleasure, nor terrified by the menaces of pain; but keeps still in view those distant pursuits, by which he, at once, ensures his happiness and his honour. Self-satisfaction, at least in some decree, is an advantage, which equally attends the FOOL and the WISE MAX: But it is the only one ; nor is there any other circumstance in the conduct of life, where they are upon an equal footing. Busi- ness, books, conversation ; for all of these, a fool is totally incapacitated, and except condemned by his station to the coarsest drudgery, remains a nx<:I<:xx burthen upon the earth. Accordingly, it is found, that men are extremely jealous of their character in this particular; and many instances are seen of profligacy and treachery, the most avowed and unre- served ; none of bearing patiently the imputation of ignorance and stupidity. DICAEAKCHUS, the MACEDONIAN general, who, as PoiAinrs tells us ', openly erected one altar to impiety, another to injustice, in order to bid defiance to mankind ; even he, [ am well assured, would have started at the epithet of /'/, and have meditated revenge for so injurious an appella- tion. Except the affection of parents, the strongest and most indissoluble bond in nature, no connexion has strength sufficient to support the disgust arising from this character. Love itself, which can subsist under treachery, ingratitude, malice, and infidelity, is immediately extinguished by it, when perceived and acknowledged ; nor are deformity and old age more fatal to the dominion of that passion. So dreadful are the ideas of an utter incapacity for any purpose or undertaking, and of continued error and misconduct in life ! When it is asked, whether a quick or a slow apprehension be most valuable P Whether one, that, at first view, penetrates Lib. xrii. oaji. '.iij. 24 CONCERNING THE PRINCIPLES OF MORALS. 3 EOT. far into a subject, but can perform nothing upon study ; or a r j , contrary character, which must work out every thing by dint of application ? Whether a clear head or a copious invention? Whether a profound genius or a sui*e judgment ? In short, what character, or peculiar turn of understanding is more excellent than another? It is evident, that we can answer none of these questions, without considering which of those qualities capacitates a man best for the world, and carries him farthest in any undertaking. If refined sense and exalted sense be not so useful ascoin- ufton sense, their rarity, their novelty, and the nobleness of their objects make some compensation, and render them the admiration of mankind : As gold, though less serviceable than iron, acquires, from its scarcity, a value, which is much superior. The defects of judgment can be supplied by no art or invention ; but those of MEMORY frequently may, both in business and in study, by method and industry, and by diligence in committing every thing to writing ; and we scarcely ever hear a short memory given as a reason for a man's failure in any undertaking. But in ancient times, when no man could make a figure without the talent of speaking, and when the audience were too delicate to bear such crude, undigested harangues as our extemporary orators offer to public assemblies ; the faculty of memory was then of the utmost consequence, and was accordingly much more valued than at present. Scarce any great genius is mentioned in antiquity, who is not celebrated for this talent ; and CICERO enumerates it among the other sublime qualities ot (L-ESAR himself. 1 Particular customs and manners alter the usefulness of qualities : They also alter their merit. Particular situations and accidents have, in some degree, the same influence. He will always be more esteemed, who possesses those talents and accomplishments, which suit his station and profession, than he whom fortune has misplaced in the part which she has assigned him. The private or selfish virtues are, in this resr-ect, more arbitrary than the public and social. In other respects, they are, perhaps, less liable to doubt and controversy. Fuit in illo ingeniiim, ratio. iricrnori;i, litprsr-. fiira. copitntio. dilipontia, &c. PHILIP. 2. -15. OF QUALITIES rSKRJL TO OUUSKLVKS. L'i>r> In this kingdom, such continued ostentation, of late years, SECT, lias prevailed among men in ucfire life \vi(li regard to public spirit, and among those in KjH'culnlire with regard to lienunt- I'AUT I. fence ; and so many false pretensions to each have been, no doultt, detected, that men of the world are apt, without any bad intention, to discover a sullen incredulity on the head of those moral endowments, ami even sometimes absolutely to deny their existence and reality. In like manner, I find, that, of old, the perpetual cant of the ,S7o/Vx and ('///; /Vx con- cerning i' iff. tie, their magnificent professions and slender performances, bred a disgust in mankind ; and LTCIAX, who, though licentious with regard to pleasure, is vet, in other respects, a very moral writer, cannot, sometimi-s, talk of virtue, so much boasted, without betraying symptoms of spleen and irony. 1 But surely this peevish delicacy, whence- ever it arises, can never be carried so far as to make us deny the existence of every species of merit, and all distinction of manners and behaviour. Besides dim: ret ion, cunt ion, ndcr- priM', industry, assiduity, frugality, 'iiu. Kal CTwayayovrts (ol 7 animals is the advantage, which they reap i'rom the particular SF.rT. structure of their limbs and members, suitably to the par- , __,_ , ticular manner of life, to which they are by nature destined. I'AKI II. The just proportions of a horse, described by XKXOIMIOX and VlIKilL, are the same, that are received at. this dav by our modern jockeys; because the foundation of them is the same, namely, experience of what is detrimental or useful in the animal. Broad shoulders, a lank belly, firm joints, taper legs ; all these are beautiful in our species, because si^ns of force and vigour. Ideas of utility and its contrary, though they do not entirely determine what is handsome or deformed, are evidently the source of a considerable part of approbation or dislike. In ancient times, bodily strength and dexterity, being of greater v.m' and importance in Avar, Avas also much more esteemed and valued, than at present. Xot to insist on HO.AIKK and the poets, we may observe, that historians scruple not to mention force- of li, 88. I*" cri>it ; cmn c/tlung rectc ccrtulmt. SAI.- may not be improper to give theeharae- i.rsr apnd YKUKT. IV JJe Mil. 10. ter of EFAMI.VONDAS. as drawn by the 3 [Edition G adds in a note; To the historian, in order to show the ideas of same Purpose, we may observe a Pha j - perfeet merit, which prevailed in those noineiior,, which mi^ht appear some- a;:cs. In other illustrious men, savs ho, what trivial and ludici'o;:-; \\ anvTlii:.^ you will observe, that each possessed could be trivial, which fortify 'd Conelu- sotnc one shiniiiir t^ualitv, which was eions of such Importance ; or ludicrous, the foundation of his fame: In KFAMI- which was einploy'd in a philosophical XONDAS all the i-irti't'a are found united ; J\easoninir. 'Tis a general Remark, that force of body. eloLjiience of expression. those we call good IT, ,-,,.,/> MI,/, who viironr of mind, contempt of riches. have titlur sia'iiaiix'J !h--n, selves by gentleness of disposition, and u-/n/r /,> their amorous ICxploiis. or \\'i.ose .Make i-/. <_:/// to i>c /;;'.,'/(/<:/'. courage and eon- of ]loi!y or other syinjitoms promise dcct in war. any < xtraordinary \it:. ,nr of that kind, t Cumalacribuf,taUu;cumi'docibi!f. are well re..'eiv'd \'\ the fair sex, and 228 CONCERNING THE PRINCIPLES OF MORALS. SECT. There is no rule in painting or statuary more indispensible _. V'._^ than that of balancing- the figures, and placing them with PAT II. the greatest exactness on their proper center of gravity. A figure, which is not justly balanced, is ugly ; because it conveys the disagreeable ideas of fall, harm, and pain 1 . A disposition or turn of mind, which qualifies a man to rise in the world, and advance his fortune, is entitled to esteem and regard, as has already been explained. It may, therefore, naturally be supposed, that the actual possession of riches and authority will have a considerable influence over these sentiments. Let us examine any hypothesis, by which we can account for the regard paid to the rich and powerful : "We shall find none satisfactory, but that which derives it from the enjoy- ment communicated to the spectator by the images of prosperity, happiness, ease, plenty, authority, and the gratifi- cation of every appetite. Self-love, for instance, which some affect so much to consider as the source of every sentiment, is plainly insufficient for this purpose. Where no good-will or friendship appears, it is difficult to conceive on what we can found our hope of advantage from the riches of others ; though we naturally respect the rich, even before they discover any such favourable disposition towards us. We are affected with the same sentiments, when we lie so much out of the sphere of their activity, that they cannot even be supposed to possess the power of serving us. A prisoner of war, in all civilised nations, is treated with a regard suited to his condition ; and riches, it is evident, go far towards fixing the condition of any person. If birth and naturally engage the Affections even of species to superior om-s, it is a very those -whose Virtue or Situation pre- mortifying consideration, that we should vents any Design of ever giving Employ- all he so liable to diseases and infirmi- ment to tliosf Talents. The Imagina- ties; and divines accordingly employ tion is pleas'd with these Conceptions, this topic, in order t depress self-eon- and entering with Satisfaction into the ceit and vanity. They would have Ideas of so favourite an Knjoyment, more success, if the common bent of feels a Complacency and (!A " T iL powerful ancestors, and who acquires our esteem by his connexion with persons whom we esteem ? His ancestors, therefore, though dead, are respected, in SOUK; measure, on account of their riches; and consequently, without any kind of expectation. But not to go so far as prisoners of war or the dead, to find instances of this disinterested regard of riches ; we may only observe, with a little attention, those pluenoinena, which occur in common life and conversation. A man, who is himself, we shall suppose, of a competent fortune, and of no profession, being introduced to a company of strangers, naturally treats them with different degrees of respect, as he is informed of their different fortunes and conditions ; though it is impossible that he can so suddenly propose, and perhaps he would not accept of, any pecuniary advantage from them. A traveller is always admitted into company, and meets with civilitv, in proportion as his train and equipage speak him a man of great or moderate fortune. In short, the different ranks of men are, in a great measure, regulated by riches ; and that with regard to superiors as well a.s inferiors, strangers as well as acquaintance. What remains, therefore, but to conclude, that, as riches are desired for ourselves only as the means of gratifying our appetites, cither at present or in some imaginary future period; they beget esteem in others merely from their having that influence. This indeed is their very nature or essence : They have a direct reference to the commodities, conve- niencies, and pleasures of life : The bill of a banker, who is broke, or gold in a desart island, would otherwise be full as valuable. When we approach a man, who is, as we say, at his ease, we are presented with the pleasing ideas of plenty, satisfaction, cleanliness, warmth; a chearful house, elegant furniture, ready service, and whatever is desirable in meat, drink, or apparel. On the contrary, when a poor man appears, the disagreeable images of want, penury, hard labour, dirty furniture, coarse or ragged deaths, nauseous meat and distasteful liquor, immediately strike our fancy. What else do we mean by saying that one is rich, the other poor'? And as regard or contempt is the natural consequence 230 CONCERNING THE PRINCIPLES OF MORALS, SET. of those different situations in life: it is easily seen what Y T ^ r _J , additional light and evidence this throws on our preceding I'AKT II. theory, with regard to all moral distinctions. 1 A man, who has c tired himself of all ridiculous pre- possessions, and is fully, sincerely, and steadily convinced, from experience as well as philosophy, that the difference of fortune makes less difference in happiness than is vulgarly imagined ; such a one does not measure out degrees of esteem according to the rent-rolls of his acquaintance. He may, indeed, externally pay a superior deference to the great lord above the vassal ; because riches are the most convenient, being the most fixed and determinate, source of distinction : But his internal sentiments are more regulated by the personal characters of men, than by the accidental and capricious favours of fortune. In most countries of EUROPE, family, that is, hereditary riches, marked with titles and symbols from the sovereign, is the chief source of distinction. In ENGLAND, more regard is paid to present opulence and plenty. Each practice has its advantages and disadvantages. Where birth is respected, unactive, spiritless minds remain in haughty indolence, and dream of nothing but pedigrees and genealogies : The generous and ambitious seek honour and authority and re- putation and favour. Where riches are the chief idol, cor- ruption, venality, rapine prevail : Arts, manufactures, com- merce, agriculture flourish. The former prejudice, being favourable to military virtue, is more suited to monarchies. The latter, being the chief spur to industry, agrees better with a republican government. And we accordingly find, that each of these forms of government, by varying the utility of those customs, has commonly a proportionable effect on the sentiments of mankind. 1 Thore is something extraordinary, our fellows often cause pity, which lias and seemingly unaccountable in the in it a strontr mixture of ^rood-will, operation of our passions, when we This sentiment of ]>ity is nearly allied consider the fortune and situation of to contempt, which is a species of dis- others. Very often another'-, advance- like, -with a mixture of pride. I only incut and prosperitv produces enw, point out these phenomena, as a eubject which lias a strong mixture of hatred. of speculation to such as are curious and arises chiefly from the comparison with reirard to moral enquiries. It is of ourselves with the pi-r.-oii. At the sufficient for the present purpose to o!i- verv same time, or at least in very ^liort, serve in general, that power and riches intervals, we may feel the passion of commonly cau^e respect, poverty and respect, which is a species of affection meanness contempt, thoiitrh particular or good-will, with a, mixture of humility, views and incidents may sometimes On the other hand, the misfortunes of raise- the passions of envy and of pity. OF Ql'AUTlKS IMMKIMATKLY Af ; UKKAI5LK TO OURSELVES. 2/J1 SKCT. VII. Of QiuiUtii's immefl'uttily agreeable to Ouwh-i'K. WIIOKVKU has passed an eveniiiLT with serious melancholy S T;I| "T L * people, and lias observed how suddenly the conversation was VII. animated, and what sprightliness diffused itself over the counteiiiince, discourse, and behaviour of (-very one, on the accession of a good-humoured, lively companion; such a one will easily allow, that CHEARFUL-N'J'SS carries groat merit with it, and naturally conciliates the -/odd-will of mankind. Xo quality, indeed, more readily communicates itself to all around; because no one lias a greater propensity to display itself, in jovial talk and pleasant entertainment. The flame spreads through the whole circle; and the most sullen and morose are often caught by it. That the melancholy hate the merry, even though HOEACK says it, I have some diffi- culty to allow ; because I have always observed, that, where the jollity is moderate and decent, serious people are so much the more delighted, as it dissipates the gloom, with which they r.re commonly oppressed ; and gives them an unusual enjoyment. From this influence of chearfulness, both to communicate itself, and to engage approbation, we may perceive, that there is another set of mental qualities, which, without any utility or any tendency to farther good, either of the com- munity or of the possessor, diffuse a satisfaction 011 the be- holders, and procure friendship and regard. Their imme- diate sensation, to the person possessed of them, is agree- able : Others enter into the same humour, and catch the sentiment, by a contagion or natural sympathy : And as we cannot forbear loving whatever pleases, a kindly emotion arises towards the person, who communicates so much satis- faction. He is a more animating spectacle: His presence diffuses over us more serene complacency and enjoyment : Our imagination, entering into his feelings and disposition, is affected in a more agreeable manner, than if a melancholy, dejected, sullen, anxious temper were presented to us. Hence the affection and approbation, which attend the former : The aversion and disgust, with which we regard the latter. 1 1 There is no man. who, 011 particu- lar occasions, is nut a flirted with all 32 CONCERNING THE PRINCIPLES OF MORALS. Few men would envy the character, which C^SAR gives of CASSIUS. lie loves no play. As thou do'st, AXTHONY : He hears no music: Seldom he smiles ; and smiles in such a sort, As if he mock'd himself, and scorn'd his spirit That could be mov'd to smile at any thing. Not only such men, as CAESAR adds, are commonly dangerous, but also, having little enjoyment within themselves, they can never become agreeable to others, or contribute to social entertainment. In all polite nations and ages, a relish for pleasure, if accompanied with temperance and decency, is esteemed a considerable merit, even in the greatest men ; and becomes still more requisite in those of inferior rank and character. It is an agreeable representation, which a FRENCH writer gives of the situation of his own mind in this particular, Virtue I love, says he, without austerity : Pleasure, without effeminacy : And lift', without f oaring its end. 1 Who is not struck with any signal instance of GREAT- NESS of MIND or Dignity of Character ; with elevation of sentiment, disdain of slavery, and with that noble pride and spirit, which arises from conscious virtue? The sublime, says LONGINUS, is often nothing but the echo or image of magnanimity ; and where this quality appears in any one, even, though a syllable be not uttered, it excites our applause and admiration ; as may be observed of the famous silence of AJAX in the ODYSSEY, which expresses more noble disdain and resolute indignation, than any language can convey. 2 Were I ALEXANDER, said PARMENIO, I would accept of these offers mS J/P I T- 1 Barbarians, not yet fully subdued, felt in himself such a . ,_!_^ ' dignity and right of empire, that be could not believe it ' possible, that any one would refuse to obey him. Whether ' in EUROPE or in ASIA, among ({RKKKS or PERSIANS, all was ' indifferent to him : Wherever he found men, he fancied he ' should find subjects.' The 'confident of MEDEA in the tragedy recommends caution and submission; and enumerating all the distresses of that unfortunate heroine, asks her, what she has to sup- port her against her numerous and implacable enemies. A F if self, replies she; Myself, 1 sat/, and it ix enouyh. BoiLEAU justly recommends this passage as an instance of true sublime. 2 When PHOCION, the modest, the gentle PHOCION, was led to execution, he turned to one of his fellow-sufferers, who was lamenting his own hard fate. / it not ytory owityh for you, says he, that you die -with- PHOCION P 3 Place in opposition the picture, which TACITUS draws of VITELLIUS, fallen from empire, prolonging his ignominy from a wretched love of life, delivered over to the merciless rabble; tossed, buffeted, and kicked about; constrained, by their holding a poinard under his chin, to raise his head, and expose himself to every contumely. What abject in- famy ! Wluit low humiliation ! Yet even here, says the historian, he discovered some symptoms of a mind not wholly degenerate. To a tribune, who insulted him, he replied, I am still your emperor: 1 We never excuse the absolute want of spirit and dignity of character, or a proper sense of what is due to one's self, in society and the common intercourse of life. This vice constitutes what we properly call meanness; when a man can submit to the basest slavery, in order to gain his ends ; fawn upon those who abuse him; and degrade himself by intima- cies and familiarities with undeserving inferiors. A certain degree of generous pride or self-value is so requisite, that 1 f ' Confidant ' in several Editions.] - Reflexion 10 sur Longin. int 3 1'l.UTARCH in PllOC 1 . 06. 4 Tacit, hist. lib. iii. 84. The author filtering upon the narration, says, iMiiiftta rrxfe. ftpdum spectaculum di'.cc- iys a riirin to dispose i , mii.lfix incrcpantibiis, nullo inln- it then became a duty to part with it. UitTinitas exitus miserieor- 234 COXCLTvXIXG THE PRINCIPLES OF .MORALS. SECT the ftbsence f ^ i 11 * ne mind displeases, after the same VII. manner as the want of a nose, eye, or any of the im^t material features of the face or members of the body. 1 The utility of COUEAGE, both to the public and to the person possessed of if, is an obvious foundation of merit : But to any one who duly considers of the matter, it will appear, that this quality has a peculiar lustre, which it derives wholly from itself, and from that noble elevation inseparable from it. Its tig-are, drawn by painters and by poets, displays, in each feature, a sublimity and daring con- fidence : which catches the eye, engages the affections, and diffuses, by sympathy, a like sublimity of sentiment over every spectator. Under what shining colours does DEMOSTHENES 8 represent PHILIP ; where the orator apologizes for his own administra- tion, and justifies that pertinacious love of liberty, with which he had inspired the ATHENIANS. 'I beheld PHILIP,' says he, ' he with whom was your contest, resolutely, while ' in pursuit of empire and dominion, exposing himself to 'every wound; his eye goared, his neck wrested, his arm, ' his thigh pierced, whatever part of his body fortune should ' seize on, that cheerfully relinquishing; provided that, wit it ' Avhat remained, he might live in honour and renown. Aivl ' shall it be said, that he, born in PELLA, a place heretofore ' mean and ignoble, should be inspired with so high an ' ambition and thirst of fame : While yon, ATHENIANS, tCv.' These praises excite the most lively admiration ; but the views presented by the orator, carry us not, we see, beyond the hero himself, nor ever regard the future advantageous consequences of his valour. The martial temper of the ROMANS, inflamed by continual wars, had raided their esteem of courage so high, that, in their language, it was called virtue, by way of excellence and of distinction from all other moral qualities. The SUEVI, 1 Tli' absence of a virtue may oft on havo nnv higher psteo7ii of him. And he a vieo : and that of the highest kind; if the stnie pers.-.n, who crouches to as in the instance of in^ra' it "de. .MS \vell his superiors. is insolent to his inferiors as meanness. "Where we expect a brant y, (as often happens), this contrariety of the disappointment gives an uneasy sen- behaviour, instead of correcting tlio sation. and pro luces a real defurmil v. former vice, aggravates it extremely An al'jectness of character, likewise, is by tin: addition of a vice still nmro disgustful and contemptible in another odious. See sect. 8. Of Qualities im- view. Where a man has no sense of mediately agreeable to Others. value in himself, we are ii"t likely to ' J Pro corona, 217- OF urAI.ITIK.S I.M.MF.IUATKI.Y A( : liF.KAMI.K TO Ol'US I.I.VK-. 2 i:i the opinion of TACITUS, ' f f'ur tin; /inr/mxr of iorim/ <>r ////// _ _J adorni'il fhemnt'.li'M only fnr Ihfir <'/e'//(/Vx, un (if>]'(if iitnrf fi-rrihli'. A sentiment of t!;e historian, which would sound a little oddly in other nations ;ind other ;i!_ r es. The SCYTHIANS, according to Hi; IIODOITS,^ after scalping their enemies, dressed the skin like lc.it her, and used it as a towel ; and whoever had the most of those towels was most esteemed among them. So much had martial bravery, in that nation, as well as in many others, desl roved the senti- ments of humanity : a. virtue surely much more useful and engaging. ft is indeed observable, that, among all uncultivated nations, who have not, as yet, had full experience of the advantages attending beneficence, justice, and the social virtues, courage is the predominant excellence ; what is most celebrated by poets, recommended by parents and instructors, and admired by the public in general. The ethics of HOMER are, in this particular, very different from those of FENELOX, his elegant imitator; and such as were well suited to an age, when one hero, as remarked by TnucYDiDES, 3 could ask another, without offence, whether he were a robber or not. Such also, very lately, was the system of ethics, which prevailed in many barbarous parts of IRELAND ; if we may credit SPEXCEI;, in his judicious account of the state of that kingdom. 4 Of the same class of virtues with courage is that undis- turbed philosophical TRANQUILLITY, superior to pain, sorrow, anxiety, and each assault of adverse fortune. Con- scious of his own virtue, say the philosophers, the sage elevates himself above every accident of life ; and securely placed in the temple of wisdom, loots down on inferior mortals, engaged in pursuit of honours, riches, reputation, and every frivolous enjoyment. These pretensions, no doubt, when stretched to the utmost, are, by far, too magnificent for human nature. They carry, however, a 2 a wl.ilc up and ilown idly tin 1 Pe morilms Germ. 38. -. taking onlv nirat. he at la.-; shall bo offered; which beimi on their centlemen's sons, that, as soon a nade known, he is thenceforth counted thevare able t-> u>e their weapons, they Ptrait gather to themselves three or four a man of worth, in whom tlurc is Btragglerb or kwrn. with whom wander- courage, 2:36 CONCERNING THE PRINCIPLES OF MORALS. SECT, grandeur with, them, which seizes the spectator, and strikes VII ^ , '...- him with admiration. And the nearer we can approach in practice, to this sublime tranquillity and indifference (for \ve must distinguish it from a stupid insensibility) the more secure enjoyment shall we attain within ourselves, and the more greatness of mind shall we discover to the world. The philosophical tranquillity may, indeed, be considered only as a branch of magnanimity. Who admires not SOCRATES: his perpetual serenity and contentment, amidst the greatest poverty and domestic vexations ; his resolute contempt of riches, and his mag- nanimous care of preserving liberty, while he refused all assistance from his friends and disciples, and avoided even the dependence of an obligation? EPICTETUS had not so much as a door to his little house or hovel ; and therefore, soon lost his iron lamp, the only furniture which he had worth taking. But resolving to disappoint all robbers for the future, he supplied its place with an earthen lamp, of which he very peaceably kept possession ever after. Among the ancients, the heroes in philosophy, as well as those in war and patriotism, have a grandeur and force of sentiment, which astonishes our narrow souls, and is rashly rejected as extravagant and supernatural. They, in their turn, I allow, would have had equal reason to consider as romantic and incredible, the degree of humanity, clemency, order, tranquillity, and other social virtues, to which, in the administration of government, we have attained in modern times, had any one been then able to have made a fair representation of them. Such is the compensation, which nature, or rather education, has made in the distribution of excellencies and virtues, in those different ages. The merit of BEXKYOLKXOE, arising from its utility, and its tendency to promote the good of mankind, has been already explained, and is, no doubt, the source of a con- siderable part of that esteem, which is so universally paid to it. But it will also be allowed, that th very softness and tenderness of the sentiment, its engaging endearments, its fond expressions, its delicate attentions, and all that flow of mutual confidence and regard, Avhich enters into a warm attachment of love and friendship: Tt will be allowed, I say, that these feelings, being delightful in themselves, are necessarily communicated to the spectators, and melt them OF grAUTIKS IMMKMATKLY A(ii:KKA15LK To orKSKI A'K.S. into the same fondness and delicacy. The tear naturally SI't'T vn starts in our eve on the apprehension of a warm sentiment . of this nature: Our breast heaves, our heart is agitated, and every humane, tender principle of our frame is set in motion, and u'ives us the purest and most satisfactory enjoyment. When poets form descriptions of MLYSIAN fields, where the blessed inhabitants stand in no need of each other's assistance, they yet represent them as maintaining a con- stant intercourse of love and friendship, and sooth our fancy with the pleasing image of these soft and gentle passions. The idea of tender tranquillity in a pastoral ARCADIA is agreeable from a like principle, as has been observed above. 1 Who would live amidst perpetual wrangling, and scolding, a ud mutual reproaches? The roughness and harshness of these emotions disturb and displease us: We suffer by contagion and sympathy; nor can we remain indili'erent spectators, even though certain, that no pernicious conse- quences would ever follow from such angry passions. As a certain proof, that the whole merit of benevolence is not derived from its usefulness, we may observe, that, in a kind way of blame, we say, a person is too , 37. R 242 CONCERNING THE PRINCIPLES OF MORALS. SECT. beauty is placed in a much greater degree of slenderness, ^_ T '_. than in countries, where that is the most usual defect. Being so often struck with instances of one species of de- formity, men think they can never keep at too great a dis- tance from it, and wish always to have a leaning to the opposite side. In like manner, were the door opened to self-praise, and were MONTAIGNE'S maxim observed, that one should say as frankly, I have sense, I have learning, I have courage, beauty, or wit ; as it is sure we often think so ; were this the case, I say, every one is sensible, that such a flood of impertinence would break in upon us, as would render society wholly intolerable. For this reason custom has established it as a rule, in common societies, that men should not indulge themselves in self-praise, or even speak much of themselves ; and it is only among intimate friends or people of very manly behaviour, that one is allowed to do himself justice. No body finds fault with MAURICE, Prince of ORANGE, for his reply to one, who asked him, whom he esteemed the first general of the age, The marquis of SPINOLA, said he, is the second. Though it is observable, that the self- praise implied is here better implied, than if it had been directly expressed, without any cover or disguise. He must be a very superficial thinker, who imagines, that all instances of mutual deference are to be understood in earnest, and that a man would be more esteem able for being ignorant of his own merits and accomplishments. A small bias towards modesty, even in the internal sentiment, is favourably regarded, especially in young people ; and a strong bias is required, in the outward behaviour : But this excludes not a noble pride and spirit, which may openly display itself in its full extent, when one lies under calumny or oppression of any kind. The generous contumacy of SOCRATES, as CICERO calls it, has been highly celebrated in all ages ; and when joined to the usual modesty of his behaviour, forms a shining character. IPHICRATES, the ATHENIAN, being accused of betraying the interests of his country, asked his accuser, Would you, says he, have, on a like occasion, been guilty of that crime ? By no means, replied the other. And can you then imagine, cried the hero, that IPHICRATES would be guilty? 1 In short, a generous spirit and self-value, well founded, decently disguised, and courageously supported under dis- 1 QUINCTIL. lib. v. cap. 12. OF QUALITIES IMMEDIATELY AGUKEAJ5LE TO OTHERS. 243 tress and calumny, is a great excellency, and seems to derive SECT, its merit from the noble elevation of its sentiment, or its ^ r 1^ immediate agreeableness to its possessor. In ordinary cha- racters, we approve of a bias towards modesty, which is a quality immediately agreeable to others : The vicious excess of the former virtue, namely, insolence or haughtiness, is immediately disagreeable to others : The excess of the latter is so to the possessor. Thus are the boundaries of these duties adjusted. A desire of fame, reputation, or a character with others, is so far from being blameable, that it seems inseparable from virtue, genius, capacity, and a generous or noble dis- position. An attention even to trivial matters, in order to please, is also expected and demanded by society ; and no one is surprised, if he fiiid a man in company, to observe a greater elegance of dress and more pleasant flow of conversation, than when he passes his time at home, and with his own family. Wherein, then, consists VANITY, which is so justly regarded as a fault or imperfection. It seems to consist chiefly in such an intemperate display of our advantages, honours, and accomplishments ; in such an importunate and open demand of praise and admiration, as is offensive to others, and encroaches too far on ilieir secret vanity and am- bition. It is besides a sure symptom of the want of true dignity and elevation of mind, which is so great an ornament in any character. For why that impatient desire of applause ; as if you were not justly entitled to it, and might not reason- ably expect, that it would for ever attend you ? Why so anxious to inform us of the great company which you have kept ; the obliging things which were said to you ; the honours, the distinctions which you met with ; as if these were not things of course, and what we could readily, of our- selves, have imagined, without being told of them ? DECENCY, or a proper regard to age, sex, character, and station in the world, may be ranked among the qualities, which are immediately agreeable to others, and which, by that means, acquire praise and approbation. An effeminate behaviour in a man, a rough manner in a woman ; these are ugly been use unsuitable to each character, and different from the qualities which we expect in the sexes. It is as if a tragedy abounded in comic beauties, or a comedy in tragic. The disproportions hurt the eye, and convey a disagreeable K 2 2-14 CONCERNING THE PRINCIPLES OF MORALS. SECT, sentiment to the spectators, the source of blame and disap- ^ JI '^ probation. This is that indecorum, which is explained so much at large by CICERO in his Offices. Among the other virtues, we may also give CLEANLI- NESS a place; since it naturally renders us agreeable to others, and is no inconsiderable source of love and affection. No one will deny, that a negligence in this particular is a fault ; and as faults are nothing but smaller vices, and this fault can have no other origin than the uneasy sensation, which it excites in others ; we may, in this instance, seem- ingly so trivial, clearly discover the origin of moral distinc- tions, about which the learned have involved themselves in such mazes of perplexity and error. But besides all the agreeable qualities, the origin of whose beauty, we can, in some degree explain and account for, there still remains something mysterious and inexplicable, which conveys an immediate satisfaction to the spectator, but how, or why, or for what reason, he cannot pretend to determine. There is a MANNER, a grace, an ease, a genteelness, an I-know-not-what, which some men possess above others, which is very different from external beauty and comeliness, and which, however, catches our affection almost as suddenly and powerfully. And though this manner be chiefly talked of in the passion between the sexes, where the concealed magic is easily explained, yet surely much of it prevails in all our estimation of characters, and forms no inconsiderable part of personal merit. This class of accom- plishments, therefore, must be trusted entirely to the blind, but sure testimony of taste and sentiment ; and must be con- sidered as a part of ethics, left by nature to baffle all the pride of philosophy, and make her sensible of her narrow boundaries and slender acquisitions. We approve of another, because of his wit, politeness, modesty, decency, or any agreeable quality which he pos- sesses ; although he be not of our acquaintance, nor has ever given us any entertainment, by means of these accom- plishments. The idea, which we form of their effect on his acquaintance, has an agreeable influence on our imagination, and gives us the sentiment of approbation. This principle enters into all the judgments, which we form concerning manners and characters. CONCLUSION. SECT. I X . ( '(inclusion. IT may justly appear surprising, tliat any man, in so lalo an SK('T. age, should find it requisite to prove, by elaborate reasoning, v 'that PERSONAL MERIT consists altogether in the L'u'r \. possession of mental qualities, -useful or tnjreeahle, to the person himself or to other*. It might be expected, that this principle would have occurred even to the first rude, unprac- tised enquirers concerning morals, and been received from its own evidence, without any argument or disputation. Whatever is valuable in any kind, so naturally classes itself under the division of useful or ayrer.alle, the utile or the, (lulce., that it is not easy to imagine, why we should ever seek farther, or consider the question as a matter of nice research or enquiry. And as every thing useful or agreeable must possess these qualities with regard either to the person him- self or to others., the compleat delineation or description of merit seems to be performed as naturally as a shadow is cast by the sun, or an image is reflected upon water. If the ground, on which the shadow is cast, be not broken and Tineven ; nor the surface, from which the image is reflected, disturbed and confused ; a just figure is immediately pre- sented, without any art or attention. And it seems a reasonable presumption, that systems and hypotheses have perverted our natural understanding ; when a theory, so simple and obvious, could so long have escaped the most elaborate examination. But however the case may have fared with philosophy ; in common life, these principles are still implicitly maintained, nor is any other topic of praise or blame ever recurred to, when we employ any panegyric or satire, any applause or censure of human action and behaviour. If we observe men, in every intercourse of business or pleasure, in every dis- course and conversation ; we shall find them no where, except in the schools, at any loss upon this subject. What so natural, for instance, as the following dialogue '? You are very happy, we shall suppose one to say, addressing himself to another, that you have given your daughter to CLEANTHES. 1 [That Virtue or Tersoual Merit : Edition* toN.] 216 CONCERNING TIIE PRINCIPLES OF MORALS. SECT. He is a man of honour and humanity. Every one. who has TY . ... "* ; ' _^ any intercourse with him, is sure of fair and kind treatment. 1 PART I. I congratulate you too, says another on the promising ex- pectations of this son-in-law ; whose assiduous application to the study of the laws, whose quick penetration and early knowledge both of men and business, prognosticate the greatest honours and advancement. 2 You surprise me, re- plies a third, when you talk of CLEANTHES as a man of busi- ness and application. I met him lately in a circle of the gayest company, and he was the very life and soul of our conversation : So much wit with good manners ; so much gallantry without affectation ; so much ingenious knowledge so genteelly delivered, I have never before observed in any one. 3 You would admire him still more, says a fourth, if you knew him more familiarly. That chearfulness, which you might remark in him, is not a sudden flash struck out by company : It runs through the whole tenor of his life, and preserves a perpetual serenity on his countenance, and tranquillity in his soul. He has met with severe trials, mis- fortunes as well as dangers ; and by his greatness of mind, was still superior to all of them. 4 The image, gentlemen, which you have here delineated of CLEANTHES, cry'd I, is that of accomplished merit. Each of you has given a stroke of the pencil to his figure ; and you have unawares exceeded all the pictures drawn by GRATIA^ or CASTIGLIONE. A philosopher might select this character as a model of perfect virtue. And as every quality, which is useful or agreeable to our- selves or others, is, in common life, allowed to be a part o . personal merit ; so no other will ever be received, where men judge of things by their natural, unprejudiced reason, with- out the delusive glosses of superstition and false religion. Celibacy, fasting, penance, mortification, self-denial, humi- lity, silence, solitude, and the whole train of monkish virtues ; for what reason are they every where rejected by men of sense, but because they serve to no manner of purpose ; neither advance a man's fortune in the world, nor render him a more valuable member of society : neither qualify him for the entertainment of company, nor increase his power of self-enjoyment? We observe, on the contrary, that they 1 Qualities useful to others. others. Section VIII. 2 Qualities useful to the person him- 4 Qualities immediately agreeable to Rp]f. Section VI. the person himself. Section VII. 3 Qualities imme.diately agreeable to CONrl.CSlOX. 247 cross all these desirable ends; stupify the understanding and harden the heart, obscure the fancy and sour the. temper. We justly, therefore, transfer them to the opposite column, and place them in the catalogue of vices ; nor has any super- stition force sufficient among men of the world, to pervert entirely these natural sentiments. A gloomy, hair-brained enthusiast, after his death, may have a, place in the calendar ; but will scarcely ever be admitted, when alive, into intimacy and society, except by those who are as delirious and dismal as himself. It seems a happiness in the present theory, that it enters not into that vulgar dispute concerning the degrees of bene- volence or self-love, which prevail in hnman nature ; a dis- pute which is never likely to have any issue, both because men, who have taken part, are not easily convinced, and because the phenomena, which can be produced on either side, are so dispersed, so uncertain, and subject to so many interpretations, that it is scarcely possible accurately to com- pare them, or draw from them any determinate inference or conclusion. It is sufficient for our present purpose, if it be allowed, what surely, without the greatest absurdity, cannot be disputed, that there is some benevolence, however small, infused into our bosom ; some spark of friendship for human kind ; some particle of the dove, kneaded into our frame, along with the elements of the wolf and serpent. Let these generous sentiments be supposed ever so weak ; let them bo insufficient to move even a hand or ringer of our body ; they must still direct the determinations of our mind, and where every thing else is equal, produce a cool preference of what is useful and serviceable to mankind, above what is perni- cious and dangerous. A moral distinction, therefore, imme- diately arises ; a general sentiment of blame and approbation ; a tendency, however faint, to the objects of the one, and a proportionable aversion to those of the other. Nor will those reasoners, who so earnestly maintain the predominant selfish- ness of human kind, be any wise scandalized at hearing of the weak sentiments of virtue, implanted in our nature. On the contrary, they are found as ready to maintain the one tenet as the other; and their spirit of satire (for such it appears, rather than of corruption) naturally gives rise to both opinions ; which have, indeed, a great and almost an indissoluble connexion together. 248 CONCERNING THE PRINCIPLES OF MORALS. SECT. Avarice, ambition, vanity, and all passions vulgarly, though V __. improperly, comprized under the denomination of self-love, PAET I. are here excluded from our theory concerning the origin of morals, not because they are too weak, but because they have not a proper direction, for that purpose. The notion of morals, implies some sentiment common to all mankind, which recommends the same object to general approbation, and makes every man, or most men, agree in the same opinion or decision concerning it. It also implies some sentiment, so universal and comprehensive as to extend to all mankind, and render the actions and conduct, even of the persons the most remote, an object of applause or censure, according as they agree or disagree with that rule of right which is established. These two requisite circumstances belong alone to the sentiment of humanity here insisted on. The other passions produce, in every breast, many strong sentiments of desire and aversion, affection and hatred ; but these neither are felt so much in common, nor are so com- prehensive, as to be the foundation of any general system and established theory of blame or approbation. When a man denominates another his enemy, his rival, his antagonist, his adversary, he is understood to speak the language of self-love, and to express sentiments, peculiar to himself, and arising from his particular circumstances and situation. But when he bestows on any man the epithets of vicious or odious or depraved, he then speaks another language, and expresses sentiments, in which, he expects, all his audi- ence are to concur with him. He must here, therefore, depart from his private and particular situation, and must chuse a point of view, common to him with others : He must move some universal principle of the human frame, and touch a string, to which all mankind have an accord and symphony. If he mean, therefore, to express, that this man possesses qualities, whose tendency is pernicious to society, he has chosen this common point of view, and has touched the principle of humanity, in which every man, in some degree, concurs. While the human heart is compounded of the same elements as at present, it will never be wholly indifferent to public good, nor entirely unaffected with the tendency of characters and manners. And though this affection of humanity may riot generally be esteemed so strong as vanity or ambition, yet, being common to all men, CONCLUSION. 2-10 it can alone bo the foundation of morals, or of any general SI-XT i \ nystem of blame or praise. One man's ambition is not v ^_ another's ambition ; nor will the same event or object satisfy both : But the humanity of one man is the humanity of every one ; and the same object touches this passion in all human creatures. But the sentiments, which arise from humanity, are 7iot only the same in all human creatures, and produce the same approbation or censure ; but they also comprehend all human creatures; nor is there any one whose conduct or character is not, by their means, an object, to every one, of censure or approbation. On the contrary, those other passions, com- monly denominated selfish, both produce different sentiments in each individual, according 1 to his particular situation ; and also contemplate the greater part of mankind with the utmost indifference and unconcern. Whoever has a high regard and esteem for me flatters my vanity ; whoever ex- presses contempt mortifies and displeases me : But as my name is known but to a small part of mankind, there are few, who come within the sphere of this passion, or excite, on its account, either my affection or disgust. But if you represent a tyrannical, insolent, or barbarous behaviour, in any country or in any age of the world; I soon carry mv eye to the pernicious tendency of such a conduct, and feel the sentiment of repugnance and displeasure towards it. Xo character can be so remote as to be, in this light, wholly indifferent to me. What is beneficial to society or to the person himself must still be preferred. And every quality or action, of every human being, must, by this means, be ranked under some class or denomination, expressive of general censure or applause. What more, therefore, can we ask to distinguish the senti- ments, dependant on humanity, from those connected with any other passion, or to satisfy us, why the former are the origin of morals, not the latter? Whatever conduct gains my approbation, by touching my humanity, procures also the applause of all mankind, by affecting the same principle in them : But what serves my avarice or ambition pleases these passions in me alone, and affects not the avarice and ambition of the rest of mankind. There is no circumstance of conduct in any man, provided it have a beneficial tendency, that is not agreeable to my humanity, however remote thu 250 CONCERNING THE PRINCIPLES OF MORALS. SECT, person : But every man, so far removed as neither to cross ^ \' ^ nor serve my avarice and ambition, is regarded as wholly PAHT I. indifferent by those passions. The distinction, therefore, between these species of sentiment being so great and evident, language must soon be moulded upon it, and must invent a peculiar set of terms, in order to express those universal sentiments of censure or approbation, which arise from humanity, or from views of general usefulness and its contrary. VIRTUE and VICE become then known : Morals are recognized : Certain general ideas are framed of human conduct and behaviour : Such measures are expected from men, in such situations : This action is determined to be conformable to our abstract rule ; that other, contrary. And by such universal principles are the particular sentiments of self-love frequently controuled and limited. 1 From instances of popular tumults, seditions, factions, panics, and of all passions, which are shared with a multi- tude ; we may learn the influence of society, in exciting and supporting any emotion ; while the most ungovernable disorders are raised, we find, by that means, from the slightest and most frivolous occasions. SOLON was no very cruel, though perhaps, an unjust legislator, who punished neuters in civil wars ; and few, I believe, would, in such cases, incur the penalty, were their affection and discourse allowed sufficient to absolve them. No selfishness, and scarce any philosophy, have their force sufficient to support a total coolness and indifference ; and he must be more or less than man, who kindles not in the common blaze. What 1 It scorns certain, Loth from reason supported on such maxims: And by and experience, that ;i rude, untaught t lie-so suppositions and views, wo cor- stivage regulates chiefly his lovo and rect, in some measure, our ruder and hatred by the ideas of private utility narrower passions. And though much and injury, and has Init faint concep- of our friendship and enmity be still tions of a general rule or system of regulated l>y private considerations of behaviour. The man who stands oppo- benefit and harm, we pay, at least, this site 1o him in battle, he hates heartily, homage to gem-ral rules, which we arc not only for the present moment, which accustomed to respect, that wo coin- is almost unavoidable, but for ever monly pervert our adversary's conduct, after; nor is he satisfied without the by imputing malice or injustice to him, most, extreme punishment and ven- in order to give vent to those passions, pea HOP. But we, accustomed to society, which arise from self-love and private and to more enlarged reflections, con- interest. When the heart is full of sider, that this man is serving his own rage, it never wants pretences of thi-s country and community; that any man, nature ; though sometimes as frivolous, in the same situation, would do the as those from which HOHACK, being ;il- s;ime; that wo ourselves, in like cir- most crushed by the fall of a tree, curnstanees, observe a hko conduct ; affects to accuse <>f parricide the first that, in general human society is best planter of it. CONCLUSION'. LT>I wonder, then, that moral sentiments are found of such inlln- SKCT. once in life; though springing 1 from principles, which may appear, at first sight, somewhat small and delicate ? But I'AHT 1. these principles, we must remark, are social and universal : They form, in a manner, the ;>">/// of human-kind against vice or disorder, its common enemy : And as the benevolent concern for others is diffused, in a greater or less degree, over all men, and is the same in all, it occurs more frequently in discourse, is cherished by society and conversation, and the blame and approbation, consequent on it, are thereby rou/ed from that lethargy, into which they are probably lulled, in solitary and uncultivated nature. Other passions, though perhaps originally stronger, yet being selfish and private, are often overpowered by its force, and yield the dominion of our breast to those social and public principles. Another spring of our constitution, that brings a great addition of force to moral sentiment, is, the love of fame ; which rules, with such uncontrolled authority, in all generous minds, and is often the grand object of all their designs and undertakings. By our continual and earnest pursuit of a character, a name, a reputation in the world, we bring our own deportment and conduct frequently in review, and consider how they appear in the eyes of those who approach and regard us. This constant habit of surveying ourselves, as it were, in reflection, keeps alive all the sentiments of right and wrong, and begets, in noble natures, a certain reverence for themselves as well as others; which is the surest guardian of every virtue. The animal conveniences and pleasures sink gradually in their value ; while every in- ward beauty and moral grace is studiously acquired, and the mind is accomplished in every perfection, which can adorn or embellish a rational creature. Here is the most perfect morality with which we are ac- quainted : Here is displayed the force of many sympathies. Our moral sentiment is itself a feeling chiefly of that nature: And our regard to a character with others seems to arise only from a care of preserving a character with ourselves; and in order to attain this end, we find it necessary to prop our tottering judgment on the correspondent approbation of mankind. But, that we may accommodate matters, and remove, it possible, every difficulty, let us allow all the.:} I am sensible, that nothing can be more unphilosophical than to bo positive or dogmatical on any subject; and thai, even if fro-Wiv scepticism could be maintained, it would not; be more destructive to all just reasoning and enquiry. I am convinced, that, where men are the most sure and arrogant, they are commonly the most mistaken, and have there given reins to passion, without that proper deliberation and sus- pence, which can alone secure them from the grossest absurdities. Yet, I must confess, that this enumeration puts the matter in so strong a light, that I cannot, at y>/v.sv///, be more assured of any truth, which I learn from reasoning and argument, than that personal merit consists entirely in the usefulness or agreeableness of qualities to the person himself possessed of them, or to others, who have any inter- course with him. But when I reflect, that, though the bulk and figure of the earth have been measured and de- lineated, though the motions of the tides have been accounted for, the order and ceconomy of the heavenly bodies subjected to their proper laws, and INFINITE itself reduced to calcu- lation ; yet men still dispute concerning the foundation of their moral duties : When I reflect on this, I say, I fall back into diffidence and scepticism, and suspect, that an hypothesis, so obvious, had it been a true one, would, long ere now, have been received by the unanimous suffrage and consent of mankind. PART II. Having expressed the moral approbation attending merit or virtue, 1 there remains nothing, but briefly to consider our interested obligation to it, and to enquire, whether every man, who has any regard to his own happiness and welfare, will not best find his account in the practice of every moral duty. If this can be clearly ascertained from the foregoing theory, we shall have the satisfaction to reflect, that we have ad- vanced principles, which not only, it is hoped, will stand the test of reasoning and enquiry, but may contribute to the amendment of men's lives, and their improvement in morality and social virtue. And though the philosophical truth of any proposition by no means depends on its tendency to promote the interests of society ; yet a man has but a bad grace, who delivers a theory, however true, which, he must 1 [Edition G omits the preceding clause.] 254 CONCERNING TIIE PRINCIPLES OF MORALS. confess, leads to a practice dangerous and pernicious. Why rake into those corners of nature, which spread a nuisance PABT Ii. all around ? Why dig up the pestilence from the pit, in which it is buried ? The ingenuity of your researches may be ad- mired ; but your systems will be detested : And mankind will agree, if they cannot refute them, to sink them, at least, in eternal silence and oblivion. Truths, which are pernicious to society, if any such there be, will yield to errors, which are salutary and advantageous. But what philosophical truths can be more advantageous to society, than those here delivered, which represent virtue in all her genuine and most engaging charms, and make us approach her with ease, familiarity, and affection ? The dismal dress falls off', with which many divines, and some philosophers have covered her; and nothing appears but gentleness, humanity, beneficence, affability ; nay even, at proper intervals, play> frolic, and gaiety. She talks not of useless austerities and rigours, suffering and self-denial. She declares, that her sole purpose is, to make her votaries and all mankind, during every instant of their existence, if possible, cheerful and happy; nor does she ever willingly part with any pleasure but in hopes of ample compensation in some other period of their lives. The sole trouble, which she demands, is that of just calculation, and a steady prefer- ence of the greater happiness. And if any austere pretenders approach her, enemies to joy and pleasure, she either rejects them as hypocrites and deceivers ; or if she admit them in her train, they are ranked however, among the least favoured of her votaries. And, indeed, to drop all figurative expression, what hopes can we ever have of engaging mankind to a practice, which we confess full of atisterity and rigour? Or what theory of morals can ever serve any useful purpose, unless it can show, by a particular detail, that all the duties, which it recom- mends, are also the true interest of each individual i* The peculiar advantage of the foregoing system seems to be, that it furnishes proper mediums for that purpose. That the virtues which are immediately useful or agreeable to the person possessed of them, are desirable in a view to self-interest, it would surely be superfluous to prove. Moralists, indeed, may spare themselves all the pains, which they often take in recommending these duties. To what purpose collect arguments to evince, that temperance is CONCLUSION. -J.V} advantageous, and the excesses of pleasure hurtful? When it SI-XT. appears, that these excesses are only denominated such, _^I__ because they are hurtful ; and that, if unlimited use of 1 >AUI U strong liquors, for instance, no more impaired liealtli or the faculties of mind and body than the use of air or water, it would not be a whit more vicious or blameable. It seems equally superfluous to prove, that the companion- able virtues of good manners and wit, decency and genteel- ness, are more desirable than the contrary qualities. Vanity alone, without any other consideration, is a sufficient motive to make us wish for the possession of these accomplishments. No man was ever willingly deficient in this particular. All our failures here proceed from bad education, want of capa- city, or a perverse and unpliable disposition. Would you have your company coveted, admired, followed ; rather than hated, despised, avoided ? Can any one seriously deliberate in the case ? As no enjoyment is sincere, without some re- ference to company and society ; so no society can be agree- able, or even tolerable, where a man feels his presence un- welcome, and discovers all around him symptoms of disgust and aversion. But why, in the greater society or confederacy of mankind, should not the case be the same as in particular clubs and companies ? Why is it more doubtful, that the enlarged virtues of humanity, generosity, beneficence, are desirable with a view to happiness and self-interest, than the limited endowments of ingenuity and politeness? Are we apprehen- sive, lest those social affections interfere, in a greater and more immediate degree than any other pursuits, with private utility, and cannot be gratified, without some important sacrifice of honour and advantage ? If so, we are but ill in- structed in the nature of the human passions, and are more influenced by verbal distinctions than by real differences. Whatever contradiction may vulgarly be supposed between the seJJish and social sentiments or dispositions, they are really no more opposite than selfish and ambitious, selfish and revengeful, selfish and vain. It is requisite, that there be an original propensity of some kind, in order to be a basis to self-love, by giving a relish to the objects of its pursuit ; and none more fit for this purpose than benevolence or humanity. The goods of fortune are spent in one gratifica- tion or another: The miser, who accumulates his annual income, and lends it out at interest, has really spent it in 256 CONCERNING THE PRINCIPLES OF MORALS. SECT, the gratification of his avarice. And it would be difficult to \' _- show, why a man is more a loser by a generous action, than PABT II. by ail y o ther method of expence ; since the utmost which he can attain, by the most elaborate selfishness, is the in- dulgence of some affection, Now if life, without passion, must be altogether insipid and tiresome ; let a man suppose that he has full power of modelling his own disposition, and let him deliberate what appetite or desire he would choose for the foundation of his happiness and enjoyment. Every affection, he would observe, when gratified by success, gives a satisfaction pro- portioned to its force and violence : but besides this advan- tage, common to all, the immediate feeling of benevolence and friendship, humanity and kindness, is sweet, smooth, tender, and agreeable, independent of all fortune and acci- dents. These virtues are besides attended with a pleasing consciousness or remembrance, and keep us in humour with ourselves as well as others ; while we retain the agreeable reflection of having done our part towards mankind and society. And though all men show a jealousy of our success in the pursuits of avarice and ambition ; yet are we almost sure of their good-will and good-wish.es, so long as we persevere in the paths of virtue, and employ ourselves in the execution of generous plans and purposes. What other passion is there where we shall find so many advantages united ; an agreeable sentiment, a pleasing consciousness, a good reputation ? But of these truths, we may observe, men are, of themselves, pretty much convinced ; nor are they deficient in their duty to society, because they would not wish to be generous, friendly, and humane; but because they do not feel themselves such. Treating vice with the greatest candour, and making it all possible concessions, we must acknowledge, that there is not, in any instance, the smallest pretext for giving it the preference above virtue, with a view to self-interest ; except, perhaps, in the case of justice, where a man, taking things in a certain light, may often seem to be a loser by his integrity. And though it is allowed, that, without a regard to property, no society could subsist ; yet, according to the imperfect way in which human affairs are conducted, a sensible knave, in particular incidents, may iliink, that an act of iniquity or infidelity will make a considerable addition to his fortune, without causing any considerable breach in COXCLTSIOX. ->r>7 tlie social union and confederacy. That Ao/i<>7y /.-, llml..W/?Vx of nature'? And in a view to pleasure, what comparison between the unbought satisfaction of conversation, society, study, even health and the common beauties of nature, but above all the peaceful reflection on one's own conduct : What comparison, 1 say, between these, and the feverish, empty amusements of luxury and expence ? These natural pleasures, indeed, are reaily without price; both because they are below all price in their attainment, and above it in their enjoyment. VOL. IV. ; 258 CONCERNING TIIE PRINCIPLES OF MORALS. APPENDIX I. Concerning Moral Sentiment. APR I, IP the foregoing hypothesis be received, it will now be easy for us to determine the question first started, 1 concerning the general principles of morals ; and though we postponed the decision of that question, lest it should then involve us in intricate speculations, which are unfit for moral discourses, we may resume it at present, and examine how far either reason or sentiment enters into all decisions of praise or censure. One principal foundation of moral praise being supposed to lie in the usefulness of any quality or action ; it is evident, that reason must enter for a considerable share in all deci- sions of this kind ; since nothing but that faculty can in- struct us in the tendency of qualities and actions, and point out their beneficial consequences to society and to their pos- sessor. In many cases, this is an affair liable to great con- troversy : Doubts may arise ; opposite interests may occur; and a preference must be given to one side, from very nice views, and a small overbalance of utility. This is particu- larly remarkable in questions with regard to justice ; as is, indeed, natural to suppose, from that species of utility, which attends this virtue. 2 Were every single instance of justice, like that of benevolence, useful to society; this would be a more simple state of the case, and seldom liable to great controversy. But as single instances of justice are often pernicious in their first and immediate tendency, and as the advantage to society results only from the observance of the general rule, and from the concurrence and combination of several persons in the same equitable conduct; the case here becomes more intricate and involved. The various circum- stances of society ; the various consequences of any practice ; the various interests, which may be proposed: These, on 1 Sect. I. Of tho General Principles - Si-o Appendix IJJ. Sonic Kirthcr ils. Considerations witli regard to Justice. CONCERNING MOIiAL KKNTIMKNT. L'.~i) many occasions, are doubtful, ami subject to great discussion A' 'P. T. and enquiry. The object of municipal laws is to tix nil the questions Avith regard to justice : The debates of civilians; the rejections of politicians ; the precedents of history and public records, are all directed to the sani' 1 purpose. And a very accurate ri'tixoit or judgment is often requisite, to give the true deterniinat ion, amidst sucli intricate doub'.s arising from obscure or opposite utilities. l!ni though reason, when fully assisted and improved, be sutlicieut to instruct us in the pernicious or useful tendency of qualities and actions; it is not alone sufficient to produce any moral blame or approbation. Utility is only a tendency to a certain end ; and were the end totally indifferent to us, we should feel the same indifference towards the means. It is requisite a st'nlimcnt should here display itself, in order to give a preference to the useful above the pernicious tenden- cies. This sentiment can be no other than a feeling for the happiness of mankind, and a resentment of their miser}- ; since these are the different ends which virtue and vice have a tendency to promote. Here, therefore, reason instructs us in the several tendencies of actions, and Ininnmiiii makes a distinction in favour of those which are useful and beneficial. This partition between the faculties of understanding and sentiment, in all moral decisions, seems clear from the pre- ceding hypothesis. But T shall suppose that hypothesis false : It will then be requisite to look out for some other theory, that may be satisfactory; and I dare venture to affirm, that none such will ever be found, so long as we sup- pose reason to be the sole source of morals. To prove this, it will be proper to weigh the five following considerations. I. It is easy for a false hypothesis to maintain some ap- pearance of truth, while it keeps wholly in generals, makes \*se of undefined terms, and employs comparisons, instead of instances. This is particularly remarkable in that philosophy, which ascribes the discernment of all moral distinctions to reason alone, without the concurrence of sentiment. It is impossible that, in any particular instance, this hypothesis can so much as be rendered intelligible; whatever specious figure it may make in general declamations and discourses. Examine the crime of ingratitude, for instance ; which lias place, wherever we observe good-will, expressed a;;d known, together with good-offices performed, on the one side, and a !>(30 CONCERNING THE PRINCIPLES OF MORALS. APR I. return of ill-will or indifference, with ill-offices or neglect or. the other : Anatomize all these circumstances, and examine, by your reason alone, in what consists the demerit or blame : You never will come to any issue or conclusion. Reason judges either of matt?;- of fact or of relations. Enquire then, first, where is that matter of fact, which we here call crime ; point it out ; determine the time of its existence ; describe its essence or nature ; explain the sense or faculty, to which it discovers itself. It resides in the mind of the person, who is ungrateful. He must, therefore, feel it, and be conscious of it. But nothing is there, except the passion of ill-will or absolute indifference. You cannot say, that these, of themselves, always, and in all circumstances, are crimes. No : They are only crimes, when directed towards persons, who have before expressed and displayed good- will towards us. Consequently, we may infer, that the crime of ingratitude is not any particular individual fact ; but arises from a complication of circumstances, which, being pre- sented to the spectator, excites the sentiment of blame, by the particular structure and fabric of his mind. This representation, you say, is false. Crime, indeed, con- sists not in a particular fact, of whose reality we are assured by reason : But it consists in certain moral relations, discovered by reason, in the same manner as we discover, by reason, the truths of geometry or algebra. But what are the relations, I ask, of which you here talk? In the case stated above, I see first good-will and good-offices in one person ; then ill- will and ill-offices in the other. Between these, there is the relation of contrariety. Does the crime 4 consist in that rela- tion'? But suppose a person bore me ill-will or did rue ill- offices ; and I, in return, were indifferent towards him, or did him good-offices: Here is the same relation of contra- riety-, and yet my conduct is often highly laudable. Twist and turn this matter as much as you will, you can never rest the morality on relation; but must have recourse to the decisions of sentiment. When it is a Binned, that i wo and three are equal to the half of ten ; this relation of equality, I understand perfectly. I conceive, that if ten be divided into two parts, of which one has as many units as the other; and if any of these parts be compared to two added to three, it will contain as many units as that compound number. Uut when you draw MOKAI. SKNTI.MKNT. 1U51 tlioncc a. comparison l moral relations, I own ilia! I am altogether at a, loss io understand you. A moral action, a. crime, such as ingnititudo, is a complicated object. I)oes morality consist in the relation of its parts to each other. Jlow? A fter what manner ? Specify the relation : He more j>articular and explicit in your propositions; and you will easily see their falsehood. -^ T 5 s:1 3' y "' the morality consists in the relation of actions to the rule of right ; and they are denominated good or ill, according as they agree or disagree with it. What then is this rule of right? In what does it consist? lion- is it determined? By reason, you say, which examines the moral relations of actions. So ihat moral relations are determined by the comparison of actions to a rule. And that rule is determined by considering the moral relations of objects. Is not this fine reasoning? All ihis is metaphysics, you cry : That is enough : There needs nothing more to give a strong presumption of false- hood. Yes, reply I : Here are metaphysics surely : I hit they are all on your side 1 , Avho advance an abstruse hypothesis, Avhieb can never be made intelligible, nor quadrate with anv particular instance or illustration. The hypothesis which we embrace is plain. It maintains, that morality is deter- mined by sentiment. It defines virtue to be ii'h<'lith>r flic plcaxhif) .^c/ifuii'iif /' ujiprobtttioni and vice; the contrary. We 1 then proceed to examine a plain matter of fact, to wit, what actions have this influence: We consider all the circumstances, in which these actions agree: And thence endeavour to extract some general observations with regard to these sentiments. If you call this metaphysics, and find any thing abstruse here, you need only conclude, that your turn of mind is not suited to the moral sciences. II. When a man, at any time, deliberates concerning his own conduct (as, whether he had better, in a particular emergence, assist a brother or a benefactor), he must con- sider these separate relations, with all the circumstances and situations of the persons, in order to determine the superior duty and obligation: And in order to determine the proportion of lines in any triangle, it is neeessary to examine the nature of that figure, and the relations which its several parts bear to each other. But notwithstanding 202 CONCERNING THE PRINCIPLES OF MORALS. APR I. this appearing similarity in the two cases, there is, at bottom, an extreme difference between them. A speculative reasoner concerning triangles or circles considers the several known and given relations of the parts of these figures ; and thence infers some unknown relation, which is dependent on the former. But in moral deliberations, we must be acquainted, before-hand, with all the objects, and all their relations to each other; and from a comparison of the whole, fix our choice or approbation. N"o new fact to be ascertained : No new relation to be discovered. All the circumstances of the case are supposed to be laid before us, ere we can fix any sentence of blame or approbation. If any material cir- cumstance be yet unknown or doubtful, we must first employ our enquiry or intellectual faculties to assure us of it; and must suspend for a time all moral decision or sentiment. While we are ignorant, whether a man were aggressor or not, how can we determine whether the person who killed him, be criminal or innocent? But after every circumstance, every relation is known, the understanding has no farther room to operate, nor any object on which it could employ itself. The approbation or blame, which then ensues, cannot be the work of the judgment, but of the heart ; and is not a speculative proposition or affirmation, but an active feeling or sentiment. In the disquisitions of the understanding, from known circumstances and relations, we infer some new and unknown. In moral decisions, all the circumstances and relations must be previously known ; and the mind, from the contemplation of the whole, feels some new im- pression of affection or disgust, esteem or contempt, appro- bation or blame. Hence the great difference between a mistake of fact and one of rigid ; and hence the reason why the one is com- monly criminal and not the other. Wb.cn (EniPUS killed LAIUS, he was ignorant of the relation, and from circum- stances, innocent and involuntary, formed erroneous opinions concerning the actii.n which he committed. But when NEIIO killed AGRIPPIXA, all the relations between himself and the person, and all the circumstances of the fact, were pre- viously known to him: But the motive of revenge, or fear, or interest, prevailed in his savage heart over the sentiments of duty and humanity. And when we express that detesta- tion against him, to which he, himself, in a little time, COXC'KKMNl! MORAL SKNTIMKNT. L'0:5 became insensible; it is not, Unit \v<: sec any relations, of API'. F. which he was ignorant; hut thai, from tin; rectitude of our disposition, we feel sentiments, against which he was hardened, from flattery and a long perseverance in the most enormous crimes. Tn these sentiments, then, not in a discovery of relations of anv kind, do all moral determina- tions consist. Before we can pretend to form any decision of this kind, every thine; must be known and ascertained on the side of the object or action. .Nothing remains but to feel, on our part, some sentiment of blame or approbation; whence we pronounce tin- action criminal or virtuous. III. This doctrine will become still more evident, if we compare moral beauty with natural, to which, in many particulars, it bears so near a resemblance. It is on the proportion, relation, and position of parts, that all natural beauty depends ; but it would be absurd thence to infer, that the perception of beauty, like that of truth in geo- metrical problems, consists wholly in the perception of relations, and was performed entiivly by the understanding or intellectual faculties. In all the sciences, our mind, from the known relations, investigates the unknown: But in all decisions of taste or external beauty, all the relations are before-hand obvious to the eye; and we thence proceed to feel a sentiment of complacency or disgust, according to the nature of the object, and disposition of our organs. ErcLin has fully explained all the qualities of the circle; but has not, in any proposition, said a word of its beauty. The reason is evident. The beauty is not a quality of the circle. It lies not in any part of the line, whose parts are equally distant from a common center. It is only the effect, which that figure produces upon the mind, whose peculiar fabric or structure renders it susceptible of such sentiments. In vain would you look for it in the circle, or seek it, either by your senses or by mathematical reasonings, in all the properties of that figure. Attend to PALLADIO and PKKRAULT, while they explain all the parts and proportions of a pillar: They talk of the cornice and i'riexe and base and entablature and shaft and architrave: and give the description and position of each of these members. But should you ask the description and position of its beauty, they would readilv reply, that the beauty is not in any of the parts or members of a pillar, but 2;34 CONCERNING THE PRINCIPLES OF MORALS. A PP. I. results from the -whole, when that complicated figure is presented to an intelligent mind, susceptible to those finer sensations. 'Till such a. spectator appear, there is nothing but a figure of such particular dimensions and proportions: From his sentiments alone arise its elegance and beauty. Again ; attend to CICEEO, while he paints the crimes of a VEEEES or a CATILIXE ; you must acknowledge that the moral turpitude results, in the same manner, from the con- templation of the whole, when presented to a being, whose organs have such a particular structure and formation. The orator may paint rage, insolence, barbarity on the one side : Meekness, suffering, sorrow, innocence on the other : But if you feel no indignation or compassion arise in you from this complication of circumstances, you would in vain ask him, in what consists the crime or villany, which he so vehe- mently exclaims against: At what time, or on what subject it first began to exist : And what has a few months after- wards become of it, when every disposition and thought of all the actors is totally altered, or annihilated. No satis- factory answer can be given to any of these questions, upon the abstract hypothesis of morals ; and we must at last acknowledge, that the crime or immorality is no particular fact or relation, which can be the object of the understand- ing : But arises entirely from the sentiment of disapproba- tion, which, by the structure of human nature, we unavoid- ably feel on the apprehension of barbarity or treachery. IV. Inanimate objects may bear to each other all the same relations, which we observe in moral agents; though the former can never be the object of love or hatred, nor are consequently susceptible of merit or iniquity. A young tree, which over-tops and destroys its parent, 1 stands iu all the same relations with NERO, when he murdered AORIPPIXA ; and if morality consisted merely in relations, would, no doubt, be equally criminal. V. It appears evident, ihat the ultimate ends of human actions can never, in any case, be aceouiitcd lor by m/xo//, but recommend themselves entirely to the sentiments and affections of mankind, without any dependence on the in- tellectual faculties. Ask a man, ?'//// // ^sr.s r,/v/v/',sv ; he will answer, l>i:<- // /.s- lu'/ill/i. If you then enquire, wlnj lie dcnirw lif.iilili, he will readily reply, because 1 [From \vhosu si'cd it si>rung: Editions yickncxs /x jxtinful. If you juisli your enquiries farther, and APR I. desire a reason, why ha ho Q this ;'.j'i>ean.-cca-ion tVi qiieiit Iv to tre.it of in thn In :, volei.ee is founded o'l an opinion fonrse of this enquiry ; and I assume it of \irtiie. on .services done us. r on as real, from v rural experience, with- HI !'! particular connexions. Hot h t liese out any other proof. OF SELF-LOVE. L'<5 nothing but modifications of the latter. All attempts of .AIT. II. this kind have hitherto proved fruitless, and seem to have proceeded entirely, from that love of xiirtjiliritif, which has been the source of much false reasoning in philosophy. I shall not here enter into any detail on the present subject. Manv able philosophers have shown the insufficiency of these systems. And I shall take for granted what, I believe, the smallest reflection will make evident to every impartial enquirer. But the nature of the subject furnishes the strongest pre- sumption, that no better system will ever, for the future, be invented, in order to account for the origin of the benevolent from the selfish affections, and reduce all the various emotions of the human mind to a perfect simplicity. The case is not the same in this species of philosophy as in physics. Many an hypothesis in nature, contrary to first appearances, has been found, on more accurate scrutiny, solid and satisfactory. Instances of this kind are so fre- quent, that a judicious, as well as witty philosopher, 1 lias ventured to affirm, if there be more than one way, in which any phenomenon may be produced, that there is a general presumption for its arising from the causes, which are the least obvious and familiar. But the presumption alwavs lies on the other side, in all enquiries concerning the origin of our passions, and of the internal operations of the human mind. The simplest and most obvious cause, which can there be assigned for any phenomenon, is probably the true one. When a philosopher, in the explication of his system, is obliged to have recourse to some very intricate and refined reflections, and to suppose them essential to the production of any passion or emotion, we have reason to be extremely on our guard against so fallacious an hypothesis. The affections are not susceptible of any impression from the refinements of reason or imagination ; and it is always found, that a vigorous exertion of the latter faculties, nece>sarily, from the narrow capacity of the human mind, destroys all activity in the former. Our predominant motive or inten- tion is, indeed, frequently concealed from ourselves, when it is mingled and confounded with other motives, which the mind, from vanity or self-conceit, is desirous of supposing more prevalent: But there is no instance, that a conceal- ' MollS. F"MT,N!:i.l K. 270 CONCERNING THE PRINCIPLES OF MORALS. APR II. ment of this nature has ever arisen from the abstruseness and intricacy of the motive. A man, that has lost a friend and patron, may flatter himself, that all his grief arises from generous sentiments, without any mixture of narrow or interested considerations : But a man, that grieves for a valuable friend, who needed his patronage and protection ; how can we suppose, that his passionate tenderness arises from some metaphysical regards to a self-interest, which has no foundation or reality? We may as well imagine, that minute wheels and springs, like those of a watch, give motion to a loaded waggon, as account for the origin of passion from such abstruse reflections. Animals are found susceptible of kindness, both to their own species and to ours ; nor is there, in this case, the least suspicion of disguise or artifice. Shall we account for all their sentiments too, from refined deductions of self-interest ? Or if we admit a disinterested benevolence in the inferior species, by what rule of analogy can we refuse it in the superior ? Love between the sexes begets a complacency and good- will, very distinct from the gratification of an appetite. Tenderness to their offspring, in all sensible beings, is com- monly able alone to counter-balance the strongest motives of self-love, and has no manner of depend ance on that affec- tion. What interest can a fond mother have in view, who loses her health by assiduous attendance on her sick child, and afterwards languishes and dies of grief, when freed, by its death, from the slavery of that attendance ? Is gratitude no affection of the human breast, or is that a word merely, without any meaning or reality ? Have we no satisfaction in one man's company above another's, and no desire of the welfare of our friend, even though absence or death should prevent us from all participation in it? Or what is it commonly, that gives us any participation in it, even while alive and present, but our affection and regard to him? These and a thousand other instances are marks of a general benevolence in human nature, where no rc.nl interest binds us to the object. .And how an lmjn\anj interest, known and avowed for such, can be the origin of any pas- sion or emotion, seems difficult to explain. Xo satisfactory hypothesis <>f this kind lias vet been discovered ; nor is tln-iv OF SKLF-LOYF. y?l the smallest probability, that tlic future industry of men will API'. IT. ever be attended with more favourable success. lint farther, if we consider rightly of the matter, we shall liud, that the hypothesis, which allows of a, disinterested benevolence, distinct from self-love, has really more *////- l>l/<-iti/ in it, and is more conformable to the analogy of nature, than that which pretends to resolve all friendship and humanity into this latter principle. There are bodilv wants or appetites, acknowledged by every one, which neces- sarily precede all sensual enjoyment, and carry us directly to seek possession of the object. Thus, hunger and thirst have eating and drinking for their end; and from the grati- fication of these primary appetites arises a pleasure, which may become the object of another species of desire or incli- nation, that is secondary and interested. In the same manner, there are mental passions, by which we are impelled imme- diately to seek particular objects, such as fame, or power, or vengeance, without any regard to interest; and when these objects are attained, a pleasing enjoyment ensues, as the consequence of our indulged affections. Nature must, by the internal frame and constitution of the mind, give an original propensity to fame, ere we can reap any pleasure from that acquisition, or pursue it from motives of self-love, and a desire of happiness. If I have no vanity, I take no delight in praise: If I be void of ambition, power gives me no enjoyment: If I be not angry, the punishment of an adversary is totally indifferent to me. In. all these cases, there is a passion, which points immediately to the object, and constitutes it our good or happiness ; as there are other secondary passions, which afterwards arise, and pursue it as a part of our happiness, when once it is constituted such by our original affections. Were there no appetite of any kind antecedent to self-love, that propensity could scarcely ever exert itself; because we should, in that case, have felt few and slender pains or pleasures, and have little misery or happiness to avoid or to pursue. Now where is the difficulty in conceiving, that this may likewise be the case with benevolence and friendship, and that, from the original frame of our temper, we may feel a desire of another's happiness or good, which, by means of that affection, becomes our own good, and is afterwards pursued, from the combined motives of benevolence and self- L>72 CONCERNING THE PRINCIPLES OF MORALS. A PP. II. enjoyment? Who sees not that vengeance, from the force alone of passion, may be so eagerly pursued, as to make us knowingly neglect every consideration of ease, interest, or safety ; and, like some vindictive animals, infuse our very souls into the wounds we give an enemy ' ? And what a malignant philosophy must it be, that will not allow, to humanity and friendship, the same privileges, which are undisputably granted to the darker passions of enmity and resentment '? Such a philosophy is more like a satyr than a true delineation or description of human nature ; and may be a good foundation for paradoxical wit and raillery, but is a very bad one for any serious argument or reasoning. APPENDIX III. 2 Some farther Considerations ivith regard to Justice. THE intention of this Appendix is to give some more par- ticular explication of the origin and nature of Justice, and to mark some differences between it and the other virtues. The social virtues of humanity and benevolence exert their influence immediately, by a direct tendency or instinct, which chiefly keeps in view the simple object, moving the affections, and comprehends not any scheme or system, nor the consequences resulting from the concurrence, imitation, or example of others. A parent flies to the relief of his child; transported by that natural sympathy, which actuates him, and which affords no leisure to reflect on the senti- ments or conduct of the rest of mankind in like circum- stances.. A generous man cliearfully embraces an oppor- tunity of serving his friend; because he then feels himself under the dominion of the beneficent affections, nor is he concerned whether any other person in the universe were ever before actuated by such noble motives, or will ever afterwards prove their influence. In all tlie.se cases, the social passions have in view a single individual object, and pursue the safety or happiness alone of the person loved and esteemed. With this they are satisfied: In this, they acquiesce. And as the good, resulting from their benign influence, is in itself compleat and entire, it also excites the moral sentiment of approbation, without any reflection on Ir;i, 1. i, 1. '-' I Ajip.-mlix ii. in Editions G to Q.'l 1'AUTIIKK CONSIDERATIONS WITH IIMJAIJI) To .M'STICK. i'7;j farther consequences, and without, any more enlarged views AIT. Ill of the concurrence or imitation of the other members of society. On the contrary, were the generous friend or dis- interested patriot to stand alone in the practice of benefi- cence ; this would rather enhance his value in our eyes, and join tlu; praise of rarity and novelty to his other more exalted merits. The case is not the same with the social virtues of justice and fidelity. They are highly useful, or indeed absolutely necessary to the well-being of mankind : But the benefit, resulting from them, is not the consequence of every indi- vidual single act ; but arises from the whole scheme or system, concurred in by the whole, or the greater part ot the society. General peace and order are the attendants of justice or a general abstinence from the possessions of others : But a particular regard to the particular right of one indi- vidual citizen may frequently, considered in itself, be pro- ductive of pernicious consequences. The result of the individual acts is here, in many instances, directly opposite to that of the whole system of actions; and the former may be extremely hurtful, while the latter is, to the highest degree, advantageous. Riches, inherited from a parent, are, in a bad man's hand, the instrument of mischief. The right of succession may, in one instance, be hurtful. Its benefit arises only from the observance of the general rule ; and it is sufficient, if compensation be thereby made for all the ills and inconveniencies, which flow from particular characters and situations. CYRUS, young and unexperienced, considered only the in- dividual case before him, and reflected on a limited fitness and convenience, when he assigned the long coat to the tall boy, and the short coat to the other of smaller size. His governor instructed him better ; while he pointed out more enlarged views and consequences, and informed his pupil ot the general, inflexible rules, necessary to support general peace and order in society. The happiness and prosperity of mankind, arising from the social virtue of benevolence and its subdivisions, may be compared to a wall, built by many hands ; which still rises by each stone, that is heaped upon it, and receives increase proportional to the diligence and care of each workman. The same happiness, raised by the social virtue of justice and VOL. IV. T 274 CONCERNING THE PRINCIPLES OF MORALS. APP. III. its subdivisions, may be compared to the building of a vault, where each individual stone would, of itself, fall to the ground ; nor is the whole fabric supported but by the mutual assistance and combination of its corresponding parts. All the laws of nature, which regulate property, as well as all civil laws, are general, and regard alone some essential circumstances of the case, without taking into consideration the characters, situations, and connexions of the person concerned, or any particular consequences which may result from the determination of these laws, in any particular case which offers. They deprive, without scruple, a beneficent man of all his possessions, if acquired by mistake, without a good title ; in order to bestow them on a selfish miser, who has already heaped up immense stores of superfluous riches. Public utility requires, that property should be regulated by general inflexible rules ; and though such rules are adopted as best serve the same end of public utility, it is impossible for them to prevent all particular hardships, or make bene- ficial consequences result from every individual case. It is sufficient, if the whole plan or scheme be necessary to the support of civil society, and if the balance of good, in the main, do thereby preponderate much above that of evil. Even the general laws of the universe, though planned by infinite wisdom, cannot exclude all evil or inconvenience, in every particular operation. It has been asserted by some, that justice arises from EIUMAN CONVENTIONS, and proceeds from the voluntary choice, consent, or combination of mankind. If bye onvention be here meant & promise (which is the most usual sense of the word) nothing can be more absurd than this position. The observance of promises is itself one of the most considerable parts of justice ; and we are not surely bound to keep our word, because we have given our word to keep it. But if by convention be meant a sense of common interest; which sense each man feels in his own breast, which he remarks in his fellows, and which carries him, in concurrence with others, into a general plan or system of actions, which tends to pub- lic utility; it must be owned, that, in this sense, justice arises from human conventions. For if it be allowed (what is, indeed, evident) that the particular consequences of a particu- lar act of justice may be hurtful to the public ;is well as to individuals ; it follows, that every man, in embracing that FARTHER CONSIDERATIONS WITH REGARD TO Jl 'STICK. 27ft virtue, must have an eye to the whole plan or system, and APP. I1L must expect the concurrence of his fellows in the same con- duct and behaviour. Did all his views terminate in the consequences of each act of his own, his benevolence and humanity, as well as his self-love, might often prescribe to him measures of conduct very different from those, which are agreeable to the strict rules of right and justice. Thus two men pull the oars of a boat by common conven- tion, for common interest, without a.ny promise or contract: Thus gold and silver are made the measures of exchange; thus speech and words and language are fixed by human convention and agreement. Whatever is advantageous to two or more persons, if all perform their part ; but what loses all advantage, if only one perform, can arise from no other principle. There would otherwise be no motive for any one of them to enter into that scheme of conduct. 1 The word, natural, is commonly taken in so many senses, and is of so loose a signification, that it seems vain to dis- pute, whether justice be natural or not. If self-love, if bene- volence be natural to man ; if reason and forethought be also natural ; then may the same epithet be applied to justice, order, fidelity, property, society. Men's inclination, their necessities lead them to combine ; their understanding and experience tell them, that this combination is impossible, where each governs himself by no rule, and pays no regard to the possessions of others : And from these passions and reflections conjoined, as soon as we observe like passions and reflections in others, the sentiment of justice, throughout all ages, has infallibly and certainly had place, to some degree or other, in every individual of the human species. In so sagacious an animal, what necessarily arises from the exer- 1 This theory concerning the origin ferrentur, primum obstitit locornm. in of property, and consequently of jus- qua* homines diseesserunt, dista;.tia, tiee, is, in tlu> main, the same with that deimle justitisr & anioris defeeti hintnl at and adopted l>y GnoTirs. quern fiebat, ut nee in lah.ire. ' Hi IK- discimus, qua? fuerit causa, ob consumtione fnu'tuum, qua' di quani a prima>va communione rernm sequalitas servaretur. Simul di primo mobilium. deinde & immobilium quoniodo res in proprietatem n diseessum est : niniirum quod cum non non animi aetu solo, neque enii content! homines vesei sponto natis, alii pot erant, quid alii eunm osse A antra habitare, cnrpore ant nudo agere, ut eo abstinerent, & idem velle plures aut corticibus arl ornm ferarumvo pel- poterant ; sed paeto qu<>dam aut ex- lilms vi'stito. vita' genus exquisitus do- presso, ut per divisionem, aut taeito. ut legissent, indnstria opus fuit, quani per occupationem.' IV Jure Itrlli & siiignli rebus singulis adhibereiit : Quo Pacis. Lib. ii. cap. 2. 2, art. 4 & 6. minus autom fruotus in coiainune enn- T 2 mills, nut ; sci re lent. 270 CONCERNING THE PRINCIPLES OF MORALS. APP. III. tion of his intellectual faculties, may justly be esteemed natural. 1 Among all civilized nations, it has been the constant en- deavour to remove every thing arbitrary and partial from the decision of property, and to fix the sentence of judges by such general views and considerations, as may be equal to every member of the society. For besides, that nothing could be more dangerous than to accustom the bench, even in the smallest instance, to regard private friendship or enmity ; it- is certain, that men, where they imagine, that there was no other reason for the preference of their adversary but personal favour, are apt to entertain the strongest ill-will against the magistrates and judges. When natural reason, therefore, points out no fixed view of public utility, by which a contro- versy of property can be decided, positive laws are often framed to supply its place, and direct the procedure of all courts of judicature. Where these too fail, as often happens, precedents are called for ; and a former decision, though given itself without any sufficient reason, justly becomes a sufiicient reason for a new decision. If direct laws and pre- cedents be wanting, imperfect and indirect ones are brought in aid ; and the controverted case is ranged under them, by analogical reasonings and comparisons, and similitudes, and correspondencies, which are often more fanciful than real. In general, it may safely be affirmed, that jurisprudence is, in this respect, different from all the sciences ; and that in many of its nicer questions, there cannot properly be said to be truth or falsehood on either side. If one pleader bring the case under any former law or precedent, by a refined analogy or comparison ; the opposite pleader is not at a loss to find an opposite analogy or comparison : And the prefer- ence given by the judge is often founded more on taste and imagination than on any solid argument. Public utility is the general object of all courts of judicature ; and this utility too requires a stable rule in all controversies. But where 1 Natural may lie opposed, either to without .society, property had never what is unusual, miraculous, or arti- been known, and neither justice nor final. In the two former Konsfs, justice injustice had over existed. Hut society and property are undoubtedly natural. among human creatures, had been im- Hutas they suppose reason, forethought, possible, withoutreason,and forethought, design, and a social uuioii and con- Inferior animals, that unite, are guided fi-derar-y among men, perhaps, that epi- by instinct, which supplies the place of thet cannot strictly, in the last sense. reason. Hut all these disputes aro i>b applied to them. Had men lived merely verbal. FARTHER CONSIDERATIONS WITH RKCJAPJ) TO JUSTICE. L'77 several rules, nearly equal and indifferent, present themselves, AIM*. Ill it is a very slight turn of thought, which fixes the decision in favour of either party. 1 1 That there 1x5 a separation or dis- tinction of possessions, and that this separation l>o steady and constaut ; this i-i absolutely p. quired hy the interests of society, and hence tho origin of jus- tice and property. What possessions a i-o assigned to particular persons ; this is. generally speaking, pretty indiffer- ent ; and is often determined by very frivolous views and considerations. Wo shall mention a few particulars. Were a society formed anionir several independent members, the most obvious rule, which could be agreed on, would l)e to annex property \o prcti'ttt posses- sion, and leave every one a right to what he at present enjoys. The relation of possession, which tikes place between the porson and the object, naturally draws on the relation of property. Fora like reason, occupation or first possession becomes the foundation of property. Where a. man "bestows labour and industry upon anv object, which bo Tore belonged to no body : as in cutting down and shaping a tree, in cultivating a field. &e., the alt era; ion which he pro- duces, causes a relation between him and the object, and naturally engages us to annex it to him by the new rela- tion of property. This cause here eon- curs with the public utility, which con- sists in the encouragement given to industry and labour. Perhaps too. private humanity to- wards the possessor, concurs, in this instance, with the other motives, and engages us to leave with him what he has acquired by his sweat and labour ; and -what ho has flattered himself in the constant enjoyment of. For though private humanity can. by no means, be the origin of justice : since the latter vir- tue so often contradicts the former : yet when the rule of separate and constant possession is once formed by the iudis- pensible necessities of society, private humanity, and an aversion to the doing a hardship to another may. in a par- ticular instance, give rise to a particular rule of property. I am much inclined to think, that the right of succession or inheritance much depends on those connexions of the irnairinai ion. and that the relation to a form- r proprietor begetting a riJatiou to the object, is the cause why the | ro- perty is transferred to a man at'er tho death of his kinsman. It is true; in- dustry \H more encouraged by the Iran.-- feivnce of possession to children or near relations: Hut this consideration will only have place in a cultivated society ; whereas the r:;_rlit of sue, ,..-; i.iii is regarded even among the gn-ute-t Barbarians. Acquisition of property by r(cANVHK, which seem too lar:_re to fol- low as an accession to tho property of the neighbouring fields. Yet even these rivers are considered as the property of that nation, through whose dominions they run ; the idea of a nation being of a suitable bulk focur-espond with them, and bear them such a relation in tie- fa ncy. The accessions, which are made to land, bordering upon rivers, follow the, land, say the civilians, provided it bo made by what they call alluvion, that is, insensibly and imperceptibly ; winch are circumstances, that assist the imagi- nation in the conjunction. Where there is any considerable por- tion torn at once from one bank and added to another, it becomes not '//,> property, whose land it falls on, till it unite with the land, and till the trees find plants have spread their roots into both. Before that, tho thought docs not sufficiently join them. In short, we. must ever distinguish between the necessity of a separation and constancy in men's possession, and the rules, which assign particular ob- jects to particular pi The first necessity is obvious, strong, and invin- cible : The latter may depend on a. public utility more IL'h; and frivolous, on the seiitiiuei.t of '. rivate h'i!na:uty and aversion to private, hardship, on positive laws, on precedents, analogies, and very tine coin;' \ions and tun;* "f tlie imagination. |This note was H'id-i in Kdition K.J 278 CONCERNING THE PRINCIPLES OF MORALS. APR III. 'We may just observe, before we conclude this subject, that, after the laws of justice are fixed by views of general utility, the injury, the hardship, the harm, which result to any individual from a violation of them, enter very much into consideration, and are a great source of that universal blame, which attends every wrong or iniquity. By the laws of society this coat, this horse, is mine, and ought to remain perpetually in my possession : I reckon on the secure enjoy- ment of it : By depriving me of it, you disappoinc my expec- tations, and doubly displease me, and offend every bystander. It is a public wrong, so far as the rules of equity are vio- lated : It is a private harm, so far as an individual is injured. And though the second consideration could have no place, were not the former previously established : For otherwise the distinction of mine and thine would be unknown in society : Yet there is no question, but the regard to general good is much enforced by the respect to particular. What injures the community, without hurting any individual, is often more lightly thought of. But where the greatest public wrong is also conjoined with a considerable pri- vate one, no wonder the highest disapprobation attends so iniquitous a behaviour. APPENDIX IV. 2 Of some Verbal Disputes. NOTHING is more usual than for philosophers to encroach upon the province of grammarians ; and to engage in disputes of words, while they imagine, that they are handling contro- versies of the deepest importance and concern. 3 It was in order to avoid altercations so frivolous and endless, that I endeavoured to state with the utmost caution the object of 1 [ Some copies of Edition fr do not avoid, therefore, all frivolous subtilties contain this paragraph. In others, the and altercations, as much as possible, page having been torn out, a new page we shall content ourselves with ohserv- VVHS inserted, containing the paragraph.] ing. Ji >:-(, that, in common life, the ' 2 [This appears as Part i. of Section sentiments, of censure or approbation, vi.. Of Qualities useful to Ourselves, in produc'd Ly mental qualities of every Editions | Kditions (r to M omit from this that, all anti-'iit .Moralists (the. b.-M point io 'It seems indeed curtain, &C." models), in treating of them, m.ike p. '^81, and substitute as follows: little or no difference amongst them. Thus, were wo hero to assert or to Edition X omits as far as 'AVereweto deny, that all laudable, qualitiex <>f tJie sav, &c.' p. '2iSO. and substitutes as fol- 'fnind were to lie considered r mural attributes, many would definition or description of those mental imagine that we had enter'd upon one qualities. which are denominated virturx , of the profoundest speculations of we might be somewhat at a loss, and Ethics; tho' 'tis probable, all the while, might find ourselves at first involved in that the gn-ai.'st part of the dispute inextricable difficulties.] Would be fi'tind cntirdv vcrb.il. To OF SOME VKIMJAL DISI'LTKS. 270 our present enquiry ; and proposed simply to collect on the AIT 7 V one hand, a list of those mental qualities which are the object of love or esteem, and form a part of personal merit, and on the other hand, a catalogue of those qualities, which are the object of censure or reproach, and which detract from the character of the person, possessed of them ; subjoining some reflections concerning the origin of these sentiments of praise or blame. On all occasions, where there might arise the least hesitation, I avoided the terms virtue and vic>> ; because some of those qualities, which I classed among the objects of praise, receive, in the ENGLISH language, the appellation of talents, rather than of virtues ; as some of the blameable or censurable qualities are often called aid t<> lie virtues of many different kinds ; l-nt when a man man of virtue, wi- ehieHv regard lur 280 CONCERNING THE PRINCIPLES OF MORALS APR IV. ments, and affirm the last alone to be the real and genuine virtues, because they alone lead to action ; we should find, that many of those qualities, usually called intellectual virtues, such as prudence, penetration, discernment, discre- tion, had also a considerable influence on conduct. The dis- tinction between the heart and the head may also be adopted : The qualities of the first may be defined such as in their immediate exertion are accompanied with a feeling or senti- ment; and these alone maybe called the genuine virtues. But industry, frugality, temperance, secrecy, perseverance, and many other laudable powers or habits, generally stiled virtues, are exerted without any immediate sentiment in the person possessed of them ; and are only known to him by their effects. It is fortunate, amidst all this seeming per- plexity, that the question, being merely verbal, cannot pos- sibly be of any importance. A moral, philosophical discourse needs not enter into all these caprices of language, which are so variable in different dialects, and in different ages of the same dialect. 1 But on the whole, it seems to me, that, though it is always allowed, that there are virtues of many different kinds, yet, when a man is called virtuous, or is denominated a man of virtue, we chiefly regard his social qualities, which are, indeed, the most valuable. It is, at the same time, certain, that any remarkable defect in courage, temperance, oeconomy, industry, understanding, dignity of mind, would bereave even a very good-natured, honest man of this honourable appellation. Who did ever say, except by way of irony, that such a one was a man of great virtue, but an egregious blockhead ? But, secondly, it is no wonder, that languages should not be very precise in marking the boundaries between virtues and talents, vices and defects ; since there is so little dis- tinction made in our internal estimation of them. It seems indeed certain, that the sentiment of conscious worth, the self-satisfaction proceeding from a review of a man's own 1 [For the next four sentences Edi- And the more fully to justify our prac- tion N substitutes as follows: tir.e in this particular, we shall endea- It may happen, that, in treating of vour to make it appear, first, that in ethics, we may sometimes mention common life, the sentiments of censure laudable qualities, which the Kxtsusn or approbation, produced by mental tongue does not always rank under the qualities of every kind, are nearly appellation of virtue ; but we do it only similar; and secondly, that all antient because we are at a loss how to draw moralists, (the best models) in treating the exact line between the one and the of them, make little or no difference Otner ; or at least because we consider among them.] Liu 'jUi^tiui: as riii-rdy grammatical. OF SOME VKUHAL DISPUTES. 21 conduct and character; it seems certain, I say, that this A PP. IV sentrtnent, which, though tho most cominon of all others, has no proper name in our language, 1 arises from the en- dowments of courage and capacity, industry and ingenuity, as well as from any other mental excellencies. Who, on the other hand, is not deeply mortified with reflecting on his own folly and dissoluteness, and feels not a secret sting or compunction, whenever his memory presents any past occur- rence, where he behaved with stupidity or ill-manners 'P No time can efface the cruel ideas of a man's own foolish con- duct, or of affronts, which cowardice or imprudence has brought upon him. They still haunt his solitary hours, damp his most aspiring thoughts, and show him, even to himself, in the most contemptible and most odious colours imaginable. What is there too we are more anxious to conceal from others than such blunders, infirmities, and meannesses, or more dread to have exposed by raillery and satire ? And is not the chief object of vanity, our bravery or learning, our wit or breeding, our eloquence or address, our taste or abili- ties 'P These we display with care, if not with ostentation ; and we commonly show more ambition of excelling in them, than even in the social virtues themselves, which are, in reality, of such superior excellence. Good-nature and honesty, especially the latter, are so indispensably required, that, though the greatest censure attends any violation of these duties, no eminent praise follows such common instances of them, as seem essential to the support of human society. And hence the reason, in my opinion, why, though men often extol so liberally the qualities of their heart, they are shy in commending the endowments of their head : Because the latter virtues, being supposed more rare and extraordinary, are observed to be the more usual objects of pride and self- conceit ; and when boasted of, beget a strong suspicion of these sentiments. It is hard to tell, whether you hurt a man's character most by calling him a knave or a coward, and whether a beastly 1 The term, pride, is commonly taken FRKNCH express this sentiment by the in a bad sense ; but this sentiment term, nmmtr / seems iiiditierent, and may be either express selt'-K good or bad, according as it is well or the same tern ill tunneled, and according to the other great eonfnsioi circumstances which accompany it. The many rnpre, but as they also ve as well as vanity, by thence , and 282 CONCERNING THE PRINCIPLES OF MORALS. A PP. IV^ glutton or drunkard be not as odions and contemptible, as a selfish, ungenerous miser. Give me my choice, and I would rather, for my own happiness and self-enjoyment, have a friendly, humane heart, than possess all the other virtues of DEMOSTHENES and PHILIP united : But I would rather pass with the world for one endowed with extensive genius arid intrepid courage, and should thence expect stronger instances of general applause and admiration. The figure which a man makes in life, the reception which he meets with in company, the esteem paid him by his acquaintance ; all these advantages depend as much upon his good sense and judg- ment, as upon any other part of his character. Had a man the best intentions in the world, and were the farthest re- moved from all injustice and violence, he would never be able to make himself be much regarded, without a moderate share, at least, of parts and understanding. What is it then we can here dispute about ? If sense and courage, temperance and industry, wisdom and knowledge confessedly form a considerable part of personal merit : if a man, possessed of these qualities, is both better satisfied with himself, and better entitled to the goodwill, esteem, and services of others, than one entirely destitute of them ; if, in short, the sentiments are similar, which arise from these endowments and from the social virtues ; is there any reason for being so extremely scrupulous about a word, or disputing whether they be entitled to the denomination of virtues ? ! It may, indeed, be pretended, that the sentiment of approbation, which those accomplishments produce, besides its being inferior, is also somewhat different from that, which attends the virtues of justice and humanity. But this seems not a sufficient reason for ranking them entirely under different classes and appellations. The character of C.KSAR and that of CATO, as drawn \)y SALLUST, are both of them virtuous, in the strictest and most limited sense of the word; but in a 1 | Editions G to M add in a noto : It seems to mo. that in our language, courage, temperance, industry, frugality, &<.. according To popular stile, are called virtues; but when a man is said to be virfufiXH, or is denominated a Tii' at the same. time. w may juwt man of virt-ue, we chiefly regard his observe, that, wherever the si nal virtues B'-eial (jiialitios. Tis needless for a are talked of. 'tis plainly i nply'd, by moral, philosophical discourse to enter this distinction, that tln-ro are also iulo all those, caprices of language, which are so variable in different dia- tant, are a fitter subject of sneculilt OF SOMK VKKHAL DISPITKS. different way: Nor are Ilie sentiments entirely Hie same, A PP. IV which arise from them. The one produces love; the oilier, esteem: The one is amiable; the other awful: \Ve sliMiM wish to meet the one character in a friend; the other we should he ambitious of in ourselves. Jn like manner the approbation, which attends temperance or industry or fru- gality, may be somewhat different from that which is paid to the social virtues, without making them entirely of a different species. And, indeed, we may observe, that these endow- ments, more than the other virtues, produce not, all of them, the same kind of approbation. (.Jood sense and genius beget esteem and regard : Wit and humour excite love and affection. 1 Most people, I believe, will naturally, without premedita- tion, assent to the detinition of the elegant and judicious poet. '\ irtue (for mere, good -nature is a fool) Is sense and spirit with humanity." What pretensions has a man to our generous assistance or good offices, who has dissipated his wealth in profuse expeiices, idle vanities, chimerical projects, dissolute pleasures, or extravagant gaming? These vices (for we scruple not to call them such) bring misery unpitied, and contempt on every one addicted to them. ACIKEUS, a wise and prudent prince, fell into a fatal snare, which cost him his crown and life, after having used every reasonable precaution to guard himself against it. On that 1 Lnvo and esteem are nearly the form a very curious subject of specnla- same passion, and arise from similar tion, but are wide of our present pur- Ciiii.-es. The qualities, which produce pose. Throughout this enquiry, wo b.ith. are such as communicate pleasure. always consider in general, what quali- liut where this pleasure is severe and ties are a subject of praise or of censure. serious; or where its object is great without entering into all the minu;*- and makes a strong impression, or differences of sentiment, which they where it produces any degree of humi- excite. It is evident, that whatever is lity and awe: In all these cases, the contemned, is also disliked, as Well a-* passion, which arises from the pleasure, what is hated : and here we end. avoi:r is more properly denominated esteem to take objects, according to their ino-l than love. lieiievolence attends both: simple views and appearances. T:. ; -so lint i> connecU'd with love in a more sciences are but too apt to appe : al>- emillellt decree. There seems to be strict to Common readers. eVe'l With all still a stronger mixture of pride in con- the precautions which we can take to tempt than of humility in esteem; and clear them from snpertiu"U> speeula- the reason would not be difficult to one, tions. and bring th. m down to every who studied accurately the pa>sions. capacity. All these various mixtures and coin- '-' Armstrong: The Art of preserving positions and appearances of sentiment Health. Book 4. 284 CONCERNING THE PRINCIPLES OF MOftALS. account, says the historian, he is a just object of regard and compassion : His betrayers alone of hatred and contempt. 1 The precipitate flight and improvident negligence of POMPEY, at the beginning of the civil wars, appeared snch notorious blunders to CICERO, as quite palled his friendship towards that great man. In the same manner, says he, as want of cleanliness, decency, or discretion in a mistress are found to alienate our affections. For so he expresses himself, where he talks, not in the character of a philosopher, but in that of a statesman and man of the world, to his friend A.TTICUS. 2 But the same CICEEO, in imitation of all the ancient moralists, when he reasons as a philosopher, enlarges very much his ideas of virtue, and comprehends every laudable quality or endowment of the mind, under that honourable appellation. 3 This leads to the third reflection, which we proposed to make, to wit, that the ancient moralists, the best models, made no material distinction among the different species of mental endowments and defects, but treated all alike under the appellation of virtues and vices, and made them indiscriminately the object of their moral reasonings. The prudence explained in CICERO'S Offices, 4 is that sagacity, which leads to the discovery of truth, and preserves us from error and mistake. Magnanimity, temperance, decency, are there also at large discoursed of. And as that eloquent moralist followed the common received division of the four cardinal virtues, our social duties form but one head, in the general distribution of his subject. 9 1 Poi.Ynirs, lib. viii. cap. 2, 8 & 9. quae in ingenii aliqua facilitate, aut 2 Lib. ix. cpist. 10, 2. animi magnitudine ac roborc. Nam 3 [This sentence was added in Edi- dementia, justitia, benignitas, fides, tion 0.] fortitude in periculis communibus, ju- 4 Lib. i. cap. 6. cunda est auditu in laudationibus, 5 The following passage of CICERO is Omnes enim h;e virtutes non tarn ipsis, worth quoting, as being the most clear qui eas in se habent, quam generi homi- and express to our purpose, that any- num fruetuosfe putantur. Sapientia thing can be imagined, and, in a dis- et magnitude aninii. qua omnes res pute, which is chiefly verbal, must, on humaiue teiiues et pro nihilo putantur; account of the author, carry an autho- et in cogitando vis qu;edam ingenii et rity, from which there can bo no ap- ipsa eloquentia admirationis habet non peal. minus, jucunditatis minus. Ipsos enim ' Virtus autem, quae est per se ipsa magisvidetur,quoslaudamus,quamillos, Inudabilis, et sine qua niliil laudari po- apud quos laudamus, ornare ac tueri: sed test, tamen habet plures partes, qua rum tamen in laudando jungenda sunt etiam alia est alia ad laudationem aptior. ha^c genera virtutum. Ferunt enim aures Sunt enim aliae virtutes, quae videntur hominum, cum ilia qua 1 jucundaetgrata, in moribus hominum et quadam co- turn etiam ilia, qua; mirabilia sunt in mitato ac- benrficentia posits: alise, virtute. laudari.' DC Orat. lib. 2. cap. 84. OF SOME VEKHAL DISPUTES. -JH5 We need only peruse the titles of chapters in ARISTOTLE'S API'. IV. Ethics to bo convinced, that he ranks courage, temperance, magnificence, magnanimity, modesty, prudence, and a manly openness, among the virtues, as well as justice and friendship. To tfUfstain and to abstain, that is, to bo patient and con- tinent, appeared to some of the, ancients a summary com- prehension of all morals. Ei'iCTETUS lias scarcely ever mentioned the sentiment of humanity and compassion, but iu order to put his disciples on their guard against it. The virtue of the >S7o/V.s- seems to consist chiefly in a tirm temper, and a sound understanding. With them, as with SOLOMON and the eastern moralists, folly and wisdom are equivalent to vice and virtue. Men will praise thee, says DAVID,' when thou dost well unto thyself. I hate a wise man, says the GREEK poet, who is not wise to himself. 2 PLUTARCH is no more cramped by systems in his phi- losophy than in his history. Where he compares the great men of GREECE and ROME, he fairly sets iu opposition all their blemishes and accomplishments of whatever kind, and omits nothing considerable, which can either depress or exalt their characters. His moral discourses contain the same free and natural censure of men and manners. The character of HANNIBAL, as drawn by Livv, 8 is esteemed partial, but allows him many eminent virtues. Never was there a genius, says the historian, more equally fitted for those opposite offices of commanding and obeying ; and it were, therefore, difficult to determine whether he ren- dered himself dearer to the general or to the army. To none would HASDRUBAL entrust more willingly the conduct of an y dangerous enterprize ; under none, did the soldiers discover more courage and confidence. Great boldness in facing danger ; great prudence in the midst of it. No labour could fatigue his body or subdue his mind. Cold and heat were indifferent to him : Meat and drink he sought as supplies to I suppose, if CICERO were now alive, ' Psalm 40th. it would be found difficult to fetter - Micro! TT7j>' 'O/TTIS oi/5' a{-rf his moral sentiments by narrow sys- crowds. EVEIPIDKS. 1'r. 111. [Edition terns; or persuade him, that no quali- O gives as the, refeivnce : Incurt. apud ties were to be admitted as virtins. or Lueiamim. apologia pro mrrcedo emi- acknowledged to be a part of personal ductis. Edition K dot"- the same in tho merit, but what were recommended by Test, but makes the correction in the The Whole Duty of Man. [This note Errata.] was added in Edition Q.J 3 Lib. xxi. cap. 4. 280 CONCERNING THE PRINCIPLES OF MORALS. APP.IV. the necessities of nature, not as gratifications of his volup- tuous appetites : Waking or rest he used indiscriminately, by night or by day. These great VIRTUES were balanced by great VICES : Inhuman cruelty ; perfidy more than punic ; no truth, no faith, no regard to oaths, promises, or religion. The character of ALEXANDER the Sixth, to be found in GuicciARDiN, 1 is pretty similar, but juster ; and is a proof, that even the moderns, where they speak naturally, hold the same language with the ancients. In this pope, says ho, there was a singular capacity and judgment : Admirable prudence ; a wonderful talent of persuasion ; and in all momentous enterprizes, a diligence and dexterity incredible. But these virtues were infinitely overbalanced by his vices ; no faith, no religion, insatiable avarice, exorbitant ambition, and a more than barbarous cruelty. PoLYBius, 2 reprehending TIH/EUS for his partiality against AGATHOCLES, whom he himself allows to be the most cruel and impious of all tyrants, says : If he took refuge in SYRACUSE, as asserted by that historian, flying the dirt and smoke and toil of his former profession of a potter; and if proceeding from such slender beginnings, he became master, in a little time, of all SICILY ; brought the CARTHAGINIAN state into the utmost danger ; and at last died in old age, and in possession of sovereign dignity : Must he not be allowed something prodigious and extraordinary, and to have possessed great talents and capacity for business and action ? His historian, therefore, ought not to have alone related what tended to his reproach and infamy; but also what might redound to his PEAISE and HONOUR. In general, we may observe, that the distinction of volun- tary or involuntary was little regarded by the ancients in their moral reasonings ; where they frequent!}' treated the question as very doubtful, whether virtue, could be taught or not? 3 They justly considered, that cowardice, meanness, levity, anxiety, impatience, folly, and many other qualities of the mind, might appear ridiculous and deformed, contemptible and odious, though independent of the will. Nor could it 1 Lib. i. Vi/ttiti'm doctrina parct, naturane dmii I. 2 Lib. xii. 1"). Epitst lib. i. ep. 18, 100. JEsc-HiNi:* 1 Vid. PLATO in MK.NONK, SKNKCA de SoraATicus. Dial. i. [The reference to c/iio sap. cap. 31. .So also HOKACK, A^. Soc. was added in Edition U.] OF SOME VEKBAL DISPUTES. 2*7 bo supposed, at all times, in every man's power to attain API'. IV. every kind of menial, more than of exterior beauty. 'And here there occurs t lie j'nnrlh reflection which i pur- posed to make, in suggesting the reason, why modern phi- losophers have often followed 11 course, in their moral enquiries, so different from that of the ancients. In later times, philosophy of all kinds, especially ethics, have been more closely united with theology than t ver they were observed to be among the Heathens; and as this latter science admits of no terms of composition, but bends every branch of knowledge to its own purpose, without much regard to the phcenomena of nature, or to the unbiassed sentiments of the mind, hence reasoning, and even language, have been warped from their natural course, and distinctions have been endeavoured to be established, where the difference of the objects was, in a manner, imperceptible. Philosophers, or rather divines under that disguise, treating all morals, as on a like footing with civil laws, guarded by the sanctions of reward and punishment, were necessarily led to render this circumstance, of voluntary or involuntary, the foundation of their whole theory. Every one may employ term* in what sense he pleases : But this, in the mean time, must be allowed, that sentiments are every day experienced of blame and praise, which have objects beyond the dominion of the will or choice, and of which it behoves us, if not as moralists, as speculative philosophers at least, to give some satisfactory theory and explication. A blemish, a fault, a vice, a crime ; these expressions seem to denote different degrees of censure and disapprobation ; which are, however, all of them, at the bottom, pretty nearly of the same kind or species. The explication of one will easily lead us into a just conception of the others;- and it is of greater consequence to attend to things than to verbal appel- lations. That we owe a duty to ourselves is confessed even in the most vulgar system of morals; and it must be of con- sequence to examine that duty, in order to see, whether it bears any affinity to that which we owe to society. It is probable, that the approbation, attending the observance of both, is of a similar nature, and arises from similar principles ; whatever appellation we may give to either of these excellencies. A DIALOGUE. 1 MY friend, PALAMKDKS, who is as great a rambler in hi.s principles as in his person, and who has run over, by studv and travel, almost every region of the intellectual and material world, surprized me lately with an account of a nation, with whom, he told me, he had passed a considerable part of his life, and whom, he found, in the main, a people extreme! v civilized and intelligent. There is a country, said he, in the world, called FOURLI, no matter for its longitude or latitude, whose inhabitants have ways of thinking, in many things, particularly in morals, diametrically opposite to ours. When I came among them, I found that I must submit to double pains ; first to learn the meaning of the terms in their language, and then to know t he- import of those terms, and the praise or blame attached to them. After a word had been explained to me, and the cha- racter, which it expressed, had been described, I concluded, that such an epithet must necessarily be the greatest reproach in the world ; and was extremely surprized to find one in a public company, apply it to a person, with whom he lived in the strictest intimacy and friendship. Youfancy, said I, one day, to an acquaintance, that CHAXGUIS in your mortal enemy .- I love to extinguish quarrels j and I in,uxt, therefore, tell yon, thI Lying manner. But to my great astonishment, when I repeated CHANGUIS'S words, though I had both remembered and understood them perfectly, I found, that they were taken for the most mortal affront, and that I had very innocently rendered the breach between these persons altogether irreparable. As it was my fortune to come among this people on a very advantageous footing, I was immediately introduced to the best company ; and being desired by ALOHEIC to live with him, I readily accepted of his invitation ; as I found him universally 1 [For the Author's "p-inun of this Dialogue, see ' History of the Editions, Vol. in. p. 52. Kn.J VOL. IV. U 290 A DIALOGUE. esteemed for his personal merit, and indeed regarded by everj one in FOURLI, as a perfect character. One evening he invited me, as an amusement, to bear him company in a serenade, which he intended to give to GULKI, with whom, he told me, he was extremely enamoured ; and I soon found that his taste was not singular : For we met many of his rivals, who had come on the same errand. I very natu- rally concluded, that this l mistress of his must be one of the finest women in town ; and I already felt a secret inclination to see her, and be acquainted with her. But as the moon began to rise, I was much surprized to find, that we were in the midst of the university, where GULKI studied : And I w T as somewhat ashamed for having attended my friend, on such an errand. I was afterwards told, that ALCHEIC'S choice of GULKI was very much approved of by all the good company in town ; and that it was expected, while he gratified his own passion, he would perform to that young man the same good office, which he had himself owed to ELCOUF. It seems ALCHEIC had been very handsome in his youth, had been courted by many lovers ; but had bestowed his favours chiefly on the sage ELCOUF ; to whom he was supposed to owe, in a great measure, the astonish- ing progress which he had made in philosophy and virtue. It gave me some surprize, that ALCHEIC'S wife (who by-the- by happened also to be his sister) was no wise scandalized at this species of infidelity. Much about the same time I discovered (for it was not attempted to be kept a secret from me or any body) that ALCHEIC was a murderer and a parricide, and had put to death an innocent person, the most nearly connected with him, and whom he was bound to protect and defend by all the ties of nature and humanity. When I asked, with all the caution and deference imaginable, what was his motive for this action ; he replied coolly, that he was not then so much at ease in his circumstances as he is at present, and that he had acted, in that particular, by the advice of all his friends. Having heard ALCHEIC'S virtue so extremely celebrated, I pretended to join him in the general voice of acclamation, and only asked, by way of curiosity, as a stranger, which of all his noble actions was most highly applauded; and I soon found, that all sentiments were united in giving the preference to the 1 [This flame of his: Editions G ;iml K.] A J)JAI.'.5 slavery and depcndance as the ATIIENIANK of their liberty; and though a man among them were oppressed, disgraced, impoverished, insulted, or imprisoned by the tyrant, lie would still regard it as the highest, merit to love, serve, and obey him ; and even to die for his smallest glory or satisfac- tion: These noble GREEKS would probably ask me, whether J spoke of a human society, or of some, inferior, servile species. It was then I might inform my ATHENIAN* audience, that these people, however, wanted not spirit and bravery. If a man, say I, though their intimate friend, should throw out, in a private company, a raillery against them, nearly ap- proaching any of those, with which your generals and dema- gogues every day regale each other, in the face of the whole city, they never can forgive him ; but in order to revenge themselves, they oblige him immediately to run them through the body, or be himself murdered. And if a man, who is an absolute stranger to them, shoiild desire them, at the peril of their own life, to cut the throat of their bosom-companion, they immediately obey, and think themselves highly obliged and honoured by the commission. These are their maxims of honour : This is their favourite morality. But though so ready to draw their sword against their friends and countrymen ; no disgrace, no infamy, no pain, no poverty will ever engage these people to turn the point of it against their own breast. A man of rank would row in the gallies, would beg his bread, would languish in prison, would suffer any tortures ; and still preserve his wretched life. Rather than escape his enemies by a generous con- tempt of death, he would infamously receive the same death from his enemies, aggravated by their triumphant insults, and by the most exquisite sufferings . It is very usual too, continued I, among this people to erect jails, where every art of plaguing and tormenting the un- happy prisoners is carefully studied and practised : And in these jails it is usual for a parent voluntarily to shut up several of his children ; in order, that another child, whom he owns to have no greater or rather less merit than the rest, may enjoy his whole fortune, and wallow in every kind of voluptuousness and pleasure. Nothing so virtuous in their opinion as this barbarous partiality. But what is more singular in this whimsical nation, sav I 206 A DIALOGUE. to the ATHENIANS, is, that a frolic of yours during the SATURNALIA', when the slaves are served by their masters, is seriously continued by them throughout the whole year, and throughout the whole course of their lives ; accompanied too with some circumstances, which still farther augment the absurdity and ridicule. Your sport only elevates for a few days those whom fortune has thrown down, and whom she too, in sport, may really elevate for ever above you : But this nation gravely exalts those, whom nature has subjected to them, and whose inferiority and infirmities are absolutely incurable. The women, though without virtue, are theii masters and sovereigns : These they reverence, praise, and magnify : To these, -they pay the highest deference and re- spect : And in all places and all times, the superiority of the females is readily acknowledged and submitted to by every one, who has the least pretensions to education and politeness. Scarce any crime would be so universally de- tested as an infraction of this rule. You need go no further, replied PALAMEDES ; I can easily conjecture the people whom you aim at. The strokes, with which you have painted them, are pretty just ; and yet you must acknowledge, that scarce any people are to be found, either in ancient or modern times, whose national character is, upon the whole, less liable to exception. But I give you thanks for helping me out with my argument. I had no intention of exalting the moderns at the expence of the ancients. I only meant to represent the uncertainty of all these judgments concerning characters; and to convince you, that fashion, vogue, custom, and law, were the chief foundation of all moral determinations. The ATHENIANS surely, were a civilized, intelligent people, if ever there were one; and yet their man of merit might, in this age, be hold in horror and execration. The FRENCH are also, without doubt, a very civilized, intelligent people ; and yet their man of merit might, with the ATHENIANS, be an object of the highest contempt and ridicule, and even hatred. And what renders the matter more extraordinary : These two people are supposed to be the most similar in their national cha- racter of any in ancient and modern times ; and while the 1 The GREEKS kept the feast of SATURN or CURONUS, as well as the ROMANS. Se- LrriAN. l-''ist. SATVKJJ. A DIALOGUE. '~'f'7 ENGLISH flatter themselves that they resemrne the ROMANS, their neighbours on the continent draw the parallel between themselves and those polite GREEKS. What wide difference, therefore, in the sentiments of morals, must be found be- tween civilized nations and Barbarians, or between nations whose characters have little in common? How shall we pretend to fix a standard for judgments of this nature? By tracing matters, replied I, a little higher, and exami- ning the first principles, which each nation establishes, of blame or censure. The RHINE flows north, the RHONK south; yet both spring from the mi me, mountain, and are also actuated, in their opposite directions, by the xmtu; principle of gravity. The different inclinations of the ground, on which they run, cause all the difference of their courses. In how many circumstances would an ATHENIAN and a FRENCH man of merit certainly resemble each other? Good sense, knowledge, wit, eloquence, humanity, fidelity, truth, justice, courage, temperance, constancy, dignity of mind : These you have all omitted; in order to insist only on the points, in which they may, by accident, differ. Very well : I am willing to comply with you ; and shall endeavour to account for these differences from the most universal, estab- lished principles of morals. The GREEK loves, I care not to examine more particu- larly. I shall only observe, that, however blameable, they arose from a very innocent cause, the frequency of the gymnastic exercises among that people ; and were recom- mended, though absurdly, as the source of friendship, sym- pathy, mutual attachment, and fidelity ; ' qualities esteemed in all nations and all ages. The marriage of half-brothers and sisters seems no great difficulty. Love between the nearer relations is contrary to reason and public utility ; but the precise point, where we are to stop, can scarcely be determined by natural reason ; and is therefore a very proper subject for municipal law or custom. If the ATHENIANS went a little too far on the one side, the canon law has surely pushed matters a great way into the other extreme. 2 Had you asked a parent at ATHENS, why he bereaved 1 PI.AT, svmp. p. IS'J. Kx.eili'., SEK. - Se Kiionivv. S, ,. IV 'n reason in morals are always the same; though the con- clusions which they draw an; often very different. That they all reason aright with regard to this subject, more than with regard to any other, it is not incumbent on any moralist to show. It is sufficient, that the original principles of censure or blame are uniform, and that erroneous conclusions can be corrected by sounder reasoning and larger experience. Though many ages have elapsed since the fall of UKEEOE and ROME ; though many changes have arrived in religion, language, laws, and customs; none of these revolutions has ever produced any considerable innovation in the primary sentiments of morals, more than in those of external beauty. Some minute differences, perhaps, may be observed in both. HORACE ' celebrates a low forehead, and AXACREOX joined eye-brows : 2 Lut the APOLLO and the VEXUS of antiquity are still our models for male and female beauty ; in like manner as the character of SCIPIO continues our standard for the glory of heroes, and that of CORXELIA for the honour of matrons. It appears, that there never was any quality recommended by any one, as a virtue or moral excellence, but on account of its being useful, or agreeable to a man himself, or to otlwr*. For what other reason can ever be assigned for praise or approbation? Or where would be the sense of extolling a flood character or action, which, at the same time, is allowed to be good for nothing ? All the differences, therefore, in morals, may be reduced to this one general foundation, and may be accounted for by the different views, which people take of these circumstances. Sometimes men differ in their judgment about the useful- ness of any habit or action: Sometimes also the peculiar circumstances of things render one moral quality more useful than others, and give it a peculiar preference. It is not surprising, that, during a period of war and dis- order, the military virtues should be more celebrated than the pacific, and attract more the admiration and attention 1 Epist. lili. i. epi.-t. 7, '21. Also lib. i. ode oo, o. 300 A DIALOGUE. of mankind. 'How usual is it,' says TULLY,' 'to find CIM- BRIANS, CELTIBERIANS, and other Barbarians, who bear, with inflexible constancy, all the fatigues and dangers of the field ; but are immediately dispirited under the pain and hazard of a languishing distemper : While, on the other hand, the GREEKS patiently endure the slow approaches of death, when armed with sickness and disease ; but timorously fly his presence, when he attacks them violently with swords and falchions ! ' So different is even the same virtue of courage among warlike or peaceful nations ! And indeed, we may observe, that, as the difference between war and peace is the greatest that arises among nations and public societies, it produces also the greatest variations in moral sentiment, and diversifies the most our ideas of virtue and personal merit. Sometimes too, magnanimity, greatness of mind, disdain of slavery, inflexible rigour and integrity, may better suit the circumstances of one age than those of another, and have a more kindly influence, both on public affairs, and on a man's own safety and advancement. Our idea of merit, therefore, will also vary a little with these variations ; and LABEO, perhaps, be censured for the same qualities, which procured CATO the highest approbation. A degree of luxury may be ruinous and pernicious in a native of SWITZERLAND, which only fosters the arts, and encourages industry in a FRENCHMAN or ENGLISHMAN. We are not, therefore, to expect, either the same sentiments, or the same laws in BERNE, which prevail in LONDON or PARIS. Different customs have also some influence as well as different utilities ; and by giving an early biass to the mind, may produce a superior propensity, either to the useful or the agreeable qualities ; to those which regard self, or those which extend to society. These four sources of moral sentiment still subsist ; but particular accidents may, at one time, make any one of them flow with greater abundance than at another. The customs of some nations shut up the women from all social commerce : Those of others make them so essential a part of society and conversation, that, except where business is transacted, the male-sex alone are supposed almost wholly A 1)1 A LOG UK. .-,01 incapable of mutual discourse and entertainment. As this difference is the most material that can happen in private life, it must also produce the greatest variation in our moral sentiments. Of all nations in the world, where polygamy was not allowed, the GREEKS seem to have been the most reserved in their commerce with the fair sex, and to have imposed on them the strictest laws of modesty and decency. \Ve have a strong instance of this in an oration of LVSIAS.' A \vido\v n injured, ruined, undone, calls a meeting of a few of her nearest friends and relations; and thono-h never before accustomed, says the orator, to speak in the presence of men, the distress of her circumstances constrained her to lay tin- case before them. The very opening of her mouth in such company required, it seems, an apology. When DEMOSTHENES prosecuted his tutors, to make them refund his patrimony, it became necessary for him, in the course of the law-suit, to prove that the marriage of APHOBUS'S sister with ONETKII was entirely fraudulent, and that, notwith- standing her sham marriage, she had lived with her brother at ATHENS for two years past, ever since her divorce from her former husband. And it is remarkable, that though these were people of the first fortune and distinction in the city, the orator could prove this fact no way, but by calling for her female slaves to be put to the question, and by the evidence of one physician, who had seen her in her brother's house during her illness. 2 So reserved were GREEK manners. We may be assured, that an extreme purity of manners was the consequence of this reserve. Accordingly we find, that, except the fabulous stories of an HELEN and a CLY- TEMNESTRA, there scarcely is an instance of any event in the GREEK history, which proceeded from the intrigues of women. On the other hand, in modern times, particularly in a neighbouring nation, the females enter into all transac- tions and all management of church and state : And no man can expect success, who takes not care to obtain their good graces. HARRY the third, by incurring the displeasure of the fair, endangered his crown, and lost his life, as much as by his indulgence to heresy. It is needless to dissemble : The consequence of a verv free commerce betweer the sexes, and of their living much 1 Oral. o'2, S'JS. I;. Om-tt-ivm. 873-1. 802 A DIALOGUE. together, will often terminate in intrigues and gallantry. We must sacrifice somewhat of the useful, if we be very anxious to obtain all the agreeable qualities ; and cannot pretend to reach alike every kind of advantage. Instances of licence, daily multiplying, will weaken the scandal with the one sex, and teach the other, by degrees, to adopt the famous maxim of LA FONTAINE, Avith regard to female infi- delity, that if one knows it, it is but a small matter ; if one knows it not^ it is nothing. 1 Some people are inclined to think, that the best way of adjusting all differences, and of keeping the proper medium between the agreeable and the useful qualities of the sex, is to live with them after the manner of the ROMANS and the ENG- LISH (for the customs of these two nations seem similar in this respect 2 ); that is, without gallantry, 3 and without jealousy. By a parity of reason, the customs of the SPANIARDS and of the ITALIANS of an age ago (for the present are very different) must be the worst of any ; because they favour both gallantry and jealousy. Nor Avill these different customs of nations affect the one sex only: Their idea of personal merit in the males must also be somewhat different with regard, at least, to conversation, address, and humour. The one nation, where the men live much apart, will naturally more approve of prudence ; the other of gaiety. With the one simplicity of manners will be in the highest esteem ; with the other, politeness. The one will distinguish themselves by good-sense and judgment; the other, by taste and delicacy. The eloquence of the former will shine most in the senate ; that of the other, on the theatre. These, I say, are the naturoJl effects of such customs. For it must be confessed, that chance has a great influence on national manners; and many events happen in society, which are riot to be accounted for by general rules. Who could imagine, for instance, that the ROMANS, Avho lived freely 1 Quandonle sc.ait, c'ost pen do chose; to wenohmp and low amours. They Quand on 1'ignore, cen'estrien. were called ANCII.I.AKIOI.I. See SENECA 2 During the time of the, emperors, do beneficiis. Lib. 1. cap, 9. See also the ROMANS seem to have been mor i MAUTIAL. lib. 12. epijj;. ;JS. j/ivon to intrigues and gallantry thai 3 The gallantry here meant is that, 'ho ENGLISH are at present, : And women of condition, in order to rclai thf-ir lovers, endeavoured to fix a nai of reprcneh on those who were addicted other country. of amours and attachments, not. thai, of complaisance, which is as much paid to tho fair-sex in JV\(;I.AXD as in any A DIALOGUE. :;03 with their women, should be very indifferent about music, and esteem dancing infamous: While the (JRKKKS, who never almost saw a woman but in their own houses, were continually piping, singing, and dancing V The differences of moral sentiment, which naturally arise from a republican or monarchical government, are also very obvious ; as well as those which proceed from general riches or poverty, union or faction, ignorance or learning. I shall conclude this long discourse with observing 1 , that different customs and situations vary not the original ideas of merit (however they may, some consequences) in aiiv verv essential point, and prevail chiefly with regard to young men, who ran aspire to the agreeable qualities, and mav attempt to please. The MANNER, the ORNAMENTS, the GRACES, which succeed in this shape, are more arbitrary and casual : But the merit of riper years is almost every where the same ; and consists chiefly in integrity, humanity, ability, know- ledge, and the other more solid and useful qualities of the human mind. What you insist on, replied PALAMEDES, may have some foundation, when you adhere to the maxims of common life ^ind ordinary conduct. Experience and the practice of the world readily correct any great extravagance on either side. Hut what say you to art (tidal lives and manners'? How do vou reconcile the maxims, on which, in different ayes and nations, these are founded 'P What do you understand bv artificial lives and manners * said I. I explain myself, replied he. You know, that religion had, in ancient times, very little influence on common life, and that, after men had performed their duty in sacrifices and prayers at the temple, they thought, that the gods left the rest of their conduct to themselves, and were little pleas. - Treatise, scu History of t.lie HJitions,' Vol. in. ji. 60 ct s< THE NATURAL HISTORY OF RELIGION. SFCT. earth, his own organs and members ; and would be led to asJr, ' r - whence this wonderful scene arose. But a barbarous, neces- sitous animal (such as a man is on the first origin of society), pressed by such numerous wants and passions, has no leisure to admire the regular face of nature, or make enquiries con- cerning the cause of those objects, to which from his infancy he has been gradually accustomed. On the contrary, the more regular and uniform, that is, the more perfect nature appears, the more is he familiarized to it, and the less inclined to scrutinize and examine it. A monstrous birth excites his curiosity, and is deemed a prodigy. It alarms him from its novelty ; and immediately sets him a trembling, and sacrificing, and praying. But an animal, compleat in all its limbs and organs, is to him an ordinary spectacle, and produces no religious opinion or affection. Ask him, whence that animal arose ; he will tell you, from the copulation of its parents. And these, whence ? From the copulation of theirs. A few removes satisfy his curiosity, and set the objects at such a distance, that he entirely loses sight of them. Imagine not, that he will so much as start the ques- tion, whence the first animal ; much less, whence the whole system or united fabric of the universe arose. Or, if you start such a question to him, expect not, that he will employ his mind with any anxiety about a subject, so remote, so un- interesting, and which so much exceeds the bounds of his capacity. But farther, if men were at first led into the belief of one Supreme Being, by reasoning from the frame of nature, they could never possibly leave that belief, in order to embrace 1 polytheism ; but the same principles of reason, which at first produced and diffused over mankind, so magnificent an opinion, must be able, with greater facility, to preserve it. The first invention and proof of any doctrine is much more difficult than the supporting and retaining of it. There is a great difference between historical facts and speculative opinions ; nor is the knowledge of the one pro- pagated in the same manner with that of the other. An historical fact, while it passes by oral tradition from eye- witnesses and contemporaries, is disguised in every successive narration, and may at last retain but very small, if any, re- 1 |].lol;itry: E.liti'.n* L to d] POLYTHEISM Till'] I'lIIMAKY KKLHilOX OF MKX. :j]:', semblance of the original truth, on which it was founded. SK'.T. The frail memories of men, their love of exaggeration, their - i - , supine carelessness ; these principles, if not corrected bv books and writing, soon pervert the account of historical events; where argument or reasoning has little or no place, nor can ever recal the truth, which has once escaped those narrations. It is thus the tables of HKKCULKS, THKSKTS, BACCHUS are supposed to have been originally founded in true history, corrupted by tradition. lJut with regard to speculative opinions, the case is far otherwise. If these opinions be founded on arguments so clear and obvious as to carry conviction with the generality of mankind, the same arguments, which at iirst diffused the opinions, will still pre- serve them in their original purity. If the arguments be more abstruse, and more remote from vulgar apprehension, the opinions will always be confined to a few persons ; and as soon as men leave the contemplation of the arguments, the opinions will immediately be lost and be buried in oblivion. Whichever side of this dilemma we take, it must appear im- possible, that theism could, from reasoning, have been the primary religion of human race, and have afterwards, bv its corruption, given birth to polytheism and to all the various superstitions of the heathen world. Reason, when obvious, prevents these corruptions : When abstruse, it keeps the principles entirely from the knowledge of the vulgar, who are alone liable to corrupt any principle or opinion. SECT. II. Ofiyin of Polytheism. If we would, therefore, indulge our curiosity, in enquiring concerning the origin of religion, we must turn our thoughts towards 'polytheism, the primitive religion of uninstructed mankind. AVer. 1 men led into the apprehension of invisible, intelli- gent power by a contemplation of the work's of nature, they could never possibly entertain any conception but of one single being, who bestowed existence and order on this vast machine, and adjusted all its parts, according to one regular plan or connected system. For though, to persons of a certain turn of mind, it may not appear altogether absurd, that several independent beings, end-owed with superior wis- 314 THE NATURAL HISTORY OF RELIGION. dom, might conspire in the contrivance and execution of one regular plan ; yet is this a merely arbitrary supposition, which, even if allowed possible, must be confessed neither to be supported by probability nor necessity. All things in the universe are evidently of a piece. Every thing 1 is adjusted to every thing. One design prevails throughout the whole. And this uniformity leads the mind to acknowledge one author ; because the conception of different authors, without any distinction of attributes or operations, serves only to give perplexity to the imagination, without bestowing any satis- faction on the understanding. l The statue of LAOCOON, as we learn from PLINY, was the work of three artists : But it is certain, that, were we not told so, we should never have imagined, that a groupe of figures, cut from one stone, and united in one plan, was not the work and contrivance of one statuary. To ascribe any single effect to the combination of several causes, is not surely a natural and obvious suppo- sition. On the other hand, if, leaving the works of nature, we trace the footsteps of invisible power in the various and con- trary events of human life, we are necessarily led into poly- theism and to the acknowledgment of several limited and imperfect deities. Storms and tempests ruin what is nourished by the sun. The sun destroys what is fostered by the mois- ture of dews and rains. War may be favourable to a nation, whom the inclemency of the seasons afflicts with famine. Sickness and pestilence may depopulate a kingdom, amidst the most profuse plenty. The same nation is not, at the same time, equally successful by sea and by land. And a nation, which now triumphs over its enemies, may anon submit to their more prosperous arms. In short, the conduct of events, or what we call the plan of a particular providence, is so full of variety and uncertainty, that, if we suppose it immediately ordered by any intelligent beings, we must acknowledge a contrariety in their designs and intentions, a constant combat of opposite powers, and a repentance or change of intention in the same power, from impotence or levity. Each nation has its tutelar deity. Each element is subjected to its invisible power or agent. The province of each god is separate from that of another. Nor are the ' [The ivniaiiidcr ^f tlii- paragraph \vas ;.rivtn as a notr in I'/litiuiifc L to P.] operations of the same god always certain ;inlvilu'i>m or idolatry: Editions these seems still to'>:rr ' : their mini- L to < v >. | In'!'. I'll e provitlei > dl till' licit il'S \UT< rO '-' FiMLrilis i^r lalioriosa mortalitas in subdivided, that then was even a <1<>,1 partes ist;i di^cssit, intinnitat is su:i> of Sin/^iaii. See AK-;M'. I'ri-'f. SIT). Jiii-inor, ut porl ion i! ais I'oleret (;nisi|in'. ;-i.".. rap. 7. quo niiixiiiit' indi^i't'i't.' 1'i.ix. li!>. ii. tion. Miiia oap.fi. So early as HKSIOD'S time there dignity of it WITC oO.OOO deities. O^cr. a~ I>i< r. lih.i. deities, ver. L'.')0 r.iit the task to IT pu-ioniic I l>y 310 THE NATURAL HISTORY OF RELIGION. SECT. supposed to work upon such barbarians, but the ordinary __/ ^ affections of human life ; the anxious concern for happiness, the dread of future misery, the terror of death, the thirst of revenge, the appetite for food and other necessaries. Agi- tated by hopes and fears of this nature, especially the latter, men scrutinize, with a trembling curiosity, the course of future causes, and examine the various and contrary events of human life. And in this disordered scene, with eyes still more disordered and astonished, they see the first obscure traces of divinity. SECT. III. The same subject continued. We are placed in this world, as in a great theatre, where the true springs and causes of every event are entirely con- cealed from us ; nor have we either sufficient wisdom to foresee, or power to prevent those ills, with which we are continually threatened. We hang in perpetual suspence between life and death, health and sickness, plenty and want; which are distributed amongst the human species by secret and unknown causes, whose operation is oft unex- pected, and always unaccountable. These unknown causes, then, become the constant object of our hope and fear ; and while the passions are kept in perpetual alarm by an anxious expectation of the events, the imagination is equally em- ployed in forming ideas of those powers, 011 which we have so entire a dependance. Could men anatomize nature, according to the most probable, at least the most intelligible philosophy, they would find, that these causes are nothing but the particular fabric and structure of the minute parts of their own bodies and of external objects ; and that, by a regular and constant machinery, all the events are pro- duced, about which they are so much concerned. But this philosophy exceeds the comprehension of the ignorant mul- titude, who can only conceive the -unknown cans''* in a general and confused manner; though their imagination, perpetually employed on the same subject, must labour to form some particular and distinct idea of them. The more; they con- sider these causes themselves, and the uncertainty of their operation, the less satisfaction do they meet with in their researches ; and, however unwilling, they must at last have abandoned so arduous an attempt, were it not fora propen- T!!i: SA.MI; SUUKCT CUMIN n:i>. :n: Hity in lniiiian nature, which leads info a system, ilmi gives MXT. them some satisfaction. There is an universal tendency among mankind to con- ceive all beings like themselves, and to transfer to every object, those qualities, with which they are familiarly ac- quainted, and of which they are intimately conscious. We find human faces in the moon, armies in the clouds; and by ;t natural propensity, if not corrected by experience and reflection, ascribe malice or good-will to every thing, that hurts or pleases us. Hence the frequency and beaut v of the prosopopoeia in poetry; where trees, mountains and streams are personified, and the inanimate parts of nature acquire sentiment and passion. And though these poetical figures and expressions gain not on the belief, they may serve, at least, to prove a certain tendency in the imagination, with- out which they could neither be beautiful nor natural. Nor is a river-god or hamadryad always taken for a mere poetical or imaginary personage; but may sometimes enter into Un- real creed of the ignorant vulgar; while each grove or field is represented as possessed of a. particular inkii. viii. 33. Tapay/Jibv tv-riOev-rfs, is ayviatria Tho following lines of Eruii'inr.s 2c/3a-//e^ avrovs. Jh-:cruA, 9;')6. are so much to tile present, purpose, that. I ciinnot forhear quoting them : ' There is nothing secure in the world ; no -lui-y. no prosperity. The [rods loss OUK tffTiv oi';5t v nurr'bv, <>?n' (t'fio^a, nil lite into confusion ; TIIIX everything Our' ati /caAoJs -rrpaffffitv-ra juv; Hj>a.^(ii' \\ith its reverse; that all of us. from KUKcis. our ij.'Moraiav and uncertainty, may p;iy them the more worshi itnd t'everencu.' much ol'tener thrown on their knees by the melancholy than sKf by the agreeable passions. J'rosperity is easily received as our due, and lew questions are asked concerning its cause r author. It begets cheerfulness and activity :nnl alacrity and a lively enjoyment of every social and sensual pleasure: And during this state of mind, men have little leisure or inclina- tion to think of the unknown invisible regions. On the other baud, every disastrous accident alarms us, and sets us on enquiries concerning the principles whence it arose : Apprehensions spring up with regard to futurity : And the mind, sunk into diffidence, terror, and melancholy, has recourse to every method of appeasing those secret intel- ligent powers, 011 whom our fortune is supposed entirely to depend. No topic is more usual with all popular divines than to display the advantages of affliction, in bringing men to a due sense of religion; by subduing their confidence and sensuality, which, in times of prosperity, make them forget- ful of a divine providence. Nor is this topic confined merely to modern religions. The ancients have also employed it. Fortune has necer liberalh/, vithont enry, says a GREEK his- torian, 1 bestowed i>. Si, . lik iii. 17. - Lib. vi. -J97. 320 THE NATURAL HISTORY OF RELIGION. SECT. IV. SECT. TV. Deities not considered as creators or formers of the world. The only point of theology, in which we shall find a con- sent of mankind almost universal, is, that there is invisible, intelligent power in the world : But whether this power be supreme or subordinate, whether confined to one being, or distributed among several, what attributes, qualities, con- nexions, or principles of action ought to be ascribed to those beings ; concerning all these points, there is the widest difference in the popular systems of theology. Our ancestors in EUROPE, before the revival of letters, believed, as we do at present, that there was one supreme God, the author of nature, whose power, though in itself uncontroulable, was yet often exerted by the interposition of his angels and sub- ordinate ministers, who executed his sacred purposes. But they also believed, that all nature was full of other invisible powers ; fairies, goblins, elves, sprights ; beings, stronger and mightier than men, but much inferior to the celestial natures, who surround the throne of God. Now, suppose, that any one, in those ages, had denied the existence of God and of his angels; would not his impiety justly have de- served the appellation of atheism, even though he had still allowed, by some odd capricious reasoning, that the popular stories of elves and fairies were just and well-grounded ? The difference, on the one hand, between such a person and a genuine theist is infinitely greater than that, on the other, between him and one that absolutely excludes all invisible intelligent power. And it is a fallacy, merely from the casual resemblance of names, without any conformity of meaning, to rank such opposite opinions under the same denomination. To any one, who considers justly of the matter, it will appear, that the gods of all polytheists are no better than the elves or fairies of our ancestors, and merit as little any pious worship or veneration. These pretended religionists are really a kind of superstitions atheists, and acknowledge no being, that corresponds to our idea of a deity. No first principle of mind or thought : No supreme government and administration : No divine contrivance or intention in the fabric of the world. DEITIES NOT CONSIDERED CREATORS OF THE WOULD. .",-1 The (JniM;sK, when ' their pravers arc not answered, beat *>'-' ' their idols. The deities of tin- LAPLANDERS are any large ,_ ^ stone which they meet with <>t';m extraordinary shape. 2 The KGTPTIAN luythologists, in order to account for animal wor- ship., said, that the pods, pursued by the violence of earth- born men, who were their enemies, had former! v been obliged to disguise themselves under the semblance of beasts. 3 The CAUNII, a nation in the Lesser ASIA, resolving to admit no strange ^ods among them, regularly, at certain seasons, assembled themselves compleatly armed, beat the air with their lances, and proceeded in that manner to their frontiers ; in order, as they said, to expel the foreign deities. 4 Not even the immortal 7 Cap. ix. tradition, Metam. lib. v. 1. 321. .So also s JVro Brumoy, Theatre des Grec- JlANiurs. lib. iv. 800. & Foritriiplle. Hi.-toire dc* Oracles. Herodot. lib i. 172. a Arnob. lib. vii. 5u7 11. VOL. IV. V THE NATURAL HISTORY OF RELIGIOX. SKOT. he would be highly pleased with the recital of his former ._ .' ^ feats of prowess and vigour, and that 110 topic was so proper, upon which to flatter his vanity. The LACEDEMONIANS, says XENOPHON, 1 always, during war, put up their petitions very early in the morning, in order to be beforehand with their enemies, and, by being the first solicitors, pre-engage the gods in their favour. We may gather from SENECA, 2 that it was usual, for the votaries in the temples, to make interest with the beadle or sexton, that they might have a seat near the image of the deity, in order to be the best heard in their prayers and applications to him. The TYEIANS, when besieged by ALEXANDER, threw chains on the statue of HEKCULES, to prevent that deity from deserting to the enemy. 3 AUGUSTUS, having twice lost his fleet by storms, forbad NEPTUNE to be carried in pro- cession along with the other gods ; and fancied, that he had sufficiently revenged himself by that expedient. 4 After GER- MAKICUS'S death, the people were so enraged at their gods, that they stoned them in their temples ; and openly re- nounced all allegiance to them. 5 To ascribe the origin and fabric of the universe to these imperfect beings never enters into the imagination of any polytheist or idolater. HESIOD, whose writings, with those of HOMER, contained the canonical system of the heavens ; 6 HEKIOD, I say, supposes gods and men to have sprung equally from the unknown powers of nature, 7 And throughout the whole theogony of that author, PANDORA is the only instance of creation or a voluntary production; and she too was formed by the gods merely from despiglit to PROMETHEUS, who had furnished men with stolen fire from the celestial regions. 8 The ancient mythologists, indeed, seem through- out to have rather embraced the idea of generation than that of creation or formation ; and to have thence accounted for the origin of this universe. OVID, who lived in a learned age, and had been instructed by philosophers in the principles of a divine creation or for- mation of the world ; finding, that such an idea would not 1 I)e Laced. Rep. 13. K Hcrcxlot. lib. ii. f>3. Lwian, Jupiter 2 Kr>ist. xli. CMifntntux, df Inch'., Sdtuni, Ofv yfydcuri 0ttn 6vi]ra\ r Sic. lib. xvii. 11. HvOpwirm. HUH. Opera & Dies. 1. 108. 4 Suet, in vita Aug. cup. 1C. " Thong. 1. f)70. Id. in vita C:il. cap. fj. DEITIES NOT CONSIDERED CREATORS OF THE WORM). :JL.I agree witli iho popular mythology, which In- (It-livers, leaves it, in a manner, loose and detached from his system. QHISI J'liit illr ])<'<-nni ?' Whichever of (he gods it was, says he, that dissipated the chaos, and introduced order into the universe. It could neither be SATTUN, he knew, nor .JriMTKi;, nor NEPTUNE, nor any of the received deities of paganism. His theological system had taught him nothing upon that head ; and he leaves the matter equally undetermined. DiODOEUS SicuLUS,' 2 beginning his work with an enume- ration of the most reasonable opinions concerning the origin of the world, makes no mention of a deity or intelligent mind; though it is evident from his history, that he was much more prone to superstition than to irreligion. And in another passage , ;! talking of the ICHTHYOPHAGI, a nation in INDIA, he says, that, there being so great difficulty in, accounting for their descent, we must conclude them to be aborigines, without any beginning of their generation, propa- gating their race from all eternity ; as some of the physio- logers, in treating of the origin of nature, have justly observed. k But in such subjects as these,' adds the historian, ' which exceed all human capacity, it may Avell happen, that those, who discourse the most, know the least ; reaching a specious appearance of truth in their reasonings, while extremely wide of the real truth and matter of fact.' A strange sentiment in our eyes, to be embraced by a professed and zealous religionist ! ' But it was merely by accident, that the question concerning the origin of the world did ever in ancient times enter into religious systems, or was treated of by theologers. The philosophers alone made profession of delivering systems of this kind ; and it was pretty late too before these bethought themselves of having recourse to a mind or supreme intelligence, as the first cause of all. So far was it from being esteemed profane in those days to account for the origin of things without a deity, that THALES, ANAXIMENES, HERACLITUS, and others, who embraced that system of cosmogony, past unquestioned ; 1 Metamorph. lib. i. 1. 32. accidents of life, earthquakes, inunda- Lib. i. 6 et scq. tions, and tempests : and dtvoiuiy 3 Lib. iii. 20. ascribes these to tile an_vr <>f .hrir. it * The same author, who can thus ;u'- or XKI'TUXK. A plain proof, wheiuv '. - count for the origin of the world with- derived his ideas of ivlL'ion. See li!.. out a Deity, esteems it impious to r\- xv. c. IS. p. .'Hit. K.\ edit. ]iii'>i>oM.\.\M, pliiin from physical causes, the common v '2 324 THE NATURAL HISTORY OF RELIGION. SECT, while ANAXAGORAS, the first undoubted thcist among the ,' _^ philosophers, was perhaps the first that ever was accused of atheism. 1 We are told by SEXTUS EMPiRicus, 2 that EPICURUS, when a boy, reading with his preceptor these verses of HESIOD, Eldest of beings, chaos first arose ; Next eartJi, wide-stretch'd, the scat of all : the young scholar first betrayed his inquisitive genius, by asking, And chaos whence ? But was told by his preceptor, that he must have recourse to the philosophers for a solution of such questions. And from this hint EPICURUS left philo- logy and all other studies, in order to betake himself to that science, whence alone he expected satisfaction with regard to these sublime subjects. The common people were never likely to push their re- searches so far, or derive from reasoning their systems of religion ; when philologers and my thologists, we see, scarcely ever discovered so much penetration. And even the philoso- phers, who discoursed of such topics, readily assented to the grossest theory, and admitted the joint origin of gods and men from night and chaos ; from fire, water, air, or whatever they established to be the ruling element. Nor was it only on their first origin, tha,t the gods were supposed dependent on the powers of nature. Throughout the whole period of their existence they were subjected to the dominion of fate or destiny. Think of the force of necessiti/, says AGRIPPA to the ROMAN people, that force, to ivJiich even the gnds must submit* And the Younger PLINY*, agreeably to this way of thinking, tells us, that amidst the darkness, horror, and confusion, which ensued upon the first eruption of VESUVIUS, several concluded, that all nature was going to 1 It will -be easy to giro a reason. worship. 3>ut where a supreme intel- why TJUALKS, ANAXIMANDER, and those licence, the first cause of all. is admitted, early philosophers, who really were these capricious lyings, if they exist at atheists, might be "very orthodox in the all. must appear very subordinate and pagan creed; and why ANAXAGOUAS dependent, and consequently be excluded ;md SOCRATES, though real theists. must from the rank of dci'ies. PLATO (de leg. naturally, in aneicnt times, bo esteemed lib. x. 886 D.) assigns this reason for jmpious. The blind, unguided powers the imputation thrown on ANAXAGOKAS, of nature, if they could produce men, namely, his denying the divinity of the might also produce such beings as stars, planets, and other created objects. Jn-iTEU and NKI'THNK, who being thu 2 Adversus MATH KM, lib. 480. most powerful, intelligent existences in 3 I(IONYS. HALIC. lib. vi. 54. the world, would be proper objects of 4 Kpist. lib. vi. DKITIKS NOT COXSIDKKKf) Clil-JATOIW OF Till! WolM.I). :;_'.", wrack, and that gods and men wore perishing in one common s!;r . T ruin. It is great complaisance, indeed, if we dignify with the name of religion such an imperfect system of theology, and put it on a level with later systems, which are founded on principle.-* more just and more sublime. For my part, I can scarcely allow the principles even of MARCUS AURKLIUS, PLUTARCH, and some other Stoics and Aniilt-mirs, though much more re- fined than the pagan superstition, to be worthy of the honour- able appellation of theism. For if the mythology of the heathens resemble the ancient EUROPEAN system of spiritual beings, excluding God and angels, and leaving only fairies and sprights ; the creed of these philosophers may justly be said to exclude a deity, and to leave only angels and fairies. SECT. V. Various Forms of Polytheism: Allegory, Hero- Worship. But it is chiefly our present business to consider the gross polytheism 1 of the vulgar, and to trace all its various appear- ances, in the principles of human nature, whence they are derived. Whoever learns by argument, the existence of invisible intelligent power, must reason from the admirable contrivance of natural objects, and must suppose the world to be the workmanship of that divine being, the original cause of all things. But the vulgar polytheist, so far from admitting that idea, deifies every part of the universe, and conceives all the conspicuous productions of nature, to be themselves so many real divinities. The sun y moon, and stars, are all gods accord- ing to his system: Fountains are inhabited by nymphs, and trees by hamadryads : Even monkies, dogs, cats, and other animals often become sacred in his eyes, and strike him with a religious veneration. And thus, however strong men's pro- pensity to believe invisible, intelligent power in nature, their propensity is equally strong to rest their attention on sensible, visible objects ; and in order to reconcile these opposite incli- nations, they are led to unite the invisible power with some visible object. The distribution also of distinct provinces to the several deities is apt to cause some allegory, both physical and moral, 1 [I'olytlu'ism and idolatry : Edition;- L to Q.j 3:26 THE NATURAL HISTORY OF RELIGION. to enter into the vulgar systems of polytheism. The god of war will naturally be represented as furious, cruel, and im- petuous : The god of poetry as elegant, polite, and amiable : The god of merchandise, especially in early times, as thievish and deceitful. The allegories, supposed in HOMER and other mythologists, I allow, have often been so strained, that men of sense are apt entirely to reject them, and to consider them as the production merely of the fancy and conceit of critics and commentators. But that allegory really has place in the heathen mythology is undeniable even on the least reflection. CUPID the son of VENUS ; the Muses the daughters of Memory ; PROMETHEUS, the wise brother, and EPIMETHEUS the foolish ; HTGIEIA or the goddess of health descended from ^SCULAPIUS or the god of Physic : Who sees not, in these, and in many other instances, the plain traces of allegory ? When a god is supposed to preside over any passion, event, or system of actions, it is almost unavoidable to give him a genealogy, attributes, and adventures, suitable to his supposed powers and influence ; and to carry on that similitude and comparison, which is naturally so agreeable to the mind of man. Allegories, indeed, entirely perfect, we ought not to expect as the productions of ignorance and superstition ; there being no work of genius that requires a nicer hand, or has been more rarely executed with success. That Fear and Terror are the sons of MAES is just ; but why by VENUS ? l That Harmony is the daughter of VENUS is regular; but why by MARS?* That Sleep is the brother of Deatli is suitable ; but why describe him as enamoured of one of the Graces? 3 And since the ancient mythologists fall into mistakes so gross and palpable, we have no reason surely to expect such refined and long-spun allegories, as some have endeavoured to deduce from their fictions. 4 LUCRETIUS was plainly seduced by the strong appearance of allegory, which is observable in the pagan fictions, lie first addresses himself to VENUS as to that generating power, which animates, renews, and beautifies the universe : But is soon betrayed by the mythology into incoherencies, while he prays to that allegorical personage to appease the furies of her lover MARS : An idea not drawn from allegory, but from 1 HESIOD. Thcog 1. 03'">. 4 [This par.igraph i.s given as a note 2 Id. ibid. & Pi.r-r. in vilu PELOI-. 19. in Editions L t V * II.IAD. xiv. iJ(>7. VARIOUS FOKMS OF POLYTIIKISM : ALLIXXiKY, KTC. .M>7 the popular religion, and which LUCRETIUS, as an EPICUREAN, SI-:CT. could not consistently admit of. _ V 1_ The deities of the vulgar are so little superior to hunr.m creatures, that, where men are a fleeted with strong sentiments of veneration or gratitude for any hero or public benefactor, nothing 1 can be more natural than to convert him into a god, and fill the heavens, after this manner, with continual recruits from among mankind. Most of the divinities of the ancient world are supposed to have once been men, and to have been beholden for their apotheosis to the admiration and affection of the people. The real history of their adventures, corrupted by tradition, and elevated by the marvellous, became a plenti- ful source of fable ; especially in passing through the hands of poets, allegorists, and priests, who successively improved upon the wonder and astonishment of the ignorant multitude. Painters too and sculptors came in for their share of profit in the sacred mysteries; and furnishing men with sensible representations of their divinities, whom they cloathed in human figures, gave great encrease to the public devotion, and determined its object. It was probably for want of these arts in rude and barbarous ages, that men deified plants, ani- mals, and even brute, unorganized matter ; and rather than be without a sensible object of worship, affixed divinity to such ungainly forms. Could any statuary of SVIIIA, in early times, have formed a just figure of APOLLO, the conic stone, HELIO- GABALUS, had never become the object of such profound adora- tion, and been received as a representation of the solar deity. 1 STILPO was banished by the council of AREOPAGUS, for affirming that the MIXERVA in the citadel was no divinity ; but the workmanship of PHIDIAS, the sculptor. 2 What degree of reason must we expect in. the religious belief of the vulgar in other nations ; when ATHENIANS and AREOPAGITES could entertain such gross conceptions P These then are the general principles of polytheism, founded in human nature, and little or nothing dependent on caprice and accident. As the causes, which bestow happiness or misery, are, in general, very little known and very uncertain, our anxious concern endeavours to attain a determinate idea 1 HKRODIAN-. lib. v. 3. 10. JFI'ITKR as their deity. ARNOK lib. vi. 496 A. So AMMON is represented by CruTirs as ;i much did their folly exceed that of the deity of the same kind. lib. iv. cap. EUYPTIANS. 7. The AHAHIAXS and PKSSI.NTNTIAN^ - IhoD. LAEHT. lib. ii. 11C. adored also shapeless unformed btoiies 328 THE NATURAL HISTORY OF RELIGION. SECT.; of them ; and finds no better expedient than to represent them _ ^ ^ as intelligent voluntary agents, like ourselves ; only somewhat superior in power and wisdom. The limited influence of these agents, and their great proximity to human weakness, intro- duce the various distribution and division of their authority; and thereby give rise to allegory. The same principles naturally deify mortals, superior in power, courage, or understanding, and produce hero-worship ; together with fabulous history and mythological tradition, in all its wild and unaccountable forms. And as an invisible spiritual intelligence is an object too refined for vulgar apprehension, men naturally affix it to some sensible representation ; such as either the more conspicuous parts of nature, or the statues, images, and pictures, which a more refined age forms of its divinities. Almost all idolaters, of whatever age or country, concur in these general principles and conceptions ; and even the par- ticular characters and provinces, which they assign to their deities, are not extremely different. 1 The GREEK and ROMAN travellers and conquerors, without much difficulty, found their own deities every where ; and said, This is MERCURY, that VENUS ; this MARS, that NEPTUNE ; by whatever title the strange gods might be denominated. The goddess HERTHA of our SAXON ancestors seems to be no other, according to TACITUS,* than the Mater Tellus of the EOMANS ; and his con- jecture was evidently just. SECT. VI. Origin of Theism from Polytheism. The doctrine of one supreme deity, the author of nature, is very ancient, has spread itself over great and populous nations, and among them has been embraced by all ranks and condi- tions of men : But whoever thinks that it has owed its success to the prevalent force of those invincible reasons, on which it is undoubtedly founded, would show himself little acquainted with the ignorance and stupidity of the people, and their incurable prejudices in favour of their particular superstitions. Even at this day, and in EUROPE, ask any of the vulgar, why he believes in an omnipotent creator of the world ; he will never mention the beauty of final causes, of which he is wholly ignorant : He will not hold out his hand, and bid you contein- 1 Sep C.TiSAR of the religion of the GATI.S, Do bello Galileo, lib. vi. 17. 2 I)e morilm* (iF.for. 40. OKiniX OF TIIKISM FROM POLYTHEISM. ;J-Jt) plate llio suppleness and variety of joints in his lingers, their sp.cn, bending all one way, the counterpoise which they receive from the thumb, the softness and lleshy parts of the inside of his hand, with all the other circumstances, which render that member fit for the use, to which it was destined. To these he has been long accustomed ; and he beholds them with listlessnoss and unconcern, lie will tell you of the sudden and unexpected death of such a one: The fall and bruise of such another : The excessive drought of this season : The cold and rains of another. These he ascribes to the immediate operation of providence: And such events, as, with good reasoners, are the chief difficulties in admitting ;t> supreme intelligence, are with him the sole arguments for it. Many theists, even the most zealous and refined, have denied a particular providence, and have asserted, that the Sovereign mind or first principle of all things, having fixed general laws, by which nature is governed, gives free and uninterrupted course to these laws, and disturbs not, at every turn, the settled order of events by particular volitions. From the beautiful connexion, say they, and rigid observance of established rules, we draw the chief argument for theism ; and from the same principles are enabled to answer the prin- cipal objections against it. But so little is this understood by the generality of mankind, that, wherever they observe any one to ascribe all events to natural causes, and to remove the particular interposition of a deity, they are apt to suspect him of the grossest infidelity. A little philosophy, says lord BACON, makes men atheists : A great deal reconciles them to religion. For men, being taught, by superstitious prejudices, to lay the stress on a wrong place ; when that fails them, and they discover, by a little reflection, that the course of nature is regular and uniform, their whole faith totters, and falls to ruin. But being taught, by more reflection, that this very regularity and uniformity is the strongest proof of design and of a supreme intelligence, they return to that belief, which they had deserted ; and they are now able to establish it on a firmer and more durable foundation. Convulsions in nature, disorders, prodigies, miracles, though the most opposite to the plan of a wise superinten- dent, impress mankind with the strongest sentiments of religion ; the causes of events seeming then the most un- o ' *- known and unaccountable. Madness, fury, rage, and an 330 THE NATURAL HISTORY OF RELIGION. SECT. inflamed imagination, though they sink men nearest to tht ^ VL ^ level of beasts, are, for a like reason, often supposed to be the only dispositions, in which we can have any immediate communication with the Deity. We may conclude, therefore, upon the whole, that, since the vulgar, in nations, which have embraced the doctrine of O 7 ' theism, still build it upon irrational and superstitious prin- ciples, they are never led into that opinion by any process of argument, but by a certain train of thinking, more suitable to their genius and capacity. It may readily happen, in an idolatrous nation, that though men admit the existence of several limited deities, yet is there some one God, whom, in a particular manner, they make the object of their worship and adoration. They may either suppose, that, in the distribution of power and territory among the gods, their nation was subjected to the jurisdiction of that particular deity ; or reducing heavenly objects to the model of things below, they may represent one god as the prince or supreme magistrate of the rest, who, though of the same nature, rules them with an authority, like that which an earthly sovereign exercises over his sub- jects and vassals. Whether this god, therefore, be con- sidered as their peculiar patron, or as the general sovereign of heaven, his votaries will endeavour, by every art, to in- sinuate themselves into his favour ; and supposing him to be pleased, like themselves, with praise and flattery, there is no eulogy or exaggeration, which will be spared in their addresses to him. In proportion as men's fears or distresses become more urgent, they still invent new strains of adula- tion; and even he who outdoes his predecessor in swelling up the titles of his divinity, is sure to be outdone by his successor in newer and more pompous epithets of praise. Thus they proceed ; till at last they arrive at infinity itself, beyond which there is no farther progress: And it is well, if, in striving to get farther, and to represent a magnificent simplicity, they run not into inexplicable mystery, and destroy the intelligent nature of their deity, on which alone imy rational worship or adoration can be founded. While they confine themselves to the notion of a perfect being, the creator of the world, they coincide, by chance, with the principles of reason and true philosophy ; though they are guided to that notion, not by reason, of which they are in a OKKilN OF TIIKISM FROM I'OLYTIIKISM. Ml givut measure incapable, but by the adulation and fears of ."KLT. v i the most vulgar superstition. ._ ^ _ We often find, amongst barbarous nations, and even some- times amongst civilized, that, when every strain of flattery has been exhausted towards arbitrary princes, when every human quality has been applauded to the utmost; their servile courtiers represent them, ;tt last, as real divinities, and point them out to the people as objects of adoration. How much more natural, therefore, is it, that a limited d'-ity, who at first is supposed only the immediate author of the particular goods and ills in life, should in the end be repre- sented as sovereign maker and modifier of the uni versed Even where this notion of a supreme deity is already established; though it ought naturally to lessen every other worship, and abase every object of reverence, yet if a nation has entertained the opinion of a subordinate tutelar divinity, saint, or angel ; their addresses to that being gradually rise upon them, and encroach on the adoration due to their supreme deity. The Virgin Mary, ere checked by the reformation, had proceeded, from being merely a good woman, to usurp many attributes of the Almighty : Clod and St. NICHOLAS go hand in hand, in all the prayers and petitions of the MUSCOVITES. Thus the deity, who, from love, converted himself into a bull, in order to carry off EUROPA ; and who, from ambition, dethroned his father, SATURN, became the OPTIMUS MAXIMUS of the heathens. l Thus, the God of ABRAHAM, ISAAC, and JACOB, became the supreme deity or JEHOVAH of the JEWS. 3 The JACOBINS, who denied the immaculate conception, have ever been very unhappy in their doctrine, even though political reasons have kept the ROMISH church from con- demning it. The CORDELIERS have run away with all the popularity. But in the fifteenth century, as we learn from BouLAiNViLLiERS, 3 an ITALIAN Conldier maintained, that, during the three days, when CHRIST was interred, the hypo- static union was dissolved, and that his human nature was 1 [For this sentence the Proof reads : many vulgar ./-'/> srem --'ill t have Thus the deitv. whom the vulirar Jews conceived the supreme Ixin^ as a m. re corn-rived only a.s the God of Abraham, topical dei'y <">r national prote.-t' .r.J Ixiw. and Jaci'b, became their .J>li"i\'h - [This paragra; 1 !; is u'iveii as a nv Mi't-t'f and tlie inspired writer.--. 332 THE NATURAL HISTORY OF RELIGION. SECT. not a proper object of adoration, during that period. With- ._ \ L _. out the art of divination, one might foretel, that so gross and impious a blasphemy would not fail to be anathematized by the people. It was the occasion of great insults on the part of the JACOBINS ; who now got some recompense for their misfortunes in the war about the immaculate conception. Rather than relinquish this propensity to adulation, reli- gionists, in all ages, have involved themselves in the greatest absurdities and contradictions. HOMER, in one passage, calls OCEANUS and TETHYS the original parents of all things, conformably to the established mythology and tradition of the GKEEKS : Yet, in other pas- sages, he could not forbear complimenting JUPITEE, the reigning deity, with that magnificent appellation; and accordingly denominates him the father of gods and men. He forgets, that every temple, every street was full of the ancestors, uncles, brothers, and sisters of this JUPITEE ; who was in reality nothing but an upstart parricide and usurper. A like contradiction is observable in HESIOD ; and is so much the less excusable, as his professed intention was to deliver a true genealogy of the gods. Were there a religion (and we may suspect Mahometanism of this inconsistence) which sometimes painted the Deity in the most sublime colours, as the creator of heaven and earth ; sometimes ' degraded him nearly to a level with human crea- tures in his powers and faculties ; while at the same time it ascribed to him suitable infirmities, passions, and partialities, of the moral kind : That religion, after it was extinct, would also be cited as an instance of those contradictions, which arise from the gross, vulgar, natural conceptions of mankind, opposed to their continual propensity towards flattery and exaggeration. Nothing indeed would prove more strongly the divine origin of any religion, than to find (and happily this is the case with Christianity) that it is free from a con- tradiction, so incident to human nature. 1 [The Proof reads : ' Sometimes do- descending from heaven to inform hlm- graded him so far to a level wit.Ii human self of what passes on earth: while, creatures as to represent him wrestling &c.' The pen is drawn through all with a man, walking in tho cool of tho from 'as' to ' oarth :' and for 'so far' evening, showing his back parts, aud the margin gives ' nearly.'] CONFIRMATION OF THIS DOCTKINE. SECT. VII. Confirmation of this Doctrine. It appears certain, that, though the original notions of S1:( '' tlie vulgar represent the Divinity as a limited being, and - consider him only as the particular cause of health or sick- ness ; plenty or want; prosperity or adversity; yet when more magnificent ideas are urged upon them, they esteem it dangerous to refuse their assent. Will you say, that your deity is finite and bounded in his perfections ; may be over- came by a greater force ; is subject to human passions, pains, and infirmities; has a beginning, and may have an end ? This they dare not affirm; but thinking it safest to complv with the higher encomiums, they endeavour, by an affected ravishment and devotion, to ingratiate themselves with him. As a confirmation of this, we may observe, that the assent of the vulgar is, in this case, merely verbal, and that they are incapable of conceiving those sublime qualities, which they seemingly attribute to the Deity. Their real idea of him, notwithstanding their pompous language, is still as poor and frivolous as ever. That original intelligence, say the MAGIANS, who is the first principle of all things, discovers himself immediately to the mind and understanding alone ; but has placed the sun as his image in the visible universe ; and when that bright luminary diffuses its beams over the earth and the firmament, it is a faint copy of the glory, which resides in the higher heavens. If you would escape the displeasure of this divine being, you must be careful never to set your bare foot upou the ground, nor spit into a fire, nor throw any water upon it, even though it were consuming a whole city. 1 Who can express the perfections of the Almighty 'P say the Mahometans. Even the noblest of his works, if compared to him, are but dust and rubbish. How much more must human conception fall short of his infinite perfections 'P His smile and favour renders men for ever happy : and to obtain it for your chil- dren, the best method is to cut off from them, while infants, a little bit of skin, about half the breadth of a farthing. Take two bits of cloth, 2 say the liotnan cutholicn, about an inch or 1 HYDK de IMig. voterum PKKSARUM. '' CV.V.i tiu- SMJ u'.aire. 334 THE NATURAL HISTORY OF RELIGION. SECT, an inch and a half square, join them by the corners with ^J , two strings or pieces of tape about sixteen inches long, throAv this over your head, and make one of the bits of cloth lie upon your breast, and the other upon your back, keeping them next your skin : There is not a better secret for recom- mending yourself to that infinite Being, who exists from eternity to eternity. The GETES, commonly called immortal, from their steady belief of the soul's immortality, wore genuine theists and Unitarians. They affirmed ZAMOLXIS, their deity, to be the only true god ; and asserted the worship of all other nations to be addressed to mere fictions and chimeras. But were their religious principles any more refined, on account of these magnificent pretensions P Every fifth year they sacrificed a human victim, whom they sent as a messenger to their deity, in order to inform him of their wants and necessities. And when it thundered, they were so provoked, that, in order to return the defiance, they let fly arrows at him, and declined not the combat as unequal. Such at least is the account, which HEEODOTUS Drives of the theism of the immortal GETES. 1 SECT. VIII. Flux and reflux of Polytheism and Theism. It is remarkable, that the principles of religion have a kind of flux and reflux in the human mind, and that men have a natural tendency to rise from idolatry to theism, and to sink again from theism into idolatry. The vulgar, that is, indeed, all mankind, a few excepted, being ignorant and unmstructed, never elevate their contemplation to the heavens, or pene- trate by their disquisitions into the secret structure of vegetable or animal bodies ; so far as to discover a supremo mind or original providence, which bestowed order on every part of nature. They consider these admirable works in a more confined and selfish view ; and finding their own happiness and misery to depend on the secret influence and unforeseen concurrence of external objects, they regard, with perpetual attention, the unknown causes, which govern all these natural events, and distribute pleasure and pain, good and ill, by their powerful, but silent, operation. The 1 Lib. iv. in. FLUX AND KKFLUX OF POLYTHEISM AM) TIIF.ISM. :;:',-> unknown causes are still appealed to on every emergence ; and in this general appearance or coni'nsed image, ;uv the ])erpetual objects of human hopes and fears, wisln-s and appre- hensions. By degrees, the active imagination of men, uneasy in this abstract conception of objects, about which it is inces- santly employed, begins to render them more particular, and to clothe them in shapes more suitable to its natural compre- hension. It represents them to be sensible, intelligent beings, like mankind; actuated by love and hatred, and flexible by gifts and entreaties, by prayers and sacriiices. Hence the origin of religion : And hence the origin of idolatry or polytheism. But the same anxious concern for happiness, which begets the idea of these invisible, intelligent powers, allows not mankind to remain long in the first simple conception of them ; as powerful, but limited beings ; masters of human fate, but slaves to destiny and the course of nature. Mori's exaggerated praises and compliments still swell their idea, upon them; and elevating their deities to the utmost bounds of perfection, at last beget the attributes of unity and infinity, simplicity and spirituality. Such reiined ideas, being some- Avhat disproportioned to vulgar comprehension, remain not long in their original purity ; but require to be supported by the notion of inferior mediators or subordinate agents, which interpose between mankind and their supreme deity. These demi-gods or middle beings, partaking more of human nature, and being more familiar to us, become the chief objects of devotion, and gradually recal that idolatry, which had been formerly banished by the ardent prayers and panegyrics of timorous and indigent mortals. But as these idolatrous religions fall every day into grosser and more vulgar concep- tions, they at last destroy themselves, and by the vile representations, which they form of their deities, make the tide turn again towards theism. But so great is the pro- pensity, in this alternate revolution of human sentiments, to return back to idolatry, that the utmost precaution is not able effectually to prevent it. And of this, some theists, particularly the JEWS and MAHOMKTAXS, have been sensible ; as appears by their banishing all the arts of statuary and painting, and not allowing the representations, even of human figures, to be taken by marble or colours ; lest the common inlirmity of mankind should thence produce idolatry. The 336 THE NATURAL HISTORY OF RELIGION. SECT, feeble apprehensions of men cannot be satisfied with con- J __. ceiving their deity as a pure spirit and perfect intelligence ; and yet their natural terrors keep them from imputing to him the least shadow of limitation and imperfection. They fluctuate between these opposite sentiments. The same infirmity still drags them downwards, from an omnipotent and spiritual deity, to a limited and corporeal one, and from a corporeal and limited deity to a statue or visible repi^esen- tation. The same endeavour at elevation still pushes them upwards, from the statue or material image to the invisible power ; and from the invisible power to an infinitely perfect deity, the creator and sovereign of the universe. SECT. IX. Comparison of these Religions, with regard to Persecution and Toleration. Polytheism or idolatrous worship, being founded entirely in vulgar traditions, is liable to this great inconvenience, that any practice or opinion, however barbarous or corrupted, may be authorized by it ; and full scope is given, for knavery to impose on credulity, till morals and humanity be expelled the religious systems of mankind. At the same time, idolatry is attended with this evident advantage, that, by limiting the powers and functions of its deities, it naturally admits the gods of other sects and nations to a share of divinity, and renders all the various deities, as well as rites, ceremonies, or traditions, compatible with each other. 1 Theism is opposite both in its advantages and disadvantages. As that system supposes one sole deity, the perfection of reason and goodness, it should, if justly prosecuted, banish every thing frivolous, un- reasonable, or inhuman from religious worship, and set before men the most illustrious example, as well as the most com- manding motives, of justice and benevolence. These mighty advantages are not indeed over-balanced (for that is not 1 VKHUIUS FLACCCS, cited by PI.INY, tery ; lesi the enemies of the republic lib. xxviii. cap. 2. affirmed, that it was .should lie able, in the, same manner, to usual for the ROMANS before they laid draw him over to their service. For siege to any town, to invoeate the tute- without the name, they thought, nothing lar deity of the place, and l>y promising of that kind could be practised. I'I.IXY him greater honours than those he at says, that the common form of invocu- present enjoyed, bribe him to be! ray his tion was preserved to his time in the old friends and votarii-s. The name ritual of the pontiffs. And MACuomrs f the tutelar deity of ROMK was for has transmitted a copy of it from tho tiiis reason kept a most religious mys- seeret things of SAM.MONICUS SEKENUs. COMPARISON AS To I'HUSKCUTION AM) TOU:i;ATI< \. .; ;7 possible), but somewhat diminished, by inconveniencies, si-XT. which arise from the vices and prejudices of mankind. While one sole object of devotion is acknowledged, the worship of other deities is regarded as absurd and impious. Xav, this unity of object seems naturally 1o require the unity of fait li and ceremonies, and furnishes designing men with a pretence f<>r representing 1 their adversaries as profane, and the objects of divine as well as human vengeance. For as each sect is positive that its own faith and worship are entirely acceptable to the deity, and as no one can conceive, that the same beiii" should be pleased with different and opposite rites and prin- ciples ; the several sects fall naturallv into animosity, and mutually discharge <>n each other that sacred /eal and rancour, the most furious and implacable of all human passions. The tolerating spirit of idolaters, both in ancient and modern times, is very obvious to any one, who is the least conversant in the writings of historians or travellers. When the oracle of DELPHI was asked, what rites or worship was most acceptable to the gods? Those which are legally es- tablished in each city, replied the oracle. 1 Even priests, in those ages, could, it seems, allow salvation to those of a dif- ferent communion. The ROMANS commonly adopted tin- gods of the conquered people; and never disputed the at- tributes of those local and national deities, in whose territories thev resided. The religious wars and persecutions of the EGYPTIAN idolaters are indeed an exception to this rule ; but are accounted for by ancient authors from reasons singular and remarkable. Different species of animals were the deities of the different sects among the EGYPTIANS ; and the deities being in continual war, engaged their votaries in the same contention. The worshippers of dogs could not IOIIL;' remain in peace with the adorers of cats or wolves.- But where that reason took not place, the EGYPTIAN superstition was not so incompatible as is commonly imagined; since we learn from HERODOTUS, 3 that very large contributions were given by AMASIS towards rebuilding the temple of DELPHI. The intolerance of almost all religions, which have main- tained the unity of God, is as remarkable as the contrary principle of polytheists. The implacable narrow spirit of the JE\VS is well known. ?.IAHO.METANI>M set out with still IV. 338 THE NATURAL HISTORY OF RELIGION. SFCT. more bloody principles ; and even to this day, deals out dain- _^ _ . nation, though not fire and faggot, to all other sects. And if, among CHRISTIANS, the ENGLISH and DUTCH have em- braced the principles of toleration, this singularity has pro- ceeded from the steady resolution of the civil magistrate, in opposition to the continued efforts of priests and bigots. The disciples of ZOROASTER shut the doors of heaven against all but the MAGIANS. ! Nothing could more obstruct the progress of the PERSIAN conquests, than the furious zeal of that nation against the temples and images of the GREEKS. And after the overthrow of that empire we find ALEXANDER, as a polytheist, immediately re-establishing the worship of the BABYLONIANS, which their former princes, as monotheists, had carefully abolished. 2 Even the blind and devoted attachment of that conqueror to the GREEK superstition hindered not but he himself sacrificed according to the BABYLONISH rites and ceremonies. 3 So sociable is polytheism, that the utmost fierceness and antipathy, which it meets with in an opposite religion, is scarcely able to disgust it, and keep it at a distance. AU- GUSTUS praised extremely the reserve of his grandson, CAIUS C.ESAR, when this latter prince, passing by JERUSALEM, deigned not to sacrifice according to the JEWISH law. But for what reason did AUGUSTUS so much approve of this conduct ? Only, because that religion was by the PAGANS esteemed ignoble and barbarous. 1 I may venture to affirm, that few corruptions of idolatry and polytheism are more pernicious to society than this corruption of theism, 5 when carried to the utmost height. The human sacrifices of the CARTHAGINIANS, MEXICANS, and many barbarous nations/' scarcely exceed the inqui- sition and persecutions of ]IO;,IE and MADRID. For be- 1 Hyde de Reliu. vet. Pcrsiimm. 2 Arriaii.de E.xped, lib. iii. 1C. Id. 111. vii. 17. 3 Id. ilid. i. in vita Aug. c. ptio fiptiuit f><: Cnrn ' ; Most haps, th s impious superstition has )] ver prevailed very much in any civilixed nation, unless we except the ( ,'AICI HA<;IMANS. I'or the TII.'IAN> soon jiboiished it. A sacrifice is colici-ivrd MS a present ; n?id any present. is de- COM I'Ai; ISDN AS TO 1'KKsi '.( '( I'lo.N AND ToLKKATloX. :',:',. I silk's, that tho oft'tisioii of blood may not !> 30 great in thr SK(T. former case as in the hitter; besides this, 1 wav, the hiiiiian victims, being chosen by lot, or bv some exterior signs, a licet not, in so considerable a degree, t lie rest of tho society. Wliov- as virtue, knowledge, love of libert \ , are the qualities, which call down the fatal vengeance of inquisitors; and when ex- pelled, leave tho society in the most shameful ignorance, cor- ruption, and bondage. The illegal murder of one man by a tyrant is more pernicious than the death of a thousand by pestilence, famine, or any uiidistin^uishing calamity. In the temple of DIANA at AKICIA near KO.MK, whoever murdered the present priest, was legally entitled to be in- stalled his successor. 1 A very singular institution! For, however barbarous and bloody the common, superstitions often are to the laity, they nsuallv turn to the advantage of */ J / the holy order. SECT. X. ]Vith regard f<> 'ourm/i' <>r ftfiimemcnt. From the comparison of theism and idolatry, we may form some other observations, which will also conlirm the vulgar observation, that the corruption of the best things gives rise to the worst. Where the deity is represented as infinitely superior to man- kind, this belief, though altogether just, is apt, when joined with superstitious terrors, to sink the human mind into the lowest submission a ud abasement, and to represent the monkish virtues of mortification, penance, humility, and passive suf- fering, as the only qualities which are acceptable to him. But where the gods are conceived to be only a little superior to mankind, and to have been, many of them, advanced from that inferior rank, we are more at our ease in our addresses to them, and may even, without profaneness, aspire sometimes to a rivalship and emulation of them. Hence activity, spirit, courage., magnanimity, love of liberty, and all the virtues which aggrandize a people. The heroes in paganism correspond exactlv to the saints in popery and holy dervises in MAHOMETANISM. The place of HERCULES, THESEUS, HECTOK, EOMULUS, is new supplied by PO.MIXIC, FT;AXCIS, AXTHOXY, and BENEDICT. Inxtead of the destruction of monsters, the subduing of U rants, the defence of our native country ; whippings and fastings> 340 THE NATURAL HISTORY OF RELIGION. SECT, cowardice and humility, abject submission and slavish obedi- _ / _^ ence, are become the means of obtaining celestial honours among mankind. One great incitement to the pious ALEXANDER in his war- like expeditions was his rivalship of HERCULES and BACCHUS, whom he justly pretended to have excelled. 1 BRASIDAS, that generous and noble SPARTAN, after fallin g in battle, had heroic honours paid him by the inhabitants of AMPHIPOLIS, whose defence he had embraced. 2 And in general, all founders of states and colonies among the GREEKS were raised to this inferior rank of divinity, by those who reaped the benefit of their labours. This gave rise to the observation of MACHiAVEL 3 , that the doctrines of the CHRISTIAN religion (meaning the catholic ; for he knew no other) which recommend only passive courage and suffering, had subdued the spirit of mankind, and had fitted them for slavery and subjection. An observation, which would certainly be just, were there not many other circum- stances in human society which controul the genius and character of a religion. BRASIDAS seized a mouse, and being bit by it, let it go. There is nothing so contemptible, said he, but what may be safe, if it has but courage to defend itself.* BELLARMINE patiently and humbly allowed the fleas and other odious vermin to prey upon him. We shall have heaven, said he, to reivard us for our sufferings : But these poor creatures have nothing but the enjoy- ment of the present life. 1 * Such difference is there between the maxims of a GREEK hero and a CATHOLIC saint. SECT. XI. With regard to reason or absurdity. Here is another observation to the same purpose, and a new proof that the corruption of the best things begets the worst. If we examine, without prejudice, the ancient heathen mytho- logy, as contained in the poets, we shall not discover in it any such monstrous absurdity, as we may at first be apt to apprehend. Where is the difficulty in conceiving, that the s;ime powers or principles, whatever they were, Avhich formed this visible world, men and animals, produced also a species 1 Arri;in passim. ' Pint. Apoptli. - Thucyd. lil). v. 11. ^ J5.-i.yl''; Article MKI.LAKMINE. ! Discorsi, lil*. vi. COMPARISON AS TO REASON Ol! AliSUIIDITY. .",11 of intelligent creatures, of more refined substance and greater SF.CT. \ i authority than the rest? That these creatures maybe capri- . *_ t __ clous, revengeful, passionate, voluptuous, is easily conceived ; nor is any circumstance more apt, among ourselves, to engender such vices, than the licence of absolute authority. * And in short, the whole mythological system is so natural, that, in the vast variety of planets and worlds, contained in this universe, it seems more than probable, that, somewhere or other, it is really carried into execution. The chief objection to it with regard to this planet, is, that it is not ascertained by any just reason or authority. The ancient tradition, insisted oil by heathen priests and tlieolo- gers, is but a weak foundation ; and transmitted also such a number of contradictory reports, supported, all of them, by equal authority, that it became absolutely impossible to fix a preference amongst them. A few volumes, therefore, must contain all the polemical writings of pagan priests : And their whole theology must consist more of traditional stories and superstitious practices than of philosophical argument and controversy. But where theism forms the fundamental principle of any popular religion, that tenet is so conformable to sound reason, that philosophy is apt to incorporate itself with such a system of theology. And if the other dogmas of that system be contained in a sacred book, such as the Alcoran, or be deter- mined by any visible authority, like that of the ROMAN pontiff, speculative reasoners naturally carry on their assent, and embrace a theory, which has been instilled into them by their earliest education, and which also possesses some degree or consistence and uniformity. But as these appearances are sure, all of them, to prove deceitful, philosophy will soon find herself very unequally yoked with her new associate ; and instead of regulating each principle, as they advance together, she is at ever\ r turn perverted to serve the purposes of super- stition. For besides the unavoidable incoherences, which must be reconciled and adjusted; one may safely affirm, that all popular theology, especially the scholastic, has a kind of appetite for absurdity and contradiction. Tf that theology went not beyond reason and common sense, her doctrines would appear too easy and familiar. Amazement must of necessity be raised : Mystery affected : Da rkness and obscurity sought after : And a foundation of merit afforded to the devout .342 THE NATURAL HISTORY OF RELIGION. SECT. votaries, who desire an opportunity of subduing their rebellious _ \ ' -, reason, by the belief of the most unintelligible sophisms. Ecclesiastical history sufficiently confirms these reflections. When a controversy is started, some people always pretend with certainty to foretell the issue. Whichever opinion, say they, is most contrary to plain sense is sure to prevail ; even where the general interest of the system requires not that decision. Though the reproach of heresy may, for some time, be bandied about among the disputants, it always rests at last on the side of reason. Any one, it is pretended, that has but learning enough of this kind to know the definition of ARIAN, PELAGIAN, EKASTIAN, SOCINIAN, SABELLIAN, EUTYCIIIAN, NES- TORIAN, MONOTHELITE, &c. not to mention PROTESTANT, whoso fate is yet uncertain, will be convinced of the truth of this observation. It is thus a system becomes more absurd in the end, merely from its being reasonable and philosophical in the beginning. To oppose the torrent of scholastic religion by such feeble maxims as these, that it is impossible for the same thing to be and not to be, that the whole is greater than a part, that two and three make Jive ; is pretending to stop the ocean with a bull- rush. Will you set up profane reason against sacred mystery? No punishment is great enough for your impiety. And the same fires, which were kindled for heretics, will serve also for the destruction of philosophers. SECT. XII. With regard to Dovki or Conviction. We meet every day with people so sceptical with regard to history, that they assert it impossible for any nation ever to believe such absurd principles as those of GREEK and EGYP- TIAN paganism; and at the same time so dogmatical with regard to religion, that they think the same absurdities are to be found in no other communion. CAMIIYSES entertained like prejudices; and very impiously ridiculed, and even wounded, APIS, the great god of the EGYPTIANS, who appeared to his profane senses nothing but a large spotted bull. But HERO- DOTUS ' judiciously ascribes this sally of passion to a real mad- ness or disorder of the brain : Otherwise, says the historian, he never would have openly affronted any established worship. For on that head, continues he, every nation are best satisfied COMPARISON AS TO Dori'.T OR CONVICTION. .'M:', with their own, uiul tliink they have the advantage over every other nation. It must be allowed, that the ROMAN CATHOLICS are a very learned sect; and that no one communion, but that of tin* church of ENGLAND, can dispute their being the most learned of all the Christian churches: Vet AVKRROES, the famous AKAHIAN, who, no doubt, had heard of the EGYPTIAN super- stitions, declares, that, of all religions, the most absurd and nonsensical is that, whose votaries eat, after having created, their deity. I believe, indeed, that there is no tenet in all paganism, which would give so fair a scope to ridicule as this of the real presence: For it is so absurd, that it eludes the force of all argument. There are even some pleasant stories of that kind, which, though somewhat profane, arc commonly told by the Catholics themselves. One day, a priest, it is said, gave inadvertently, instead of the sacrament, a counter, which had by accident fallen among the holy wafers. The communicant waited patiently for some time, expecting it would dissolve on his tongue : But iinding that it. still remained entire, he took it off. / wish, cried he to the priest, you ham not cnmmitt<'d some mist u he: f icixh I/OH hare not (jiren me (1ml the Father : He, is so hard a.iul tomj/i there is no siralloii'iiiij him. A famous general, at that time in the MUSCOVITE service, having come to PARIS for the recovery of his wounds, brought along with him a young TURK, whom he had taken prisoner. Some of the doctors of the SOKBONNE (who are altogether as positive as the dervises of CONSTANTINOPLE) thinking it a pity, that the poor TURK should lie damned for want of instruction, solicited MUSTAPIIA very hard to turn Christian, and promised him, for his encouragement, plenty of good wine in this world, and paradise in the next. These allurements were too powerful to be resisted ; and therefore, having been well instructed and catechized, he at last agreed to receive the sacraments of baptism and the Lord's supper. The priest, however, to make every thing sure and solid, still continued his instructions and began the next day with the usual question, Hon.' man if Gods are there? Xone at all, replies BENEDICT; for that was his new name. How! Non-e at all ! cries the priest. To be sure, said the honest proselyte. You hare toll me all along that there is bn.t one God : And i/estenlai/ f < at / Dol'IlT OK CONVICTION. :;!"> other systems, every voter of every superstition could give ;i HF.(T j j v v 1 1 sufficient reason lor his blind ;md bigotted attacliiueiit to the '\ 1 principles in which lie has been educated. But without so extensive a, knowledge, on which to ground this assurance (and perhaps, better without it), there is not wanting a suffi- cient stock of religious zeal and faith among mankind. DIODOKUS SiGULUS 1 gives a remarkable instance to this purpose, of which he was himself an eye-witness. While EGYPT lay under the greatest terror of the HOMAX name, a legionary soldier having inadvertently been guilty of the sacrilegious impiety of killing a cat, the whole people ro.v; upon him with the utmost fury ; and all the efforts of the prince were not able to save him. The senate and people of ROME, I am persuaded, would not. then, have been so delicate with regard to their national deities. They very frankly, a little after that time, voted AUGUSTUS a place in the celestial mansions ; and would have dethroned every god in heaven, for his sake, had he seemed to desire it. Pi'eimn* tUru.* hnlmbitur AUGUSTUS, says HORACE. That is a very im- portant point : And in other nations and other ages, the same circumstance has not been deemed altogether indif- ferent. 2 Notwithstanding the sanctity of our holy religion, says TiTLLY, 3 no crime is more common with us than sacrilege : But was it ever heard of, that an EGYPTIAN violated the temple of a cat, an ibis, or a crocodile? There is no torture, the JKWISH, that ancient writers even of COSQUK ritus comppsciiit ; coaetis qui the greatest genius were not able to svp>r$iitione fa tenebantur, roligiosas ob>erve any difference between them. vestes cum instruento omni eombnrere, For it is very remarkable that both ccc.' STHTHX. TIUKU. e. 36. These TACIITS and SrKTOXirs, when they wi.se heathens, observing something HI mention that decree of the senate, under the general air, and genius, and spirit Ti;a:mrs. by which tho KCYPTIA.N and of the t\vo religions to be the same. . s- JKWISH proselytes were banished from teemed the differences of their dou-ma- KOMK, expressly treat these religions as too frivolous to deserve any attention, the same; and it appears, that even the ' Lilt. j. So. decree itself was founded on that sup- - When Luris the XI\"th t'" j'osirion. 'Aetiim \ tie sacris JVJYP- TIIS JrOAICISQUE pellelllis; factUIlujUO patrum consnltum, ut quatuor millia Hbertini generis f i oh gravitatem coeli interi>seiit. vili (la/nituin: Ceteri cedereiit ITALIA, nisi ct-rtam ants diem profanos ritus <-xni>- sent." TACIT, ann. lib. ii. e. s,~>. K\- teriuts ca j reinuni>>. -lvi\rno-> JVMAI- :j-lf! THE NATURAL HISTORY OF RELIGION. RKCT. an EGYPTIAN would not undergo, says the same author in \ r TT * _!__ , another place, 1 rather than injure an ibis, an aspic, a cat, a dog, or a crocodile. Thus it is strictly true, what DRYDEN observes, ' Of "whatsoe'er descent their godhead be, ' Stock, stone, or other homely pedigree, ' In his deft-nee his servants are as bold 'As if lie had been burn of beaten gold.' ABSALOM and ACHITOPHEL. Nay, the baser the materials are, of which the divinity is composed, the greater devotion is he likely to excite in the breasts of his deluded votaries. They exult in their shame, and make a merit with their deity, in braving, fur his sake, all the ridicule and contumely of his enemies. Ten thou- sand 2 Crusaders inlist themselves under the holy banners ; and even openly triumph in those parts of their religion, which their adversaries regard as the most reproachful. There occurs, I own, a difficulty in the EGYPTIAN system of theology ; as indued, few systems of that kind are entirely free from difficulties. It is evident, from their method of propagation, that a couple of cats, in fifty years, would stock a whole kingdom ; and if that religious veneration were still paid them, it would, in twenty more, not only be easier in EGYPT to find a god than a man, which PETRONIUS says was the case in some parts of Italy ; but the gods must at last entirely starve the men, and leave themselves neither priests nor votaries remaining. It is probable, therefore, that this wise nation, the most celebrated in antiquity for prudence and sound policy, foreseeing such dangerous consequences, reserved all their worship for the full-grown divinities, and used the freedom to drown the holy spawn or little sucking gods, without any scruple or remorse. And thus the prac- tice of warping the tenets of religion, in order to serve tem- poral interests, is not, by any means, to be regarded as an invention of these later ages. The learned, philosophical VAEKO, discoursing of religion, pretends not to deliver any thing beyond probabilities and appearances: Such was his good sense and moderation I J^ut the passionate, the xeaiou* AUGUSTIN, insults the noble ROMAN on his scepticism and reserve, and professes the most thorough belief and assurance/' 5 A heathen poet, however, 1 Tn-p. QiKL-st. lib. v. 27. * Di-civitatr Dei, 1. iii. c. 1 7. - [r r ,, i ; L . s: Ldition- 1, to 0.] COMPARISON AS To IiOU'.T Oil CONVICTION. .'117 contemporary with the saint, absurdly esteems the religious system of the latter so false, that even the credulity of chil- dren, he says, could not engage them to believe it. 1 Is it strange, when mistakes are so common, to find every one positive and dogmatical P And that the /eal often rises in proportion to the error? Mortn'iiiit, says SPAUTIAX, & I'd ttiinpeatate, Judwi hellion. quod vetabantur mutilnrc (jvnitalia.* If ever there was a nation or a time, in which the public religion lost all authority over mankind, we might expect, that infidelity in ROME, during the CICKRONJAN age, would openly have erected its throne, and that CICERO himself, in every speech and action, would have been its most declared abettor. But it appears, that, whatever sceptical liberties that great man might take, in his writings or in philosophical conversation ; he yet avoided, in the common conduct of life, the imputation of deism and profaneness. Even in his own family, and to his wife TEIIENTIA, whom he highly trusted, lie was willing to appear a devout religionist; and there remains a letter, addressed to her, in which he seriously desires her to otter sacrifice to APOLLO and ^ESCULAPIUS, in gratitude for the recovery of his health. 3 POMPEY'S devotion was much more sincere : In all his con- duct, during the civil wars, he paid a great regard to auguries, dreams, and prophesies. 4 AUGUSTUS was tainted with superstition of every kind. As it is reported of MILTON, that his poetical genius never flowed with ease and abundance in the spring ; so AUGUSTUS observed, that his own genius tor dreaming never was so perfect during that season, nor was so much to be relied on, as during the rest of the year. That great and able emperor was also extremely uneasy, when he happened to change his shoes, and put the right foot shoe on the left foot. 5 In short it cannot be doubted, but the votaries of the established superstition of antiquity were as numerous in every state, as those of the modern religion are at present. its influence was as universal ; though it was not so great. As many people gave their assent to it ; though that assent was not seemingly so strong, precise, and affirmative. We may observe, that, notwithstanding the dogmatical, 1 Clauilii Kutilii Numitiaui i!cr. In vita Adriani. 14. Lib. xiv. rpist. 7. 3J8 THE NATURAL HISTORY OF RELIGION. imperious style of all superstition, the conviction of the religionists, in all ages, is more affected than real, and scarcely ever approaches, in any degree, to that solid belief and persuasion, which governs us in the common affairs of life. Men dare not avow, even to their own hearts, the doubts which they entertain on such subjects : They make a merit of implicit faith ; and disguise to themselves their real in- fidelity, by the strongest asseverations and most positive bigotry. But nature is too hard for all their endeavours, and suffers not the obscure, glimmering light, afforded in those shadowy regions, to equal the strong impressions, made by common sense and by experience. The usual course of men's conduct belies their words, and shows, that their assent in these matters is some unaccountable operation of the mind between disbelief and conviction, but approaching much nearer to the former than to the latter. Since, therefore, the mind of man appears of so loose and unsteady a texture, that, even at present, when so many persons find an interest in continually employing on it the chissel and the hammer, yet are they not able to engrave theological tenets with any lasting impression ; how much more must this have been the case in ancient times, when the retainers to the holy function were so much fewer in comparison ? No wonder, that the appearances were then very inconsistent, and that men, on some occasions, might seem determined infidels, and enemies to the established religion, without being so in reality ; or at least, without knowing their own minds in that particular. Another cause, which rendered the ancient religions much looser than the modern, is, that the former were traditional and the latter are scriptural-, and the tradition in the former was complex, contradictory, and, on many occasions, doubtful ; so that it could not possibly be reduced to any standard and canon, or afford any determinate articles of faith. The stories of the gods were numberless like the popish legends; and though every one, almost, believed a part of these stories, yet no one could believe or know the whole : While, at the same time, all must have acknowledged, that no one part stood on a better foundation than the rest. The traditions of different cities and nations were also, on many occasions, directly opposite ; and no reason could be assigned for pro- COMPARISON' AS TO DOfUT OH f'O.X VKTK >.\. :;|0 ferring one to the other. And as then,- \v;is an infinite SKf dominion over the sea, whore had been TACITUS: ' Pra-ter mull Splices rcrum the foundation of his anger ? And if he hnuvuianim casus crelo terraque pro- believed if, what mudm-ss to provoke dijriii ct fulminuiri monitus Ac f'uturorum st ill farther that deity ? The same oh- prH-sairia. beta tristia. amhiuua maul- nervation may bo made upon Qnx- t'esia. N'v enim unt. lib. i. '!. Atv;rsTi:s's . vi. 1 -lit one may see, from these instances, p. '2~'-'i. CJ.KANI:>KK. the Si'AKTAN, though that, they went a LMvaf way: And tin: very desirous of it, refuses for the same people undoubtedly went every length. reason. LI. p. ",{)'2. XKNOPHON men- - Kuthyphro. (i. tiousanold dream withtheinterpretation :l Phii-do. given him. whc-n he first joined Cvurs, 4 XKXOPHON'S conduct, as reiated by p. :>7 ; i. Mentions also the place of himself, is. at once, an incontestable IIj;iirui.Ks's descent into hell as Leliev- proof of the general civdulit v of man- ing it. and savs the marks of it are still kind in tho>-e an- s. and the incoheivn- remaining. Li. p. M7'~>. Had almost cies. in all au'es, of men's opinions in starved the army, rather than load them religions matters. That L r reat captain to the field against the auspices. Id. ai.il philosopher, the disciple of Sot.-- p. .'SS2. ;;s:?. His friend. ET-CLIIJKS, the i:Al'i-~, ali'l one who lias delivered -ome aiiirur. would not Le'.icVe that he had of the most rellaed sentiments with re- hi-onirht no money from the expedition ; trard to a deity, irave all the fullowin^ till lie i Krci.im:s) sacrih'ced, and then marks of vulgar, pau'an superstition. he saw the matter clearly in the Kxt;i. }>y SIICKATKS'S advice, he consulted tho hili. vii. p. -f2."). The same philoso- oracle of 1 >i:i. rut. before he would en- pher. proposing a project of mines for jMi;e in the expedition o: Cvurs. 1 >e the eacn-ase of the ATHKNIAN revenues, exped. lib. iii. p. 'J'.H. ex edit, heuncl. advises them first tu consult tile oracle. S.- t ..s a dream the nL'ht. after the jrene- .!)< rat. red. p. 392. That all this de- rails were seized; which he pays t:rc:!t votK.m was not a farce, in order to serve regard to, luit thinks aml'L'iious. Id. a political purpose, appears both fi'"iu ]>. 2;)."). He atid the whole army re- the facts themselves, and from the gard sneezing as a verv Inckv omen. genius of that aire. when little or no- Id, p. 300. Has another dream, when tliini. r could he LM h ; .-.i by h \ ; icrisy. lie comes to the river ('KXTI;I'I'I-:S. which Besides. XKNOI'IIOX. as appears fr^m his fellow-general, CiiiKospur-. also his Memorabilia, was a kind of heretic pays great rtirard to. bi. lib. iv. p. in those times, wliic'i no political de- M23. Th>- (lidiKKs, snlVerintr from a votes ever is. It is for the same iva- cold north wind, sacrifice to it; and the son, I maintain, that XI:WTON. LOCKK, histori;in observe-, that it immediately C'IAI.KI-:. \-c. 1 eiiiLT Arin .- or >' -ciiii. :;.">',). have it. that it was oupo^ible but that lie was himself a very skil ;''.:! aiii^ur. these philn-npiiei-s must have been hy-- Id. p. -SOI. Is determined b\ the vie- pocri'.ts. .'352 THE NATURAL HISTORY OF RELIGION. SECT. pear a devout religionist, makes no scruple, in a public court _' r ' _^ of judicature, of treating the doctrine of a future state as a ridiculous fable, to which no body could give any attention. 1 SALLUST 2 represents (LESAR as speaking the same language in the open senate. 3 But that all these freedoms implied not a total and uni- versal infidelity and scepticism amongst the people, is too ap- parent to be denied. Though some parts of the national religion hung loose upon the minds of men, other parts adhered more closely to them : And it was the chief business of the sceptical philosophers to show, that there was no more foundation for one than for the other. This is the artifice of COTTA in the dialogues concerning the nature of the yods. He refutes the whole system of mythology by leading the orthodox gradually, from the more momentous stories, which w r ere believed, to the more frivolous, which every one ridiculed : From the gods to the goddesses ; from the goddesses to the nymphs ; from the nymphs to the fawns and satyrs. His master, CAIUSTEADES, had employed the same method of reasoning. 4 Upon the whole, the greatest and most observable dif- ferences between a traditional, mythological religion, and a systematical, scholastic one are two: The former is often more reasonable, as consisting only of a multitude of stories, which, however groundless, imply no express absurdity and demonstrative contradiction ; and sits also so easy and light on men's minds, that, though it may be as universally re- ceived, it happily makes no such deep impression on the affections and understanding. SECT. XIII. Impious conceptions of tJie divine nature* in popular religions of botJi kind*. The primary religion of mankind arises chiefly from an anxi- ous fear of future events ; and what ideas will naturally be en- 1 PRO Ci.t'KXTio. rap. 61. the disposition of CEPHAI.US in PLATO " Do bollo CATILIN. ;>1. (do Rep. HI., i. Slid 1U who while ho was 3 CICKUO (Tusc. Qunest. li f>) and SK.VKCA (Epist. 24.), VKNAI.I Satyr. 2. 149), maintai freei young and healthful could ridicule thef stories ; but as soon as he becameold and infirm, began to entertain apprehensions of their truth. This we may observe not to lie unusual oven at present. 4 SKXT. EMPJK. advers. MATHKM. lib. ix. 120. '' | In most popular: Editions L to Q.] IMPIOUS (X)NTKITIONS HI Till: DIVIXH NATU.'K. :',:,, tertained of invisible, unknown powers, while men lie under SHOT. \ 1 1 1 dismal apprehensions of any kind, may easily be conceived. .J f ; Every image of vengeance, severity, cruelty, and malice must occur, and must augment the ghastliness and horror, which oppresses the amazed religionist. A panic having once seized the mind, the active fancy still farther multiplies the objects of terror; while that profound darkness, or, what is worse, that glimmering light, with which we are environed, represents the spectres of divinity under the most dreadful appearances imaginable. And no idea of perverse wickedness can be framed, which those terrified devotees do not readily, without scruple, apply to their deity. This appears the natural state of religion, when surveyed in one light. But if we consider, on the other hand, that spirit of praise and eulogy, which necessarily has place in all religions, and which is the consequence of these very terrors, we must expect a quite contrary system of theology to prevail. Every virtue, evei-y excellence, must be ascribed to the divinity, and no exaggeration will be deemed sufficient to reach those perfections, with which he is endowed. What- ever strains of panegyric can be invented, arc immediately embraced, without consulting any arguments or phenomena : It is esteemed a sufficient confirmation of them, that they give us more magnificent ideas of the divine objects of our worship and adoration. Here therefore is a kind of contradiction between the dif- ferent principles of human nature, which enter into religion. Our natural terrors present the notion of a devilish and malicious deity : Our propensity to adulation leads us to acknowledge an excellent and divine. And the influence of these opposite principles are various, according to the different situation of the human understanding. In very barbarous and ignorant nations, such as the AFRICANS and INDIANS, nay even the JAPONESE, who can form no extensive ideas of power and knowledge, worship may be paid to a being, whom they confess to be wicked and detestable ; though they may be cautious, perhaps, of pro- nouncing this judgment of him in public, or in his temple, where he may be supposed to hear their reproaches. Such rude, imperfect ideas of the Divinity adhere long to all idolaters ; and it may safely be affirmed, that the GREEKS themselves never got entirely rid of them. Tt is remarked VOL. IV. A A 854 THE NATURAL HISTORY OF RELIGION. SECT, by XENOPHON,' in praise of SOCRATES, that this philosopher 3\ '_^ assented not to the vulgar opinion, which supposed the gods to know some things, and be ignorant of others : He main- tained, that they knew everything ; what was done, said, or even thought. But as this was a train of philosophy 2 much above the conception of his countrymen, we need not be surprised, if very frankly, in their books and conversation, they blamed the deities, whom they worshipped in their temples. It is observable, that HERODOTUS in particular scruples not, in many passages, to ascribe envy to the gods ; a sentiment, of all others, the most suitable to a mean and devilish nature. The pagan hymns, however, sung in public worship, contained nothing but epithets of praise; even while the actions ascribed to the gods were the most barba.- rous and detestable. When TIMOTHEUS, the poet, recited a hymn to DIANA, in which he enumerated, with the greatest eulogies, all the actions and attributes of that cruel, capri- cious goddess : Hay your daughter, said one present, become such as the deity ivhom you celebrate. 3 But as men farther exalt their idea of their divinity ; it is their notion of his power and knowledge only, not of his goodness, which is improved. On the contrary, in propor- tion to the supposed extent of his science and authority, their terrors naturally augment ; while they believe, that no secrecy can conceal them from his scrutiny, and that even the inmost recesses of their breast lie open before him. They must then be careful not to form expressly any sentiment of blame and disapprobation. All must be applause, ravish- ment, extacy. And while their gloomy apprehensions make them ascribe to him measures of conduct, which, in human creatures, would be highly blamed, they must still aft'ect to praise and admire that conduct in the object of their devo- tional addresses. Thus it may safely be affirmed, that popular religions are really, in the conception of their more vulgar votaries, a species of dsemouism ; and the higher the deity is exalted in power and knowledge, the lower of course is he depressed in goodness and benevolence ; whatever epithets of praise may be bestowed on him by his amazed adorers. 1 Mem. lib. i. 1, 19. but was extended every where; as we 2 It was considered among the an- learn from LTJCIAN. Hermotimus sive cierits, as a very extraordinary, philoso- l)u wctis, 81. phical paradox, that the presence of the a PLUTARCH, de Superstit. 10 g(jds was not confined to the heavens. IMI'IOUS CONCKITIONS OF THK DIVINK XATl. T KK. Among idolaters, the words may be false, and belie the secret opinion : But among more exalted religionists, the opinion itself contracts a kind of falsehood, and belies the inward sentiment. The heart secretly detests such measures of cruel and implacable vengeance ; but the judgment dares not but pronounce them perfect and adorable. And the ad- ditional misery of this inward struggle aggravates all the other terrors, by which these unhappy victims to supersti- tion are for ever haunted. LUCIAN ' observes that a young man, who reads the history of the gods in HOMER or HESIOD, and finds their factions, wars, injustice, incest, adultery, and other immoralities so highly celebrated, is much surprised afterwards, when he comes into the world, to observe that punishments are by law inflicted on the same actions, which he had been taught to ascribe to superior beings. The contradiction is still perhaps stronger between the representations given us by some later religions and our natural ideas of gene- rosity, lenity, impartiality, and justice ; and in propor- tion to the multiplied terrors of these religions, the bar- barous conceptions of the divinity are multiplied upon us. s Nothing can preserve untainted the genuine principles of SECT. XIII. 1 Neeyomantia, 3. 2 Bacchus, a divine being, is repre- sented by the heathen mythology as the inventor of dancing and the theatre. Plays were anciently even a part of public worship on the most solemn occa- sions, and often employed in times of pestilence, to appease the offended deities. But they have been zealously proscribed by the godly in later ages; and the playhouse, according to a learned divine, is the porch of hell. But in order to shovr more evidently, that it is possible for a religion to repre- sent the divinity in still a more immoral and unamiable light than lie was pic- tured l.i v the ancients, we shall cite a long passage from an author of taste and imagination, who was surely no enemy to Christianity. It is the Cheva- lier RAMSAY, a wii'.er. who had so laud- able an inclination to be orthodox, that his reason never found any difficulty, even in the doctrines whirh freethinkers scruple the most, the trinity, incarna- tion, and satisfaction: His humanity 3lo!ie, of which he seems to have had a great stoek, rebelled against the doc- trines of eternal reprobation and pre- destination. He expresses himsrlf thus : 'What strange ideas.' says he. 'would an Indian or a Chinese philosopher have of our holy religion, if they judged by the schemes given of it. by our modern free-thinkers, and pharisaical doctors of all sects? According to th- use of all the fruits of this beautiful garden, except one. that was planted in the midst thereof, and that had in it a secret virtue of preserving them in co'.tinual health and vitrour of body and ni'nd. of exalting their natural powers and makinc them wis-\ Th-' devil en- tered into the body of a serpent, and solicited the tirsr woman to eat of this forbidden fruit ; .-lie engaged her hut>- 35G THE NATURAL HISTORY OF RELIGION. SECT. XUI. morals in our judgment of human conduct, but the ab- solute necessity of these principles to the existence of society. If common conception can indulge princes in a system of ethics, somewhat different from that which should regulate private persons ; how much more those band to do the same. To punish this slight curiosity and natural desire of life and knowledge, God not only threw our first parents out of paradise, but, he con- demned all their posterity to temporal misery, and the greatest part of them to eternal pains, though the souls of these innocent children have no more relation to that of ADAM than to those of NERO and MAHOMET ; since, according to the scholastic drivellers, fabulists, and mythologists, all souls are created pure, and infused immediately into mortal bodies, so soon as the fcetus is formed. To accomplish the barbarous, partial decree of predestination and reprobation, God abandoned all nations to darkness, idolatry, and superstition, without any saving knowledge or salu- tary graces ; unless it was one particular nation, whom he chose as his peculiar people. This chosen nation was, how- ever, thomost stupid, ungrateful, rebel- lious and perfidious of all nations. After God had thus kept the far greater part of all the human species, during near 4000 years, in a reprobate state, he changed all of a sudden, and took a fancy for other nations beside the JKAVS. Then he sent his only begotten Son to the world, under a human form, to ap- pease his wrath, satisfy his vindictive justice, and die for the pardon of sin. Very few nations, however, have heard of this gospel ; and all the rest, though left, in invincible ignorance, are dainned without exception, or any possibility of remission. The greatest part of those who have heard of it. have changed only some speculative notions about (iod, and some external forms in wor- ship: For, in other respects, the bulk of Christians have continued as corrupt as the rest of mankind in t heir morals ; yea. so much the more perverse and criminal, that their lights were greater. 1,'nless it be a very small select number, all other Christians, like, the pagans, will be for ever damned ; the great sac- rifice olf'e red up for them will become void and of no effect ; Cod will take delight for ever, in their torments and blasphemies ; and t hough he can, bv >;ie fat change their hearts, yet they will remain f souls both of men and beasts, and the eternal salvation and conversion of all men, beasts, and devils. Hut this notion, being quite peculiar to himself, we need not treat of. i thought the opinions of this ingenious author very curious; but I pretend not to warrant the justnesa of them. IMPIOUS CUNCEITIONS OF THE DIVINE NATURE. .? superior beings, whose attributes, views, and nature are SECT, so totally unknown to us? Hunt wiper is aim jura. 1 The ._ ^ j gods have maxims of justice peculiar to themselves. SECT. XIV. Bad influence* of popular religions on morality. Here I cannot forbear observing a fact, which may be worth the attention of such as make human nature the object of their enquiry. It is certain, that, in every religion, how- ever sublime the verbal definition which it gives of its divinity, many of the votaries, perhaps the greatest number, will still seek the divine favour, not by virtue and good morals, which alone can be acceptable to a perfect being, but either by fri- volous observances, by intemperate zeal, by rapturous ex- tnsies, or by the belief of mysterious and absurd opinions. The least part of the Sadder, as well as of the Pentateuch, con- sists in precepts of morality ; and we may also be assured, that that part was always the least observed and regarded. When the old ROMANS were attacked with a pestilence, they never ascribed their sufferings to their vices, or dreamed of repentance and amendment. They never thought, that they were the general robbers of the world, whose ambition and avarice made desolate the earth, and reduced opulent nations to want and beggary. They only created a dictator, 3 in order to drive a nail into a door ; and by that means, they thought that they had sufficiently appeased their incensed deity. In jEoiNA, one faction forming a conspiracy, barbarously and treacherously assassinated seven hundred of their fellow- citizens ; and carried their fury so far, that, one miserable fugitive having fled to the temple, they cut off his hands, by which he clung to the gates, and carrying him out of holy ground, immediately murdered him. By this impiety, says HERODOTUS, 4 (not by the other many cruel assassinations) they offended the gods, and contracted an inexpiable guilt. Nay, if we should suppose, what never happens, that a popu- lar religion were found, in which it was expressly declared, that nothing but morality could gain the divine favour ; if an order of priests were instituted to inculcate this opinion, iu 1 Ovin. 31 eta m. lib. ix. 490. causa. T. Livn, 1. vii. c. 3. - [ Most popular : Editions L to Q. | Lib. vi. 01. 3 I'alk'J Dictator da vis fijjendi*; 358 THE NATURAL HISTORY OF RELIGION. SECT, daily sermons, and with all the arts of persuasion ; yet so XIV - inveterate are the people's prejudices, that, for want of some other superstition, they would make the very attendance on these sermons the essentials of religion, rather than place them in virtue and good morals. The sublime prologue of ZALEUCUS'S laws l inspired not the LOCEIANS, so far as we can learn, with any sounder notions of the measures of acceptance with the deity, than were familiar to the other GEEEKS. This observation, then, holds universally : But still one may be at some loss to account for it. It is not sufficient to observe, that the people, every where, degrade their deities into a similitude with themselves, and consider them merely as a species of human creatures, somewhat more potent and intelligent. This will not remove the difficulty. For there is no man so stupid, as that, judging by his natural reason, he would not esteem virtue and honesty the most valuable qualities, which any person could possess. Why not ascribe the same sentiment to his deity? Why not make all religion, or the chief part of it, to consist in these attain- ments ? Nor is it satisfactory to say, that the practice of morality is more difficult than that of superstition ; and is therefore rejected. For, not to mention the excessive penances of the Brachmans and Talapoins ; it is certain, that the Rhamadan of the TUEKS, during which the poor wretches, for many days, often in the hottest months of the year, and in some of the hottest climates of the world, remain without eating or drink- ing from the rising to the setting sun ; this Rhamadan, I say, must be more severe than the practice of any moral duty, even to the most vicious and depraved of mankind. The four lents of the MUSCOVITES, and the austerities of some Roman Catholics, appear more disagreeable than meekness and bene- volence. In short, all virtue, when men are reconciled to it by ever so little practice, is agreeable : All superstition is for ever odious and burthensome. Perhaps, the following account may be received as a true solution of the difficulty. The duties, Avhich a man performs as a friend or parent, seem merely owing to his benefactor or children ; nor can he be wanting to these duties, without breaking through all the tics of nature and morality. A 1 T. xx. -tH. - Cc. CATII.. i. <>, SAM.IST. do bulk) CAUL. 22. ISAM i.NH.t i:xn: OF roi'ULAi; UKLIUIONS. :-,i follies of tliis kind, but. never originally beget thorn. Their HK(T. root strikes deeper into the mind, and springs from the essen- tial ;md universal properties of human nature. SECT. XV. (jlt'Hcrdl Corolltd-y. Though the stupidity of men, barbarous and uninstructed, be so great, that they may not see a sovereign author in the more obvious works of nature, to which they are so much familiarized; yet it scarcely seems possible, that any one ot good understanding should reject that idea, when once it is suggested to him. A purpose, an intention, a design is evident in every thing; and when our comprehension is so far enlarged as to contemplate the first rise of this visible; system, we must adopt, with the strongest conviction, the idea of some intel- ligent cause or author. The uniform maxims too, which prevail throughout the whole frame of the universe, naturally, if not necessarily, lead us to conceive this intelligence as single and undivided, where the prejudices of education oppose not so reasonable a theory. Even the contrarieties of nature, by discovering themselves every where, become proofs of some consistent plan, and establish one single purpose or intention, however inexplicable and incomprehensible. Good and ill are universally intermingled and confounded ; happiness and misery, wisdom and folly, virtue and vice. Nothing is pure and entirely of a piece. All advantages are attended with disadvantages. An universal compensation prevails in all conditions of being and existence. And it is not possible for us, by our most chimerical wishes, to form the idea of a station or situation altogether desirable. The draughts of life, according to the poet's fiction, are always mixed from the vessels on each hand of JUPITER : Or if any cup be presented altogether pure, it is drawn only, as the same poet tells us, from the left-handed vessel. The more exquisite any good is, of which a small specimen is afforded us, the sharper is the evil, allied to it ; and few exceptions are found to this uniform law of nature. The most sprightly wit borders on madness; the highest effusions of joy produce the deepest melancholy ; the most ravishing pleasures are attended with the most cruel lassitude and disgust ; the most flattering hopes make way for the severest disappointments. And, in general, no course of life has such 362 THE NATURAL HISTORY OF RELIGION. SECT, safety (for happiness is not to be dreamed of) as the temperate '_- and moderate, which maintains, as far as possible, a medioc- rity, and a kind of insensibility, in every thing. As the good, the great, the sublime, the ravishing are found eminently in the genuine principles of theism ; it may be expected, from the analogy of nature, that the base, the absurd, the mean, the terrifying will be equally discovered in religious fictions and chimeras. The universal propensity to believe in invisible, intelligent power, if not an original instinct, being at least a general attendant of human nature, may be considered as a kind of mark or stamp, which the divine workman has set upon his work ; and nothing surely can more dignify mankind, than to be thus selected from all other parts of the creation, and to bear the image or impression of the universal Creator. But consult this image, as it appears in the popular religions of the world. Ho\v is the deity disfigured in our representa- tions of him ! "What caprice, absurdity, and immorality are attributed to him ! How much is he degraded even below the character, which we should naturally, in common life, ascribe to a man of sense and virtue ! What a noble privilege is it of human reason to attain the knowledge of the supreme Being ; and, from the visible works of nature, be enabled to infer so sublime a principle as its supreme Creator ? But turn the reverse of the medal. Survey most nations and most ages. Examine the religious princi- ples, which have, in fact, prevailed in the world. You will scarcely be persuaded, that they are anything but sick men's dreams : Or perhaps will regard them more as the playsome whimsies of monkies in human shape, than the serious, posi- tive, dogmatical asseverations of a being, who dignifies himself with the name of rational. Hear the verbal protestations of all men : Nothing so certain as their religious tenets. Examine their lives: You will scarcely think that they repose the smallest confidence in them. The greatest and truest zeal gives us no security against hypocrisy : The most open impiety is attended Avith a secret dread and compunction. Xo theological absurdities so glaring that they have not, sometimes, been embraced by men of the greatest and most cultivated understanding. Xo religious precepts so rigorous GENERAL COROLLARY. 303 that they Lave not been adopted by the most voluptuous and SECT. most abandoned of men. ._' T ' lytwrance in the moffu-r of Dwofion. : A maxim that is pro- verbial, and confirmed by general experience. Look out for a peoj)le, entirely destitute of religion : It' you find them at all, be assured, that they are but few decrees removed from brutes. What so pure as some of the morals, included in some theological systems? What so corrupt as some of the prac- tices, to which these systems {jive rise ? The comfortable views, exhibited by the belief of futurity, are ravishing and delightful. But how quickly vanish on the appearance of its terrors, which keep a more firm and durable possession of the human mind'P The whole is a riddle, an omigma, an inexplicable mystery. Doubt, uncertainty, suspence of judgment appear the only result of our most accurate scrutiny, concerning this subject. But such is the frailty of human reason, and such the irre- sistible contagion of opinion, that even this deliberate doubt could scarcely be upheld ; did we not enlarge our view, and opposing one species of superstition to another, set them a quarrelling ; while we ourselves, during their fury and conten- tion, happily make our escape into the calm, though obscure regions of philosophy. ESSAYS W ITHDKAWN ESSAYS WITHDRAWN. ESSAY I. Of Essay Writ i THE elegant Part of Mankind, who are not hnmers'd in the animal Life, but employ themselves in the Operations of the Mind, may be divided into the learned and cnni'ersilAe. The Learned are such as have chosen for their Portion the higher and more difficult Operations of the Mind, which require Leisure and Solitude, and cannot be brought to Perfection, without long Preparation and severe Labour. The con vi- sible World join to a sociable Disposition, and a Taste of Pleasure, an Inclination to the easier and more gentle Exer- cises of the Understanding, to obvious Reflections on. human Affairs, and the Duties of common Life, and to the Obser- vation of the Blemishes or Perfections of the particular Objects, that surround them. Such Subjects of Thought furnish not sufficient Employment in Solitude, but require the Company and Conversation of our Fellow- Creatures, to render them a proper Exercise for the Mind : And this brings Mankind together in Society, where every one displays his Thoughts and Observations in the best Manner he is able, and mutually gives and receives Information, as well as Pleasure. The Separation of the Learned from the conversible World seems to have been the great Defect of the last Age, and must have had a very bad Influence both on Books and Company : For what Possibility is there of finding Topics of Conversation n't for the Entertainment of rational Creatures, without having Recourse sometimes to History, Poetry, Politics, and the more obvious Principles, at least, of Philo- sophy? Must our whole Discourse be a continued Series of 1 [This Essay appeared only in Edition C, 1712 : see ' History of the Editions,' Vol. in. pp. -13 4. - ED.] 308 ESSAYS WITHDRAWN. gossipping Stories and idle Remarks ? Must the Mind never rise higher, but be perpetually Stun'cl and worn out with endless Chat Of WILL did this, ;ind NAN said that if This wou'd be to render the Time spent in Company the most unentertaining, as well as the most unprofitable Part of our Lives. On the other Hand, Learning has been as great a Loser by being shut up in Colleges and Cells, and secluded from the World and good Company. By that Means, every Thing of what we call Belles Lettres became totally barbarous, being cultivated by Men without any Taste of Life or Manners, and without that Liberty and Facility of Thought and Ex- pression, which can only be acquir'd by Conversation. Even Philosophy went to Wrack by this moaping recluse Method of Study, and became as chimerical in her Conclusions as she was unintelligible in her Stile and Manner of Delivery. And indeed, what cou'd be expected from Men who never consulted Experience in any of their Reasonings, or who never search'd for that Experience, where alone it is to be found, in common Life and Conversation '? 'Tis with great Pleasure I observe, That Men of Letters, in this Age, have lost, in a great Measure, that Shyness and Bashfulness of Temper, which kept them at a Distance from Mankind ; and, at the same Time, That Men of the World are proud of borrowing from Books their most agreeable Topics of Conversation. 'Tis to be hop'd, that this League betwixt the learned and conversible Worlds, which is so hap- pily begun, will be still farther improv'd, to their mutual Advantage ; and to that End, I know nothing more advan- tageous than such EXMI.I/S as these with which I endeavour to entertain the Public. In this View, I cannot but consider myself as a Kind of Resident or Ambassador from the Do- minions of Learning to those of Conversation ; and shall think it my constant Duty to promote a good Correspon- dence betwixt these two States, which have so great a De- pendence on each other. I shall give Intelligence to the Learned of whatever passes in Company, and shall endeavour to import into Company whatever Commodities I find in my native Country proper for their Use and Entertainment. The Balance of Trade we need not be jealous of, nor will OK KSSAV \VI!ITIN(J. .".W there be any Difficulty to preserve it on both Sides. The KSSAY Materials of this Commerce must chiefly be furnish VI by ' r Conversation and common Life : The manufacturing of them alone belongs to Learning. As 'twou'd be an unpardonable Negligence in an Ambas- sador not to pay his Respects to the Sovereign of the State where he is commission'd to reside; so it wou'd be alto- gether inexcusable in me not to address myself, with a par- ticular Respect, to the Fair Sex, who are the Sovereigns of the Empire of Conversation. J approach them with Reve- rence ; and were not my Countrymen, the Learned, a stubborn independent Race of Mortals, extremely jealous of their Liberty, and unaccustom'd to Subjection, I shou'd resign into their fair Hands the sovereign Authority over the Ke- public of Letters. As the Case stands, my Commission extends no farther, than to desire a League, offensive and defensive, against our common Enemies, against the Enemies of Reason and Beauty, People of dull Heads and cold Hearts. From this Moment let us piirsue them with the severest Vengeance : Let no Quarter be given, but to those of sound Understandings and delicate Affections ; and these Charac- ters, 'tis to be presum'd. we shall always find inseparable. To be serious, and to quit the Allusion before it be worn thread-bare, I am of Opinion, that Women, that is. "Women of Sense and Education (for to such alone I address myself) are much better Judges of all polite Writing than Men of the same Degree of Understanding; and that 'tis a vain Pannic, if they be so far terrify'd with the common Ridicule that is levell'd against learned Ladies, as utterly to abandon every Kind of Books and Study to our Sex. Let the Dread of that Ridicule have no other Effect, than to make them conceal their knowledge before Fools, who are not worthy of it, nor of them. Such will still presume upon the vain Title of the Male Sex to affect a Superiority above them : But un- fair Readers may be assur'd, that all Men of Sense, who know the World, have a great Deference for their Judgment of such Books as ly within the Compass of their Knowledge, and reposo more Confidence in the Delicacy of their Taste, tlio' unguided by Rules, than in all the dull Labours of Pedants and Commentators. In a neighbouring Nation, equally famous for good Taste, and for f4allantry, the Ladies are, in a Manner, the Sovereigns of the /',/// World, as VOL. IV. B B 370 ESSAYS WITHDRAWN. ESSAY well as of the conversible ; and no polite Writer pretends to ; , venture upon the Public, without the Approbation of some celebrated Judges of that Sex. Their Verdict is, indeed, sometimes complain'd of ; and, in particular, I find, that the Admirers of Corneille, to save that great Poet's Honour upon the Ascendant that Racine began to take over him, always said, That it was not to be expected, that so old a Man could dispute the Prize, before such Judges, with so young a Man as his Rival. But this Observation has been found unjust, since Posterity seems to have ratify'd the Verdict of that Tribunal : And Racine, tho' dead, is still the Favourite of the Fair Sex, as well as of the best Judges among the Men. There is only one Subject, on which I am apt to distrust the Judgment of Females, and that is, concerning Books of Gallantry and Devotion, which they commonly affect as high flown as possible ; and most of them seem more delighted with the Warmth, than with the justness of the Passion. I mention Gallantry and Devotion as the same Subject, be- cause, in Reality, they become the same when treated in this Manner ; and we may observe, that they both depend upon the very same Complexion. As the Fair Sex have a great Share of the tender and amorous Disposition, it perverts their Judgment on this Occasion, and makes them be easily affected, even by what has 110 Propriety in the Expression nor Nature in the Sentiment. Mr. Addison's elegant Dis- courses of Religion have no Relish Avith them, in Comparison of Books of mystic Devotion : And Otway^s Tragedies are re- jected for the Rants of Mr. Dryden. Wou'd the Ladies correct their false Taste in this Parti- cular ; Let them accustom themselves a little more to Books of all Kinds : Let them give Encouragement to Men of Sense and Knowledge to frequent their Company : And finalty, let them concur heartily in that Union I have pro- jected betwixt the learned and conversible Worlds. They may, perhaps, meet with more Complaisance from their usual Followers than from Men of Learning; but they cannot reasonably expect so sincere an Affection : And, I hope, they will never be guilty of so wrong a Choice, as to sacrifice the Substance to the Shadow. OF MORAL I'KKJIUUCKS. .'571 ESSAY II. ESSAY II. Of Mm-,, I /Vg THFUE is a Set of Men lately sprung up amongst us, who endeavour to distinguish themselves by ridiculing every Thing, that has hitherto appear" d sacred and venerable in the Eyes of Mankind. Reason, Sobriety, Honour, Friend- ship, Marriage, are the perpetual Subjects of their insipid Raillery : And even public Spirit, and a Regard to our Country, are treated as chimerical and romantic. Were the Schemes of these Anti-reformers to take Place, all the Bonds of Society must be broke, to make Way for the Indulgence of a licentious Mirth and Gaiety : The Companion of our drunken Frollics must be prefer'd to a Friend or Brother : Dissolute Prodigality must be supply'd at the Expence of every Thing valuable, either in public or private : And Men shall have so little Regard to any Thing beyond themselves, that, at last, a free Constitution of Government must become a Scheme perfectly impracticable among Mankind, and must degenerate into one universal System of Fraud and Corruption. There is another Humour, which may be observ'd in some Pretenders to Wisdom, and which, if not so pernicious as the idle petulant Humour above-meution'd, must, how- ever, have a very bad Effect on those, who indulge it. I mean that grave philosophic Endeavour after Perfection, which, under Pretext of reforming Prejudices and Errors, strikes at all the most endearing Sentiments of the Heart, and all the most useful Byasses and Instincts, which can govern a human Creature. The Stoics were remarkable for this Folly among the Antients ; and I wish some of more venerable Characters in latter Times had not copy'd them too faithfully in this Particular. The virtuous and tender Sentiments, or Prejudices, if you will, have suffered mightily by these Reflections ; while a certain sullen Pride or Con- tempt of Mankind has prevail'd in their Stead, and has been esteem'd the greatest Wisdom ; tho\ in Reality, it be the most egregious Folly of all others. Statilins being sollicited by Brvtn8 to make one of that" noble Band, who struck the (Jon-like Stroke for the Liberty of Rome, refus'd to accom- 1 [This Essay appeared only in Edition C, 174'J : SPC Hi>tory of the Editions,' Vol. in. p. 44. En. j K K '2 372 ESSAYS WITHDRAWN. pany them, saying, That all Men were Fools or Mad, and did not deserve that a wise Man should trouble his Head about them. My learned Reader will here easily recollect the Reason, which an antient Philosopher gave, why he wou'd not be reconcil'd to his Brother, who sollicited his Friendship. He was too much a Philosopher to think, that the Connexion of having sprung from the same Parent, ought to have any Influence on a reasonable Mind, and exprest his Sentiment after such a Manner as I think not proper to repeat. When your Friend is in Affliction, says Epictetus, you may counter- feit a Sympathy with him, if it give him Relief; but take Care not to allow any Compassion to sink into your Heart, or disturb that Tranquillity, which is the Perfection of Wis- dom. Diogenes being ask'd by his Friends in his Sickness, What should be done with him after his Death ? FT7///, says he, throw me out into the Fields. 'What! reply'd they, to the Birds or Beasts?' No: Place a Cudgel by me, in defend myself withal. 'To what Purpose, say they, yon will not have any Sense, nor any Power of making Use of it.' Then if the Beasts shou'd devour me, cries he, shall I be any more sensible of it ? I know none of the Sayings of that Philosopher, which shews more evidently both the Liveliness and Ferocity of his Temper. How different from these are the Maxims by which 7-7^- g en ins conducts himself! In his Youth he apply'd himself, with the most unwearied Labour, to the Study of Philo- sophy ; and nothing Avas ever able to draw him from it, except when an Opportunity offer'd of serving his Friends, or doing a Pleasure to some Man of Merit. When he v,-;is about thirtv Years of Age, he was determined to quit the free Life of a Batehelor (in which otherwise he wouM have been inclin'd to remain), by considering, that he was the last Branch of an antient Family, which must have been extinguish'd had he died without Children. He made Choice of the virtuous and beautiful Emira for his Consort, who, after being the Solace of his Life for many Years, and having made him the Father of several Children, paid at last Ihe general Debt to Nature. Nothing cou'd have supported him under so severe an Affliction, but the Consolation he receiv'd from his young Family, who were now become dearer to him on account of their deceast Mother. One Daughter in par- OF MORAL PREJUDICES. 373 ticular is his Darling 1 , and the secret Joy of his Soul ; because ESRA V her Features, her Air, her Voice recal every Moment the tender Memory of his Spouse, and fill his Eyes with Tears. He conceals this Partiality as much as possible ; and none but his intimate Friends are acquainted with it. To them lie reveals all his Tenderness ; nor is he so affectedly philo- sophical, as even to call it by the Name of Wnaktifan. They know, that he still keeps the Birth-day of Kmtra with Tears, and a more fond and tender Recollection of past Pleasures ; in like manner as it was celebrated in her Lifetime with Joy iind Festivity. They know, that he preserves her Picture with the utmost Care, and has one Picture in Minature, which he always wears next to his Bosom : That he has left Orders in his last Will, that, in whatever Part of the World he shall happen to die, his Body shall be transported, and laid in the same Grave with her's : And that a Monument shall be erected over them, and their mutual Love and Happiness celebrated in an Epitaph, which he himself has compos'd for that Purpose. A few Years ago I receiv'd a Letter from a Friend, who was abroad on his Travels, and shall here communicate it to the Public. It contains such an Instance of a Philosophic Spirit, as I think pretty extraordinary, and may serve as an Example, not to depart too far from the receiv'd Maxims of Conduct and Behaviour, by a refin'd Search after Happiness or Perfection. The Story I have been since assur'd of as Matter of Fact. Paris, Aug. 1, 1 737. SIR, I know you are more curious of Accounts of Men than of Buildings, and are more desirous of being inform'd of private History than of public Transactions ; for which Reason, I thought the following 1 Story, which is the common > o *> J Topic of Conversation in this City, wou'd be no unacceptable Entertainment to you. A young Lady of Birth and Fortune, being left intirely at her own Disposal, persisted long in a Resolution of leading a single Life, notwithstanding several advantageous Offers that had been made to her. She had been deterniinM to embrace this Resolution, by observing the many unhappy Marriages among her Acquaintance, and by hearing the Complaints, which her Female Friends made of the Tyranny, 374 ESSAYS WITHDRAWN. Inconstancy, Jealousy or Indifference of their Husbands. Being a Woman of strong Spirit and an uncommon Way of thinking, she found no Difficulty either in forming or main- taining this Resolution, and cou'd not suspect herself of such Weakness, as ever to be induc'd, by any Temptation, to depart from it. She had, however, entertained a strong Desire of having a Son, whose Education she was resolv'd to make the principal Concern of her Life, and by that Means supply the Place of those other Passions, which she was re- solv'd for ever to renounce. She push'd her Philosophy to such an uncommon Length, as to find no Contradiction be- twixt such a Desire and her former Resolution ; and accord- ingly look'd about, with great Deliberation, to find, among all her Male-Acquaintance, one whose Character and Person were agreeable to her, without being able to satisfy herself on that Head. At Length, being in the Play-house one Evening, she sees in the Parterre, a young Man of a most engaging Countenance and modest Deportment ; and feels such a Pre-possession in his Favour, that she had Hopes this must be the Person she had long sought for in vain. She immediately dispatches a Servant to him ; desiring his Com- pany, at her Lodgings, next Morning. The young Man was over-joy 'd at the Message, and cou'd not command his Satis- faction, upon receiving such an Advance from a Lady of so great Beauty, Reputation and Quality. He was, therefore, much disappointed, when he found, a Woman, who wou'd allow him no Freedoms ; and amidst all her obliging Be- haviour, confin'd and over-aw'd him to the Bounds of rational Discourse and Conversation. She seem'd, however, willing to commence a Friendship with him ; and told him, that his Company wou'd always be acceptable to her, when- ever he had a leisure Hour to bestow. He needed not much Entreaty to renew his Visits, being so struck with her Wit and Beauty, that he must have been unhappy, had he been debarr'd her Company. Every Conversation serv'd only the more to inflame his Passion, and gave him more Occasion to admire her Person and Understanding, as well as to rejoice in his own Good-fortune. He was not, however, without Anxiety, when he consider'd the Disproportion of their Birth and Fortune; nor was his Uneasiness allay'd even when he reflected on the extraordinary Manner in which their Ac- quaintance had commenced. Our Philosophical Heroine, OF MORAL PREJUDICES, :{" in the mean Time, discover'd, that her Lover's personal Qualities did not belye his Phisiognomy; so that, judging there was no Occasion for any farther Trial, she takes a proper Opportunity of communicating to him her whole Intention. Their Intercourse continued for some-time, till :it last her Wishes were crown'd, and she was now Mother of a -Boy, who was to be the Object of her future Care and Concern. Gladly wou'd she have continu'd her Friendship with the Father; but finding him too passionate- a Lover to remain within the Bounds of Friendship, she was oblig'd to put a Violence upon herself. She sends him a Letter, in which she had inclos'd a Bond of Annuity for a Thousand Crowns ; desiring him, at the same Time, never to see her more, and to forget, if possible, all past Favours and Famili- arities. He was Thunder-struck at receiving this Message; and, having tried, in vain, all the Arts that might win upon the Resolution of a Woman, resolv'd at last to attack her by her Foible. He commences a Law-suit against her before the Parliament of Paris ; and claims his Son, whom he pre- tends a Right to educate as he pleas'd, according to the usual Maxims of the Law in such Cases. She pleads, on the other Hand, their express Agreement before their Com- merce, and pretends, that he had renounced all Claim to any Offspring that might arise from their Embraces. It is not yet known, how the Parliament will determine in this ex- traordinary Case, which puzzles all the Lawyers, as much as it does the Philosophers. As soon as they come to any Issue, I shall inform you of it, and shall embrace any Oppor- tunity of subscribing myself, as I do at present, Sir, Yuur most humble Servant. ESSAY III. Of the Middle Station of Life. 1 THE Moral of the following Fable will easily discover itself, without my explaining it. One Rivulet meeting another, with whom he had been long united in strictest Amity, with noisy Haughtiness and Disdain thus bespoke him, '' What, Brother ! Still in the same State ! Still low and creeping 1 1 (This Essiy appeared only in Edition C, 17-1-: see 'History of the Edi- tion*.' Vol. in. p. 44. ED.] 376 ESSAYS WITHDRAWN. ESSAY Are you not asham'd, when you behold me, who, tho' lately ^_ r '._,. in a like Condition with you, am now become a great River, and shall shortly be able to rival the Danube or the Rhine, provided those friendly Rains continue, which have favour'd my Banks, but neglected yours." Very true, replies the humble Rivulet : " You are now, indeed, swoln to a great Size : But methinks you are become, withal, somewhat turbulent and muddy. I am contented with my low Condi- tion and my Purity." Instead of commenting- upon this Fable, I shall take Occa- sion, from it, to compare the different Stations of Life, and to perswade such of my Readers as are plac'd in the Middle Station to be satisfy'd with it, as the most eligible of all others. These form the most numerous Rank of Men, that can be suppos'd susceptible of Philosophy ; and therefore, all Discourses of Morality ought principally to be address'd to them. The Great are too much immers'd in Pleasure ; and the Poor too much occupy'd in providing for the Necessities of Life, to hearken to the calm Voice of Reason. The Middle Station, as it is most happy in many Respects, so particularly in this, that a Man, plac'd in it, can, with the greatest Leisure, consider his own Happiness, and reap a new Enjoy- ment, from comparing his Situation with that of persons above or below him. Agur's prayer is sufficiently noted. Two Things hare I required of thee, deny me them not before I die, Remove far from me Vanity and Lies ; Give me neither Poverty nor Riches, Feed me with Food convenient for me : Led I be full and deny thee, and say, Who is the Lord ? Or lest I be poor, and steal, and take the Name of my GOD in vain. The middle Station is here justly recommended, as affording the fullest Sean- it;/ for Virtue ; and I may also add, that it gives Opportunity for the most ample Exercise of it, and furnishes Employment for every good Quality which we can possibly be possest of. Those, who are plac'd among the lower Ranks of Men, have little Opportunity of exerting any other Virtue, besides those of Patience, Resignation, Industry and Integrity. Those, who are advanced into the higher Stations, have full employment for their Generosity, Humanity, Affability and Charity. When a Man 1 ves betwixt these two Extremes, he can <-xert the former Virtues towards his Kiijtrfiorx, and the latter inwards his luf'trior*. Kvery moral Qualiiy. which the OF TIIK .MIDDLE STATION OF LIFE. .'577 human Soul is susceptible of, may have its Turn, and be ESSAY called up to Action : And a Man may, after this Manner, be much more certain of his Progress in Virtue, than \vhrre his good Qualities lye dormant, and without Employment. lint there is another Virtue, that seems principally' to lye simony /v//w/x, and is, for that Reason, chiefly calculated for the middle Station of Life. This Virtue is FRIENDSHIP. 1 believe most Men of generous Tempers an; apt to envy the Great, when they consider the large Opportunities such Persons have of doing Good to their Fellow-creatures, and of acquiring the Friendship and Esteem of Men of Merit. They make no Advances in vain, and are not oblig'd to associate Avith those whom they have little Kindness for; like People of inferior Stations, who are subject to have their Proffers of Friendship rejected, even where they wou'd be most fond of placing their Affections. But tlio' the Great have more Facility in acquiring Friendships, they cannot be so certain of the Sincerity of them, as Men of a lower Rank ; since the Favours, they bestow, may acquire them Flattery, instead of ( iood-will and Kindness. It has been very judiciously remark'd, that we attach ourselves more by the Services we perform than by those we receive, and that a Man is in Danger of losing his Friends by obliging them too far. I shou'd, therefore, chuse to lye in the middle Way, and to have my Commerce with my Friend varied both by Obliga- tions given and receiv'd. I have too much Pride to be willing that all the Obligations should ly on my Side ; and shou'd be afraid, that, if they all lay 011 his, he wou'd also have too much Pride to be entirely easy under them, or have a perfect Complacency in iny Company. We may also remark of the middle Station of Life, that it is more favourable to the acquiring of W'isdom and Ability, as well as of Virtue, and that a man so situate has a better Chance for attaining a Knowledge both of Men and Things, than those of a more elevated Station. He enters, with more Familiarity, into human Life : Every Thing appears in its natural Colours before him : He has more Leisure to form Observations; and has, beside, the Motive of Ambition to push him on in his Attainments ; being certain, that he can never rise to any Distinction or Eminence in the World, without his own industry. And here I cannot forbear communicating a Remark, which may appear somewhat extraordinary, viz. 378 ESSAYS WITHDRAWN. ESSAY That 'tis wisely ordain'd by Providence, that the middle _ ' __. Station shou'd be the most favourable to the improving our natural Abilities, since there is really more Capacity requisite to perform the Duties of that Station, than is requisite to act in the higher Spheres of Life. There are more natural Parts, and a stronger Genius requisite to make a good Lawyer or Physician, than to make a great Monarch. For let us take any Race or Succession of Kings, where Birth alone gives a Title to the Crown : The English Kings, for Instance ; who have not been esteemed the most shining in History. From the Conquest to the Succession of his present Majesty, we may reckon twenty eight Sovereigns, omitting those who died Minors. Of these, eight are esteem'd Princes of great Capacity, viz. the Conqueror, Harry II. Edward I. Edivard III. Harry V. and VII. Elisabeth, and the late King William. "Now, I believe every one will allow, that, in the common Bun of Mankind, there are not eight out of twenty-eight, who are fitted, by Nature, to make a Figure either on the Bench or at the Bar. Since Charles VII. ten Monarchs have reign'd in France, omitting Francis II. Five of those have been esteem'd Princes of Capacity, viz. Louis XI. XII. and XIV. Francis I. and Harry IV. In short, the governing of Mankind well, requires a great deal of Virtue, Justice, and Humanity, but not a surprising Capacity. A certain Pope, whose Name I have forgot, us'd to say, Let us divert ourselves, my Friends, the World governs itself. There are, indeed, some critical Times, such as those in which Harry IV. liv'd, that call for the utmost Vigour ; and a less Courage and Capacity, than what appcar'd in that great Monarch, must have sunk under the Weight. But such Circumstances are rare ; and even then, Fortune does, at least, one Half of the Business. Since the common Professions, such us Law or Physic, require equal, if not superior Capacity, to what are exerted in the higher Spheres of Life, 'tis evident, that the Soul must be made of still a finer Mold, to shine in Philosophy or Poetry, or in any of the higher Parts of Learning. Courage and Resolution are chiefly requisite in a Commander : Jus- tice and Humanity in a Statesman : But Genius and Capacity in a Scholar. Great Generals and great Politicians, are found in all Ages and Countries of the World, and frequently start up, at once, even amongst the greatest Barbarians. Hivcilfn was sunk in Ignorance, when it produc'd Gustavns OK Till*; MIDDl.K STATION OF LIFK. 379 Ericxon, ;md (Junta mix AdoIjthiM : Muscovy, when the Czar ESSAY appejir'd: and, perhaps, (_'iii-tlnnj<', when it gave Birth to . lla nit ilitil. But England must pass thro' a long Gradation of its Sfirncern, Johnsons, II 'ulli'rx, Drydens, before it arrive at jin Addixon or a POJH'. A happy Talent for the liberal Arts jind Sciences, is a Kind of Prodigy among Men. Nature must afford the richest Genius that conies from her hands ; Education and Example must cultivate it from the earliest Infancy; And Industry must concur to carry it to any J)egree of Perfection. No Man needs be surprised to see Kouli-Kati among the Persians : but Homer, in so early an Age, among the Greek*, is certainly Matter of the highest Wonder. A man cannot show a Genius for War, who is not so fortunate as to be trusted with Command ; and it seldom happens, in any State or Kingdom, that several, at once, are plac'd in that Situation. How many Marlboroughs were then 1 in the coiifeder;ite Army, who never rose so much as to the Command of a Regiment? But I am perswaded there has been but one Milton in England within these hundred Years ; because every one may exert the Talents for Poetry who is possest of them ; and no one cou'd exert them under greater Disadvantages than that divine Poet. If no Man were allow'd to write Verses, but who was, before-hand, named to be laureat, cou'd we expect a Poet in ten thousand Years '> Were 1 we to distinguish the Ranks of Men by their Genius and Capacity more than by their Virtue and Usefulness to the Public, great Philosophers wou'd certainly challenge the first Rank, and must be plac'd at the Top of human Kind. So rare is this Character, that, perhaps, there has not, as yet, been above two in the World, who can lay a just Claim to it. At least, Galil ceo and Newton seem to me so far to excel all the rest, that I cannot admit any other into the same Class with them. Great Poets may challenge the second Place ; and this Species of Genius, tho' rare, is yet much more frequent than the former. Of the Greek Poets that remain, Homer alone seems to merit this Character : Of the Rom pi : : Corneille, Racine, Boileau and Voltaire of the French : And Tatmo and Ariottto of the Italians. Great Orators and Historians arc, perhaps, more rare than . f ;sO ESSAYS WITHDRAWN. ESSAY great Poets : But as the Opportunities for exerting the __. T ;_, Talents requisite for Eloquence, or acquiring the Knowledge requisite for writing History, depend, in some Measure, upon Fortune, we cannot pronounce these Productions of Genius to be more extraordinary than the former. I should now return from this Digression, and show, that the middle Station of Life is more favourable to Happiness, as well as to Virtue and Wisdom : But as the Arguments, that prove this, seem pretty obvious, I shall here forbear insisting on them. ESSAY IV. 1 Of Impudence and Modesty. I. AM of opinion, That the common complaints against Pro- vidence are ill-grounded, and that the good or bad qualities of men are the causes of their good or bad fortune, more than what is generally imagined. There are, no doubt, instances to the contrary, and these too pretty numerous ; but few, in comparison of the instances we have of a right distribution of prosperity and adversity: nor indeed could it be otherwise from the common course of human affairs. To be endowed with a benevolent disposition, and to love others, will almost infallibly procure love and esteem ; which is the chief circumstance in life, and facilitates every enter- pri/e and undertaking ; besides the satisfaction, which im- mediately results from it. The case is much the same with the other virtues. Prosperity is naturally, though not neces- sarily, attached to virtue and merit ; and adversity, in like manner, to vice and folly. I must, however confess, that this rule admits of an ex- ception, with regard to one moral quality; and that modesli/ has a natural tendency to conceal a man's talents, as impu- dence displays them to the utmost, and has been the only cause why many have risen in the world, under all the dis- advantages of low birth and little merit. Such indolence and incapacity is there in the generality of mankind, that thev are apt to receive a man for whatever he has a mind to put himself off for; and admit his overbearing airs as proofs of that merit which he assumes to himself. A decent assur- ance seems to be the natural attendant of virtue ; and few 1 [This I->say ;ippe;ircil in ivliiioiis A to N. 17-11-GO. Sue 'History of tho Iviitions,' Vo:. in.. }>. II. K)>. | OK IMri'DKNCK AND .MODKSTY. -",*] men can distinguish impudence from it : As, on the other KSSAY hand, diffidence 1 , being the natural result of vice and folly, ^_ , has drawn disgrace upon modesty, which in outward ap pearance so nearly resembles it. 1 As impudence, though really a vice, has the same effects upon a man's fortune, as if it were a, virtue; so we may ob- serve, that it is almost as difficult to be attained, and is, in that respect, distinguished from all the other vices, which are acquired with little pains, and continually encrease upon indulgence. Many a man, beintr sensible that modest v is ' * extremely prejudicial to him in making his fortune, has r solved to be impudent, and to put a, bold face upon the matter; But, it is observable, that such people have .seldom succeeded in the attempt, but have been obliged to relapse into their primitive modesty. Nothing carries a- man through the world like a true genuine natural impudence. Its counterfeit is good for nothing, nor can ever support itself. In any other attempt, whatever faults a man commits and is sensible of, he is so much the nearer his end. But when he endeavours at impudence, if he ever failed in the attempt, the remembrance of that failure will make him blush, and will infallibly disconcert him : After which every blush is a cause for new blushes, till he be found out to be an arrant cheat, and a vain pretender to impudence. If anything can give a, modest man more assurance, it must be some advantages of fortune, which chance procures to him. Riches naturally gain a man a favourable reception in the world, and give merit a double lustre, when a person is endowed with it ; and supply its place, in a great measure, when it is absent. It is wonderful to observe what airs of superiority fools and knaves, with large possessions, U'ive themselves above men of the greatest merit in poverty. Nor do the men of merit make any strong opposition to these usurpations ; or rather seem to favour them by the modest v of their behaviour. Their good sense and experience make them diffident of their judgment, and cause them to examine everything with the greatest accuracy: As, on the othei i [Editions A and 15. 1741-2. insert Coxcombs should rise up to a Figure in the following pa ri graph : 1 was lardy the "World: 1'jioii whieh hr said there lamenting to a Friend of mine, who VMS nothing surprising in the Case, loves a Coiieeit, That popular Applause puptilur Finite, s.iys he. ?.< ii',hinti hut should be bestowed with so little Judg- Urea!// nr Air; (tin! Air ri-,-y naturally jiiriii, and that so many empty forward ;//<>. into i? I'licitit/n.] 882 ESSAYS WITHDRAWN. ESSAY hand, the delicacy of their sentiments makes them timorous , lest they commit faults, and lose in the practice of the world that integrity of virtue, so to speak, of which they are so jealous. To make wisdom agree with confidence, is as diffi- cult as to reconcile vice and modesty. These are the reflections which have occurred upon this subject of impudence and modesty : and I hope the reader will not be displeased to see them wrought into the following allegory. JUPITER, in the beginning, joined VIRTUE, WISDOM, and CONFIDENCE together ; and VICE, FOLLY, and DIFFIDENCE : And thus connected, sent them into the world. But though he thought he had matched them with great judgment, and said that Confidence was the natural companion of Virtue, and that Vice deserved to be attended with Diffidence, they had not gone far before dissension arose among them. Wisdom, who was the guide of the one company, was always accustomed before she ventured upon any road, however beaten, to examine it carefully; to enquire whither it led; what dangers, difficulties and hindrances might possibly or probably occur in it. In these deliberations she usually con- sumed some time ; which delay was very displeasing to Con- fidence, who was always inclined to hurry on, without much forethought or deliberation, in the first road he met. Wisdom and Virtue were inseparable : But Confidence one day, follow- ing his impetuous nature, advanced a considerable way before his guides and companions ; and not feeling any want of their company, he never enquired after them, nor ever met with them more. In like manner, the other society, though joined by JUPITER, disagreed and separated. As Folly saw very little way before her, she had nothing to determine concerning the goodness of roads, nor could give the preference to one above another ; and this want of resolution was encreased by Diffidence, who, with her doubts and scruples, always retarded the journey. This was a great annoyance to Vice, who loved not to hear of difficulties and delays, and was never satisfied without his full career, in whatever his inclinations led him to. Folly, he knew, though she bark- ened to Diffidence, would be easily managed when alone; and therefore, as a vicious horse throws his rider, he openly beat away his controller of all his pleasures, and proceeded in his journey with Folly, from whom he is inseparable. OF LMPUDEXCE AND MODESTY. :m Confidence and Diffidence being, after this manner, both thrown ESS loose from their respective companies, wandered for some ,. time ; till at last chance led them at the same time to one village. Confidence went directly up to the groat house, which belonged to WEALTH, the lord of the village; and without staging fora porter, intruded himself immediately into the in- nermost apartments, where lie found Vit:t> and Folly well re- ceived beforehim. Jle joined the train ; recommended himself verv quickly to his landlord ; and entered into such familiar- ity with Vice, that he was enlisted in the same company with Folly. They were frequent guests of MVi;s A to N, 1711-GO. Hco History of the Editions,' Vol. in. p. M. Ki>.J OK TI1K STl'DY OF HISTORY. is the basis of history, is at all regarded in those anecdotes, ESSAY VI 1 cannot admit of this as a proof of their passion for that ^ . study. However this may he, I sec not why the same curios- ity might not receive a more proper direction, and lead them t<> desire accounts of those who lived in past ages, as well as of their cotemporaries. What is it to CLEORA, whether FriA'iA entertains a secret commerce of Lon- witli PHILANDER or not ? Has she not equal reason to be pleased, when she is informed (what is whispered about among historians) that CATO'S sister had an intrigue with (.VKSAR, and palmed her sun, MARCUS BRUTUS, upon her husband for his own, tho' in reality lie washer gallant's? And are not the loves of MESSALINA or JULIA as proper subjects of discourse as any intrigue that this city has produced of late years? But I know not whence it comes, that I have been thus seduced into a kind of raillery against the ladies : Unless, perhaps, it proceed from the same cause, which makes the person, who is the favourite of the company, be often the object of their good-natured jests and pleasantries. We are pleased to address ourselves after any manner, to one who is agreeable to us ; and, at the same time, presume that nothing will be taken amiss by a person, who is secure of the good opinion and affections of every one present. I shall now pro- ceed to handle my subject more seriously, and shall point out the many advantages which tiow from the study of history, and show how well suited it is to every one, but particularly to those who are debarred the severer studies, by the tender- ness of their complexion, and the weakness of their education. The advantages found in history seem to be of three kinds, as it amuses the fancy, as it improves the understanding, and as it strengthens virtue. In reality, what more agreeable entertainment to the mind, than to be transported into the remotest auvs of the world. and to observe human society, in its infancy, making the first faint essays towards the arts and sciences : To see the p"lh-\ of government, and the civility of conversation reh'ninu; by degrees, and every thing which is ornamental to human life advancing towards its perfection. To remark the rise, pro- gress, declension, and final extinction of the most flourishing empires: The virtues, which contributed to their greatness, and the vices, which drew on their ruin. In short, to see all human race, rrom the beginning of time, pass, as it were, in iMX) ESSAYS WITHDRAWN. review before us ; appearing in their true colours, without any of those disguises, which, during their life-time, so much perplexed the judgment of the beholders. What spectacle can be imagined, so magnificent, so various, so interesting '? What amusement, either of the senses or imagination, can be compared with it ? Shall those trifling pastimes, which engross so much of our time, be preferred as more satisfac- tory, and more fit to engage our attention ? Plow perverse must that taste be, which is capable of so wrong a choice of pleasures ? But history is a most improving part of knowledge, as well as an agreeable amusement ; and a great part of what we commonly call Erudition, and value so highly, is nothing but an acquaintance with historical facts. An extensive know- ledge of this kind belongs to men of letters ; but I must think it an unpardonable ignorance in persons of whatever sex or condition, not to be acquainted with the history of their own country, together with the histories of ancient GEEECE and ROME. A woman may behave herself with good manners, and have even some vivacity in her turn of wit ; but where her mind is so unfurnished, 'tis impossible her conversation can afford any entertainment to men of sense and reflection. I must a,dd, that history is not only a valuable part of knowledge, but opens the door to many other parts, and affords materials to most of the sciences. And indeed, if we consider the shortness of human life, and our limited know- ledge, even of what passes in our own time, we must be sen- sible that we should be for ever children in understanding, were it not for this invention, which extends our experience to all past ages, and to the most distant nations ; making them contribute as much to our improvement in wisdom, as if they had actually lain under our observation. A in an ac- quainted with history may, in some respect, be said to have lived from the beginning of the world, and to have been making continual additions to his stock of knowledge in every century. There is also an advantage in that experience which is acquired by history, above what is learned by the practice of the world, that it brings us acquainted with human ;i [fairs, without diminishing in Hie least from the most delicate sen- timents of virtue. And, to tell the truth, T know not any study or occupation so unexceptionable as history in this OF Till: .STUDY OF HISTORY. .101 particular. Poets can paint virtue in the most charming K>>.\Y colours ; but, fis they address themselves entirely to tin- pas- ^ , tsions, they oi'leu become advocates for vice. Even philoso- phers are apt to bewilder themselves in the subtility of their speculations; and we have Been some go as far as to deny Hie reality of all moral distinctions. Hut I think it a remark worthy the attention of the speculative, that the historians have been, almost without exception, the true friends of virtue, and have always represented it in its proper colours, however they may have erred in their judgments of particular per- sons. MACHIAVEL himself discovers a true, sentiment of virtue in his history of FLORENCE. When he talks as a Politician, in his general reasonings, he considers poisoning, assassination and perjury, as lawful arts of power ; but when he speaks as an Hixlorum, in his particular narrations, he shows so keen an indignation against vice, and so warm an approbation of virtue, in many passages, that I could not forbear applying to him that remark of HORACE, That if you chace away nature, tho' with ever so great indignity, she will always return upon you. Nor is this combination of historians in favour of virtue at all difficult to be accounted for. When a man of business enters into life and action, he is more apt to consider the characters of men, as they have relation to his interest, than as they stand in themselves ; and has his judgment warped on every occasion by the violence of his passion. When a philosopher contemplates characters and manners in his closet, the general abstract view of the objects leaves the mind so cold and unmoved, that the sentiments of nature have no room to play, and he scarce feels the differ- ence between vice and virtue. History keeps in a just medium betwixt these extremes, and places the objects in their true point of view. The writers of history, as well as the readers, are sufficiently interested in the characters and events, to have a lively sentiment of blame or praise; and, at the same time, have no particular interest or concern to pervert their judgment. iii. '37. The reference \v;is ;ul. | almost as strong instances of perseverance in avarice. 'Tis commonly reported of a. famous miser in this city, thai finding himself near death, he sent for some of the ma^ist rales, and gave them a bill of an hundred pounds, payable after his decease; which sum he intended should he disposed of in charitable uses; hut scarce were they gone, when he orders them to ho called hack, and oilers them ready money, if they would abate five pounds of the sum. Another noted miser in the north, intending to defraud his heirs, and leave his fortune to the building of an hospital, protracted the drawing of his will from day to day; and 'tis thought, that if those interested in it had not paid for the drawing 1 it, lie had died intestate. In short, none of the most furious excesses of love and ambition are in any respect to be compared to the extremes of avarice. The best excuse that can be made for avarice is, that it generally prevails in old men, or in men of cold tempers, where all the other affections are extinct ; and the mind being incapable of remaining without, some passion or pur- suit, at last finds out this monstrously absurd one, which suits the coldness and inactivity of its temper. At the same time, it seems very extraordinary, that so frosty, spiritless a passion should be able to carry us farther than all the warmth of youth and pleasure : but if we look more narrowly into the matter, we shall find, that this very circumstance renders the explication of the case more easy. When the temper is warm and full of vigour, it naturally shoots out more ways than one, and produces interior passions to counter-balance, in some 1 degree, its predominant inclination. 'Tis impossible for a person of that temper, however bent on any pursuit, to be deprived of all sense of shame, or all regard to the sentiments of mankind. His friends must have some influence over him : And other considerations are apt to have their weight. All this serves to restrain him within some bounds. But 'tis no wonder that the avaritions man, being, from the coldness of his temper, without regard to reputation, to friendship, or to pleasure, should be carried so far by his prevailing inclination, and should display his passion in such surprising instances. Accordingly we find no vice so irreclaimable as avarice : And though there scarcely has been a moralist or philo- sopher, from the be^innina' of {he world to this day, who f m ESSAYS WITHDRAWN. S^AY has not levelled a stroke at it, we hardly find a single ,J . instance of any person's being cured of it. For this reason, I am more apt to approve of those, who attack it with wit and humour, than of those who treat it in a serious manner. There being so little hopes of doing good to the people infected with this vice, I would have the rest of mankind, at least, diverted by our manner of exposing it : As indeed there is no kind of diversion, of which they seem so willing to partake. Among the fables of Monsieur de la MOTTE, there is one levelled against avarice, which seems to me more natural and easy, than most of the fables of that ingenious author. A miser, says he, being dead, and fairly interred, came to the banks of the STYX, desiring to be ferried over along with the other ghosts. CHARON demands his fare, and is sur- prized to see the miser, rather than pay it, throw himself into the river, and swim over to the other side, notwith- standing all the clamour and opposition that could be made to him. All hell was in an uproar ; and each of the judges was meditating some punishment, suitable to a crime of such dangerous consequence to the infernal revenues. Shall ho be chained to the rock with PROMETHEUS ? Or tremble below the precipice in company with the DANAIDES? Or assist SISYPHUS in rolling his stone ? No, says MINOS, none of these. We must invent some severer punishment. Let him be sent back to the earth, to see the use his heirs are making of his riches. I hope it will not be interpreted as a design of setting myself in opposition to this celebrated author, if I proceed to deliver a fable of my own, which is intended to expose the same vice of avarice. The hint of it was taken from these lines of Mr. POPE. Our old mother Earth once lodged an indictment against AVARICE before the courts of heaven, for her wicked and malicious council and advice, in tempting, inducing, per- suading, and traiterously seducing the children of the plaintiff' to commit the detestable crime of parricide upon her, and, mangling her body, ransack her very bowels for hidden treasure. The indictment was very long and verbose; or AVAIMCK. .'{!)" but wo must omit a groat part .|' end of tho K^.siy, -That J'olitio niav Wfi ESSAYS WITH J)K AWN. vm Y Sh ' R013ERT WALPOLE, prime minister of GEEAT __ . '_^ BRITAIN, is a man of ability, not a genius ; good-natured, not virtuous ; constant, not magnanimous ; moderate, not equitable ; ' His virtues, in some instances, are free from the allay of those vices, which usually accompany such virtues : He is a generous friend, without being a bitter enemy. His vices, in other instances, are not compensated by those virtues which are nearly allyed to them ; His want of enterprise is not attended with frugality. The private character of the man is better than the public : His virtues more than his vices : His fortune greater than his fame. With many good qualities he has incurred the public hatred : With good capacity he has not escaped ridicule. He would have been esteemed more worthy of his high station had he never possessed it ; and is better qualified for the second than for the first place in any government. His ministry has been more advantageous to his family than to the public, better for this age than for posterity, and more pernicious by bad precedents than by real grievances. During his time trade has flourished, liberty declined, and learning gone to ruin. As I am a man, I love him ; as I am a scholar, I hate him ; as I am a BRITON, I calmly wish his fall. And were I a member of either house, I would give my vote for removing him from ST. JAMES'S ; but should be glad to see him retire to HOUGHTON-HALL, to pass the remainder of his days in ease and pleasure. 1 Moderate in the exercise of power, not equitable in engrossing it. U X I> U B L I S II K 1) K S S A Y S. UNPUBLISHED ESSAYS. KSSAY I. 1 Of tJic Immortality <>f tin- fimit. By the mere light of reason it seems difficult to prove the Immortality of- the Soul. The arguments for it ;ire commonly derived either from metaphysical topics, or moral, 1 betwixt so floating ;in idea, and the most doubtful persuasion KSSAV of any matter of fact, thai occurs in common life ? . * _ There arise, indeed, in some minds, some unaccountable terrors with regard to futurity: Hut these would quickly vanish, were they not artificially fostered by precept and education. And those, who foster them: what is their motive'^ Only to gain a livelihood, and to acquire powei and riches in this world. Their very zeal and industry, therefore, are an argument against them. \Vhat cruelty, what iniquity, what injustice in nature, to confine thus all our concern, as well as all our knowledge, to the present life, if there be another scene still waiting us, of infinitely greater consequence? Ought this barbarous deceit to be ascribed to a beneficent and wise Being? Observe with what exact proportion the task to be per- formed, and the performing powers, are adjusted throughout all nature. If the reason of man gives him a great supe- riority above other animals, his necessities are proportionally multiplied upon him. His whole time, his whole capacity, activity, courage, passion, find sufficient employment, in fencing against the miseries of his present condition. And frequently, nay almost always, are too slender for the busi- ness assigned them. A pair of shoes, perhaps, was never yet wrought to the highest degree of perfection, which that commodity is capa- ble of attaining. Yet it is necessary, at least very useful, that there should be some politicians and moralists, even some geometers, poets, and philosophers among mankind. The powers of men are no more superior to their wants, considered morel}' in this life, than those of foxes and hares are, compared to their wants and to tJn-ir period of existence. The inference from parity of reason is therefore obvious. On the theory of the soul's mortality, the inferiority of women's capacity is easily accounted for : Their domestic life requires no higher faculties either of mind or body. This circumstance vanishes and becomes absolutely insignificant, on the religious theory : The one sex lias an equal task to perform as the other: Their powers of reason and resolution ought also to have been equal, and both of them infinitely greater than at present. As every effect implies a cause, and that another, till w. reach the first cause of all, which is the l^-H>f ; every thing VOL. iv. D n 402 UNPUBLISHED ESSAYS. that happens, is ordained by him ; and nothing can be the object of his punishment or vengeance. By what rule are punishments and rewards distributed ? What is the Divine standard of merit and demerit ? Shall we Suppose, that human sentiments have place in the Deity ? However bold that hypothesis, We have no conception of any other sentiments. 1 According to human sentiments, sense, courage, good manners, industry, prudence, genius, &c. are essential parts of personal merits. Shall we therefore erect an elysium for poets and heroes, like that of the ancient mythology ? Why confine all rewards to one species of virtue ? Punishment, without any proper end or purpose, is incon- sistent with our ideas of goodness and justice ; and no end can be served by it after the whole scene is closed. Punishment, according to our conception, should bear some proportion to the offence. Why theh eternal punish- ment for the temporary offences of so frail a creature as man ? Can any one approve of Alexander's rage, who in- tended to exterminate a whole nation, because they had seized his favourite horse, Bucephalus ? 2 Heaven and hell suppose two distinct species of men, the good and the bad. But the greatest part of mankind float betwixt vice and virtue. Were one to go round the world with an intention of o giving a good supper to the righteous and a sound drubbing to the wicked, he would frequently be embarrassed in his choice, and would find, that the merits and demerits of most men and women scarcely amount to the value of either. To suppose measures of approbation and blame, different from the human, confounds every thing. Whence do we learn, that there is such a thing as moral distinctions, but from our own sentiments ? What man, Avho has not met with personal provocation (or what good-natur'd man who has), could inflict on crimes, from the sense of blame alone, even the common, legal, fri- volous punishments ? And does any thing steel the breast of judges and juries against the sentiments of humanity but reflections on necessity and public interest V By the Roman law, those who had been guilty of parri- 1 |H(i\vf.ol(l thnt hypothesis! Y\Y nn nts. E. ()K Till' IMMORTALITY OF TIIK SoUT, 40.1 cult 1 , and confessed their crime, were put into a Back, along KSSAV with an ape, a dog, and a serpent; and thrown into the river: ' Death alone was the punishment of those, who denied their guilt, however fnlly proved. A criminal was tried before Aut. I'M p. ;->3 It II _' 404 UNPUBLISHED ESSAYS. are exactly proportioned ; their vigour in manhood, their sympathetic disorder in sickness, their common gradual de- cay in old age. The step further seems unavoidable ; their common dissolution in death. The last symptoms, which the mind discovers, are disorder, weakness, insensibility, and stupidity ; the forerunners of its annihilation. The further progress of the same causes, en- creasing the same effects, totally extinguish it. 1 Judging by the usual analogy of nature, no form can con- tinue, when transferred to a condition of life very different from the original one, in which it was placed. Trees perisli in the water ; fishes in the air ; animals in the earth. Even so small a difference as that of climate is often fatal. What reason then to imagine, that an immense alteration, such as is made on the soul by the dissolution of its body, and all its organs of thought and sensation, can be effected without the dissolution of the whole ? Every thing is in common betwixt soul and body. The organs of the one are all of them the organs of the other. The existence therefore of the one must be dependent on the other. The souls of animals are allowed to be mortal : and these bear so near a resemblance to the souls of men, that the analogy from one to the other forms a very strong argument. Their bodies are not more resembling : yet no one rejects the argument drawn from comparative anatomy. The Metemp- sychosis is therefore the only system of this kind, that philo- sophy can hearken to. Nothing in this world is perpetual ; Every thing, however seemingly firm, is in continual flux and change : The world itself gives symptoms of frailty and dissolution : How con- trary to analogy, therefore, to imagine, that one single form, seeming the frailest of any, and subject to the greatest dis- orders, is immortal and indissoluble ? What a, daring theory is that ! 2 How lightly, not to say how rashly, entertained ! How to dispose of the infinite number of posthumous ex- istences ought also to embarrass the religious theory. Every planet, in every solar system, we are at liberty to imagine peopled with intelligent, mortal beings : At least we can fix 1 [The further progress of the *ame stupes increasing, the same cflivtH totally f.-;.: n finish it : Edit ions of 1777 and l/S:j.| - : [What tla-ory is that ! Editions of 1777 and 1783.1 OF THi; IMMORTALITY <>F TIIF SOTL. W~> on no other supposition. For those, then, a new universe must, every generation, be created beyond the bounds of tin,' present universe : or one must have been created at first so prodigiously wide as to admit of this continual influx of beings. Ought such bold suppositions to be received by any philosophy: and that merely on the pretext of a bare possi- bility r> When it is asked, whether Aynmrmnon, Tlu-rxiti's, Hanni- bal, Nero,* and every stupid clown, that ever existed in //"/.'/, Scythia, llactria, or Guinea, are now alive ; can any man think, that a scrutiny of nature will furnish arguments strong enough to answer so strange a question in the affirmative V The want of argument, without revelation, sufficiently estab- lishes the negative. Quanta facilius, says Pliny, 2 certiuwjue sibi qucmque credere, ac specimen securitatis antcgcnitali sumcrc espo-inu-nto. Our insensibility, before the composition of the body, seems to natural reason a proof of a like state after dissolution. Were our horrors of annihilation an original passion, not the effect of our general love of happiness, it would rather prove the mortality of the. soul : For as nature does nothing in vain, she would never give us a horror against an impos- sible event. She may give us a horror against an unavoid- able event, provided our endeavours, as in the present case, may often remove it to some distance. Death is in the end unavoidable ; yet the human species could not be preserved, had not nature inspired us with an aversion towards it. All doctrines are to be suspected which are favoured by our pas- sions. And the hopes and fears which give rise to this ' doctrine, are very obvious. 'Tis an infinite advantage in every controversy, to defend the negative. If the question be out of the common expe- rienced course of nature, this circumstance is almost, if net altogether, decisive. By what arguments or analogies can we prove any state of existence, which no one ever saw, and which no way resembles any that ever was seen '? Who will repose such trust in any pretended philosophy, as to admit upon its testimony the reality of so marvellous a scene ? 1 [Turret: Editions of 1777 and Text, and /^w as a enrr. cti:i i:: tho 17S3."] Mar-in. Tin- Kditi-ns ui' 1777 and - LiK 7. cap. ofi. 1783 read /< 1 ITliL -First I'p'of'h,.. /< h. the 400 UNPUBLISHED ESSAYS. Some new species of logic is requisite for that purpose ; and some new faculties of the mind, that they may enable us to comprehend that logic. Nothing could set in a fuller light the infinite obligations which mankind have to Divine revelation; since we find, that no other medium could ascertain this great and im- portant truth. ESSAY II. 1 Of Suicide. ONE considerable advantage that arises from Philosophy, consists in the sovereign antidote which it affords to supersti- tion and false religion. All other remedies against that pestilent distemper are vain, or at least uncertain. Plain good sense and the practice of the world, which alone serve most purposes of life, are here found ineffectual : History as well as daily experience furnish instances of men endowed with the strongest capacity for business and affairs, who have all their lives crouched under slavery to the grossest super- stition. Even gaiety and sweetness of temper, which infuse a balm into every other wound, afford no remedy to so viru- lent a poison ; as we may particularly observe of the fair Sex, who, tho' commonly possest of these rich presents of nature, feel many of their joys blasted by this importunate intruder. But when sound Philosophy has once gained possession of the mind, superstition is effectually excluded ; and one may fairly affirm, that her triumph over this enemy is more com- plete than over most of the vices and imperfections incident to human nature. Love or anger, ambition or avarice, have their root in the temper and affections, which the soundest reason is scarce ever able fully to correct; but superstition being founded on false opinion, must immediately vanish when true philosophy has inspired juster sentiments of supe- rior powers. The contest is here more equal between the distemper and the medicine, and nothing can hinder the latter from proving effectual, but its being false and sophis- ticated. It will here be superfluous to magnify the merits of philo- sophy, by displaying the pernicious tendency of thai vice of which it cures the human mind. The superstitious man, says 1 [Printed from the Edition of 1777. with ;t few ohnngcb of punctuation, fcfeo 'Hibtniy of tin- Edition:?,' vol. iii. ]>. 70. - ilu.J oi snniii-:. mr TifLLY, 1 is miserable! in every scene, in every incident of life ; even sleep itself, which banishes ;ill other cares of unhappy mortals, affords to him mutter of new terror ; while he ex- amines his dreams, and finds in those visions of the night prognostications of future calamities. 1 may add, that tho' death alone can put a full period to his misery, he dares not Hy to this refuge, but still prolongs a miserable existence from a vain fear lest he ott'end his maker, by using the [>o\ver, with which that beneficent being has endowed him. The presents of God and nature are ravished from us by this cruel enemy ; and notwithstanding that one step would remove us from the regions of pain and sorrow, her menaces still chain us down to a hated being, which she herself chiefly contributes to render miserable. 'Tis observed by such as have been reduced by the calami- ties of life to the necessity of employing this fatal remedy, that if the unseasonable care of their friends deprive them of that species of Death, which they proposed to themselves, they seldom venture upon any other, or can summon up so much resolution a second time, as to execute their purpose. So great is our horror of death, that when it presents itself, under any form, besides that to which a man has endeavoured to reconcile his imagination, it acquires new terrors and overcomes his feeble courage : l>ut when the menaces of superstition are joined to this natural timidity, no wonder it quite deprives men of all power over their lives, since even many pleasures and enjoyments, to which we are carried by a strong propensity, are torn from us by this inhuman tyrant. Let us here endeavour to restore men to their native liberty by examining all the common arguments against Suicide, and shewing that that action may be free from every imputation of guilt or blame, according to the sentiments of all the, antient philosophers. If Suicide be criminal, it must be a transgression of our duty either to God, our neighbour, or ourselves. To prove that suicide is no transgression of our duty to God, the fol- lowing considerations may perhaps suffice. Tn order to govern the material world, the almighty Creator has estab- lished general and immutable laws by which all bodies, from the greatest planet to the smallest particle of matter, are maintained in their proper sphere and function. To govern 1 I>e I'ivin. li!>. 11. 7-'. K>0. 408 UNPUBLISHED ESSAYS. the animal world, he has endowed all living creatures with bodily and mental powers ; with senses, passions, appetites, memory and judgment, by Avhich they are impelled or regu- lated in that course of life to which they are destined. Thest two distinct principles of the material and animal world, continually encroach upon each other, and mutually retard or forward each others operations. The powers of men and of all other animals are restrained and directed by the nature and qualities of the surrounding bodies ; and the modifications and actions of these bodies are incessantly altered by the operation of all animals. Man is stopt by rivers in his pas- sage over the surface of the earth ; and rivers, when properly directed, lend their force to the motion of machines, which serve to the use of man. But tho' the provinces of the mate- rial and animal powers are not kept entirely separate, there results from thence no discord or disorder in the crea- tion ; on the contrary, from the mixture, union and contrast of all the various powers of inanimate bodies and living creatures, arises that surprizing harmony and proportion which affords the surest argument of supreme wisdom. The providence of the Deity appears not immediately in any ope- ration, but governs everything by those general and immut- able laws, which have been established from the beginning of time. All events, in one sense, may be pronounced the action of the Almighty ; they all proceed from those powers with which he has endowed his creatures. A house which falls by its own weight is not brought to ruin by his pro- vidence more than one destroyed by the hands of men ; nor are the human faculties less his workmanship, than the laws of motion and gravitation. When the passions play, when the judgment dictates, when the limbs obey ; this is all the operation of God, and upon these animate principles, as well as upon the inanimate, has he established the government of the universe. Every event is alike important in the eyes of that infinite being, who takes in at one glance the most dis- tant regions of space and remotest periods of time. There is no event, however important to us, which he has exempted from the general laws that govern the universe, or which he has peculiarly reserved for his own immediate action and operation. The revolution of states and empires depends upon the smallest caprice or passion of single men; and the lives of men are shortened or extended by the smallest acei- OK SUICIIU:. Ml) dent of uir or diet, sunshine or tempest. Nature si ill con- i-:->\v linuesher progress and operation; and if general laws be ever broke by particular volitions of the Deity, 'tis after a manner which entirely escapes human observation. As, on the one hand, the elements and oilier inanimate parts of the creation carry on their action without regard to the particular interest and situation of men; so men are entrusted to their own judgment and discretion, in the various shocks of matter, and may employ every faculty with which they are endowed, in order to provide for their ease, happiness, or preserva- tion. What is the meaning- then of that principle, that a man who, tired of life, and hunted by pain and miserv, bravely overcomes all the natural terrors of death and makes his escape from this cruel scene ; that such a man, I say, has incurred the indignation of his Creator by encroaching 1 on the office of divine providence, and disturbing' the order of the universe ? shall we assert that the Almighty has reserved to himself in any peculiar manner the disposal of the lives of men, and has not sub- mitted that event, in common with others, to the general laws by which the universe is governed 'P This is plainly false ; the lives of men depend upon the same laws as the lives of all other animals ; and these are subjected to the general laws of matter and motion. The fall of a tower, or the infusion of a poison, will destroy a man equally with the meanest creature; an inundation sweeps away every thing 1 without distinction that comes within the reach of its fury. Since therefore the lives of men are for ever dependant on the general laws of matter and motion, is a man's disposing- of his life criminal, because in every case it is criminal to encroach upon these laws, or disturb their operation'? ]>\\i this seems absurd ; all animals are entrusted to their own prudence and skill for their conduct in the world, and have full authority, as far as their pow r er extends, to alter all the operations of nature. Without the exercise of this authority they could not subsist a moment ; every action, every motion of a man, innovates on the order of some parts of matter, and diverts from their ordinary course the general laws of motion. Putting together, therefore, these conclu- sions, we find that human life depends upon the general laws of matter and motion, and that it is no encroachment on the oilice of providence to disturb or alter these general no UNPUBLISHED ESSAYS. laws : Has not every one, of consequence, the free disposal ,J of his own life ? And may he not lawfully employ that power with which nature has endowed him ? In order to destroy the evidence of this conclusion, we must shew a reason, why this particular case is excepted ; is it because human life is of so great importance, that 'tis a presumption for human prudence to dispose of it ? But the life of a man is of no greater importance to the universe than that of an oyster. And were it of ever so great importance, the order of nature has actually submitted it to human prudence, and reduced us to a necessity in every incident of determining concerning it. Were the disposal of human life so much reserved as the peculiar province of the Almighty that it were an encroachment on his right, for men to dispose of their own lives ; it would be equally criminal to act for the preservation of life as for its destruction. If I turn aside a stone which is falling upon my head, I disturb the course of nature, and I invade the peculiar province of the Almighty by lengthening out my life beyond the period which by the general laws of matter and motion he had assigned it. A hair, a fly, an insect is able to destroy this mighty being whose life is of such importance. Is it an absurdity to sup- pose that human prudence may lawfully dispose of what depends on such insignificant causes ? It would be no crime in me to divert the Nile or Danube from its course, were I able to effect such purposes. Where then is the crime of turning a few ounces of blood from their natural channel ? Do you imagine that I repine at providence or curse my creation, because I go out of life, and put a period to a being, which, were it to continue, would render me miserable ? Far be such sentiments from me ; I am only convinced of :i, matter of fact, which you yourself acknowledge possible, that human life may be unhappy, and that my existence, if fur- ther prolonged, would become ineligible : but I thank pro- vidence, both for the good which I have already enjoyed, and for the power with which I am endowed of escaping the ill that threatens me. 1 To you it belongs to repine at pro- vidence, who foolishly imagine that you have no such power, and who must still prolong a hated life, tho' loaded with p;iin and sickness, with shame and poverty. Do you not teach, that when any ill befalls me, tho' by fhe malice of 1 Agaiiiu:- I>ui> gratias, qu-xl ncni'j in vita tcncri i'<.'UM. SKS., K{>it>t. 12. OF SriCIDE. .111 my enemies, I ought to be resigned to providence, ami that KSSAY the actions of men are the operations of the Almighty as , 1| much as the actions of inanimate beings P When 1 fall upon my own sword, therefore, I receive my death equally from the hands of the Deity as if it had proceeded from a lion, a precipice, or a fever. The submission which you require to providence, in every calamity that befalls me, excludes not human skill and industry, if possibly by their means I can avoid or escape the calamity : And why may I not employ one remedy as well as another? If my life be not my own, it were criminal for me to put it in danger, as well as to dispose of it ; nor could one man deserve the ap- pellation of hero whom glory or friendship transports into the greatest dangers, and another merit the reproach of wretch or miscreant who puts a period to his life from the same or like motives. There is no being, which possesses any power or faculty, that it receives not from its Creator, nor is there any one, which by ever so irregular an action can encroach upon the plan of his providence, or disorder the universe. Its operations are his works equally with that chain of events, which it invades, and which ever principle prevails, we may for that very reason conclude it to be most favoured by him. Be it animate, or inanimate, rational, or irrational ; 'tis all a case : Its power is still derived from the supreme creator, and is alike comprehended in the order uf his providence. When the horror of pain prevails over the love of life ; when a voluntary action anticipates the effects of blind causes ; 'tis only in consequence of those powers and principles, which he has implanted in his creatures. Divine providence is still inviolate and placed far beyond the reach of human injuries. 1 'Tis impious, says the old Roman superstition, to divert rivers from their course, or invade the* prerogatives of nature. 'Tis impious, says the French super- stition, to inocnilate for the small-pox, or usurp the business of providence, by voluntarily producing distempers and maladies. 'Tis impious, says the modern />/vy. <r. Uln say. found ainonu II nine's papers. w:i> Lite of Hume. V< 1. 11. withheld from pul'lu'ution out of a kindly El).] 410 UNPUBLISHED ESSAYS. have seen the peculiar necessity of that precaution : any man that had regard to his own character, would have anxiously followed that obvious and easy method. All the friends of the pretended translator exhorted and entreated him to give them and the public that satisfaction. No ! those who could doubt his veracity were fools, whom it was not worth while to satisfy. The most incredible of all facts was to be taken on his word, whom nobody knew ; and an experiment was to be made, I suppose in jest, how far the credulity of the public would give way to assurance arid dogmatical affirmation. (2.) But, to show the utter incredibility of the fact, let these following considerations be weighed, or, rather, simply reflected on ; for it seems ridiculous to weigh them. Consider the size of these poems. What is given us is asserted to be only a part of a much greater collection ; yet even these pieces amount to two quartos. And they were composed, you say, in the Highlands, about fifteen centuries ago ; and have been faithfully transmitted, ever since, by oral tradition, through ages totally ignorant of letters, by the rudest, per- haps, of all the European nations ; the most necessitous, the most turbulent, the most ferocious, and the most unsettled. Did ever any event happen that approached within a hundred degrees of this mighty wonder, even to the nations the most fortunate in their climate and situation ? Can a ballad be shown that has passed, uncorrupted, by oral tradition, through three generations, among the Greeks, or Italians, or Phoeni- cians, or Egyptians, or even among the natives of such countries as Otaheite or Molacca, who seem exempted by nature from all attention but to amusement, to poetry, and music ? But the Celtic nations, it is said, had peculiar advantages for preserving their traditional poetry. The Irish, the Welsh, the Bretons, are all Celtic nations, much better entitled than the Highlanders, from their soil, and climate, and situation, to have leisure for these amusements. They, accordingly, present us not with complete epic and historical poems, (for Ihey never had the assurance to go that length,) but with very copious and circumstantial traditions, which are allowed, by all men of sense, to be scandalous and ridiculous impostures. (:{.) The style and genius of these pretended poems are another sufficient proof of the imposition. The Lapland and Uiinie odes, conveyed to us, besides their small compass, have OF THE AUTITKNTIflTY OF OSSIAX'S POK.MS. 417 a savage rudeness, and sometimes grandeur, suited to those ESSAY ages. But this Erse poetry has an insipid correctness, and __ r _l_ regularity, and uniformity, which betrays a man without genius, that has been acquainted with the productions of civili/ed nations, and had his imagination so limited to that tract, 1hat it was impossible for him even to mimic the clia- racti'r which he protended to assume. The manners are still a more striking proof of their want of authenticity. We see nothing but the affected generosity and gallantry of chivalry, which are quite unknown, not only to all savage people, but to every nation not trained in these artificial modes of thinking. In Homer, for instance, and Virgil, and Ariosto, the heroes are represented as making a nocturnal incursion into the camp of the enemy. Homer and Virgil, who certainly were educated in much more civilized ages than those of Ossian, make no scruple of representing their heroes as committing undistinguished slaughter on the sleeping foe. But Orlando walks quietly through the camp of the Saracens, and scorns to kill even an infidel who cannot defend himself. Gaul and Oscar are knight-errants, still more romantic : they make a noise in the midst of the enemy's camp, that they may waken them, and thereby have a right to fight with them and to kill them. Nay, Fingal carries his ideas of chivalry Siill farther; much beyond what was ever dreamt of by Amadis de Gaul or Lancelot de Lake. When his territory is invaded, he scorns to repel the enemy with his whole force : he sends only an equal number against them, under an inferior captain : when these are repulsed, he sends a second detachment ; and it is not till after a double defeat, that he deigns himself to descend from the hill, where lie had remained, all the while, an idle spectator, and to attack the enemy. Fingal and Swaran combat each other all day, with the greatest fury. When darkness suspends the fight, they feast together with the greatest amity, and then renew the combat with the return of light. Are these the manners of barbarous nations, or even of people that have common sense? We may remark, that all this narrative is supposed to be given us by a contemporary poet. The facts, therefore, must be supposed entirelv, or nearlv, conformable to truth. The gallantry and extreme delicacy towards the women, which is found in these productions, is, if possible, still more contrary to the manners of barbarians. Among VOL. IV. E K 418 UNPUBLISHED ESSAYS. ESSAY all rude nations, force and courage are the predominant vir- ,_!_, tues; and the inferiority of the females, in these particulars, renders them an object of contempt, not of deference and regard. (4.) But I derive a new argument against the antiquity of these poems, from the general tenor of the narrative. "Where manners are represented in them, probability, or even possi- bility, are totally disregarded : but in all other respects, the events are within the course of nature ; no giants, no mon- sters, no magic, no incredible feats of strength or activity. Every transaction is conformable to familiar experience, and scarcely even deserves the name of wonderful. Did this ever happen in ancient and barbarous poetry? Why is this characteristic wanting, so essential to rude and ignorant ages? Ossian, you say, was singing the exploits of his con- temporaries, and therefore could not falsify them in any great degree. But if this had been a restraint, your pretended Ossian had never sung the exploits of his contemporaries ; he had gone back a generation or two, which would have been sufficient to throw an entire obscurity on the events ; and lie would thereby have attained the marvellous, which is alone striking to barbarians. I desire it may be observed, thrit manners are the only circumstances which a rude people cannot falsify ; because they have no notion of any manners beside their own : but it is easy for them to let loose their imagination, and violate the course of nature, in every other particular; and indeed they take no pleasure in any other kind of narrative. In Ossian, nature is violated, where alone she ought to have been preserved ; is preserved where alone she ought to have been violated. (5.) But there is another species of the marvellous, wanting in Ossian, which is inseparable from all nations, civilized as well as barbarous, but still more, if possible, from the bar- barous, and that is religion ; no religious sentiment in this Erse poetry. All those Celtic heroes are more complete atheists than ever were bred in the school of Epicurus. To account for this singularity, we are told that a few generations before Ossian, the people; quarrelled with their Druidical priests, and having expelled them, never afterwards adopted any other species of religion. It is not quite unnatural, 1 own, for the people to quarrel with their priests, as we did with ours at the Reformation: but we attached ourselves 0V THE AUTHENTICITY OF OSSIAX'S POEMS. 419 with fresh /.eal to our new preachers and new system; and ESSAY this passion increased in proportion to our hatred of the old. ,_ t ..! But I suppose the reason of this strange absurdity in our new Krse poetry, is, that the author, finding by the assumed age of his heroes, that he must have given them the Druidical religion, and not trusting to his literature, (which seems indeed to be very slender) for making the representations consistent with antiquity, thought it safest to give them no religion at all ; a circumstance so wonderfully unnatural, that it is sufficient alone, if men had eyes, to detect the imposition. (G.) The state of the arts, as represented in those poems, is totally incompatible with the age assigned to them. We know, that the houses even of the Southern Britons, till con- quered by the Romans, were nothing but huts erected in the woods ; but a stately stone building is mentioned by Ossiaii, of which the walls remain, after it is consumed with fire. The melancholy circumstance of a fox is described, who looks out at the windows ; an image, if I be not mistaken, borrowed from the Scriptures. The Caledonians, as well as the Irish, had no shipping but currachs, or wicker boats covered with hides : yet are they represented as passing, in great military expeditions, from the Hebrides to Denmark, Norway, and Sweden ; a most glaring absurdity. They live entirely by hunting, yet muster armies, which make incursions to these countries as well as to Ireland : though it is certain from the experience of America, that the whole Highlands would scarce subsist a hundred persons by hunting. They are totally unacquainted with fishing ; though that occupation first tempts all rude nations to venture on the sea. Ossian alludes to a wind or water-mill, a machine then unknown to the Greeks and Bomans, according to the opinion of the best antiquaries. His barbarians, though ignorant of tillage, are well acquainted with the method of working all kinds of metals. The harp is the musical instrument of Ossian ; but the bagpipe, from time immemorial, has been the instru- ment of the Highlanders. If ever the harp had been known among them, it never had given place to the other barbarous, discord. Stridenti ruiserum stipula, disperdere carmen. (7.) All the historical facts of this poem are opposed by traditions, which, if all these tales be not equally contempt- 420 UNPUBLISHED ESSAYS. ESSAY ible, seem to merit much more attention. The Irish Scoti III _ . '_^ are the undoubted ancestors of the present Highlanders, who are but a small colony of that ancient people. But the Irish traditions make Frugal, Ossian, Oscar, all Irishmen, and place them some centuries distant from the Erse heroes. They represent them as giants, and monsters, and enchanters, a sure mark of a considerable antiquity of these traditions. I ask the partisans of Erse poetry, since the names of these heroes have crept over to Ireland, and have become quite familiar to the natives of that country, how it happens, that not a line of this poetry, in which they are all celebrated, which, it is pretended, alone preserves their memory with our Highlanders, and which is composed by one of these heroes themselves in the Irish language, ever found its way thither? Tho songs and traditions of the Sonachies, the genuine poetry of the Irish, carry in their rudeness and absurdity the inseparable attendants of barbarism, a very different aspect from the insipid correctness of Ossian ; where the incidents, if you will pardon the antithesis, are the most unnatural, merely because they are natural. The same observation extends to the Welsh, another Celtic nation. (8.) The fiction of these poems is, if possible, still more palpably detected, by the great numbers of other traditions, which, the author pretends, are still fresh in the Highlands, with regard to all the personages. The poems, composed in the age of Truthil and Cormac, ancestors of Ossian, are, he says, full of complaints against the roguery and tyranny of the Druids. He talks as familiarly of the poetry of that period as Lucian or Longhms would of the Greek poetry of the Socratic age. I suppose here is a new rich mine of poetry ready to break out upon us, if the author thinks it can turn to account. For probably he does not mind the danger of detection, which he has little reason to apprehend from Ids experience of the public credulity. But I shall venture to assert, without any reserve or further inquirv, that there is no Highlander who is not, in some degree, a man of letters, that ever so much as heard there was a Druid in the world. The margin of every page almost of this won- derful production is supported, as he pretends, by minute oral traditions with regard to the personages. To the poem of Dar-thula, there is prefixed a long account of the pedi- OF TI1K AtTIIKNTK'ITY OF < (SSIAX'S POEMS. 421 gree, marriages, and adventures of three brothers, Nathos, ESSAY Althos, and Ardan, heroes that lived fifteen liundred years a^'o in Ar<;yleshire, and whose memory, it seems, is still celebrated there, and in every part of the Highlands. How ridiculous to advance such a. pretension to the learned, who know that there is no tradition of Alexander the great all over the East ; that the Turks, who have heard of him from their communication with the Greeks, believe him to have been the captain of Solomon's guard ; that the Greek and ] toman story, the moment it departs from the historical ages, becomes a heap of fiction and absurdity ; that Cyrus himself, the conqueror of the East, became so much un- known, even in little more than half a century, that Herodotus himself, born and bred in Asia, within the limits of the .Persian empire, could tell nothing of him, more than of Croesus, the contemporary of Cyrus, and who reigned in the neighbourhood of the historian, but the most ridiculous fables; and that the grandfather of Hengist and Horsa, the first Saxon conquerors, was conceived to be a divinity. I suppose it is sufficiently evident, that without the help of books and history, the very name of Julius Ctesar would at present be totally unknown in Europe. A gentleman, who travelled into Italy, told me, that in visiting Frescati or Tusculum, his cicerone showed him the foundation and ruins of Cicero's country house. He asked the fellow who this Cicero might be, ' Un grandissimo gigante,' said he. (9.) I ask, since the memory of Fingul and his ancestors and descendants is still so fresh in the Highlands, how it happens, that none of the compilers of the Scotch fabulous history ever laid hold of them, and inserted them in the list of our ancient monarchs, but we were obliged to have re- course to direct fiction and lying to make out their genealo- gies? It is to be remarked, that the Highlanders, who arc- now but an inferior part of the nation, anciently composed the whole ; so that no tradition of theirs could be unknown to the court, the nobility, and the whole kingdom. Where, then, have these wonderful traditions skulked during so many centuries, that they have never come to light till yesterday ? And the very names of our ancient kings are unknown; though it is pretended, that a very particular narrative of their transactions was still preserved, and uni- versallv diffused among a numerous tribe, who are the 4L>2 UNPUBLISHED ESSAYS. original stein of the nation. Father Innes, the only judicious writer that ever touched our ancient history, finds in mon- astic records the names, and little more than the names, of kings from Fergus, whom we call Fergus the Second, who lived long after the supposed Fingal : and he thence begins the true history of the nation. He had too good sense to give any attention to pretended traditions even of kings, much less would he have believed that the memory and ad- ventures of every leader of banditti in every valley of the Highlands, could be circumstantially preserved by oral tradi- tion through more than fifteen centuries. (10.) I shall observe, that the character of the author, from all his publications, (for I shall mention nothing else,) gives us the greatest reason to suspect him of such a ludi- crous imposition on the public. For to be sure it is only ludicrous ; or at most a trial of wit, like that of the sophist, who gave us Phalaris' Epistles, or of him that counterfeited Cicero's Consolation, or supplied the fragments of Petronius. These literary amusements have been very common ; and unless supported by too violent asseverations, or persisted in too long, never drew the opprobrious appellation of impostor on the author. He writes an ancient history of Britain, which is plainly ludicrous. He gives us a long circumstantial history of the emigrations of the Belgae, Cimbri, and Sarmatae, so unsup- ported by any author of antiquity that nothing but a par- ticular revelation could warrant it ; and yet it is delivered with such seeming confidence, (for we must not think he was in earnest,) that the history of the Punic wars is not related with greater seriousness by Livy. He has even left palpable contradictions in his narrative, in order to try the faith of his reader. He tells us, for instance, that the present inhabitants of Germany have no more connexion with the Germans mentioned by Tacitus, than with the ancient in- habitants of Peloponnesus : the Saxons and Angles, in par- ticular, were all Sarmatians, a quite different tribe from the Germans, in manners, laws, language, and customs. Yet a few pages after, when he pretends to deliver the origin of the Anglo-Saxon constitution, he professedly derives the whole account from Tacitus. All this was only an experi- ment to see how far the force of affirmation could impose on the credulity of the public: but it did not succeed; he was OK Till-: AirniliNTICiTY OF OSSIAYS POKMS. 4211 here ia the open daylight of (Ircek and Roman erudition, ESSAY nn( in the obscurity of his Erse pot-try and traditions. Find- ing tho style of his O.-sian admired by sonic, he attempts a, translation of Homer in the very same stvle. He begins t/ v and finishes, in six weeks, a work that was for ever to eclipse the translation of Pope, whom he docs not even deign to mention in his preface ; but this joke was still more unsuccessful: he made a shift, however, to bring the work- to a second edition, where he says, that, notwithstanding all the envy of his malignant opponents, his name alone will preserve the work to a more equitable posterity I In short, let him now take off the mask, and fairly and openly laugh at the credulity of the public, who could believe that long Erse epics had been secretly preserved in the Highlands of Scotland, from the age of Severus till his time. The imposition is so gross, that he may well ask the world how they could ever possibly believe him to be in earnest'? But it may reasonably be expected that I should mention the external positive evidence, which is brought by Dr. Blair to support the authenticity of these poems. I own, that this evidence, considered in itself, is very respectable, and suffi- cient to support any fact, that both lies within the bounds of credibility, and has not become a matter of party. But will any man pretend to bring human testimony to prove, that above twenty thousand verses liave been transmitted, by tradition and memory, during more than fifteen hundred years ; that is, above fifty generations, according to the ordinary course of nature? verses, too, which have not, in their subject, any thing alluring or inviting to the people, no miracle, no wonders, no superstitions, no useful instruc- tion ; a people, too, who, during twelve centuries, at least, oi /hat period, had no writing, no alphabet ; and who, even in the other three centuries, made very little use of that imper- fect alphabet for any purpose ; a people who, from the miserable disadvantages of their soil and climate, were per- petually struggling with the greatest necessities of nature ; who, from the imperfections of government, lived in a con- tinual state of internal hostility; ever harassed with the incursions of neighbouring tribes, or meditating revenge and retaliation on their neighbours, liave sueii a people leisure 424 UNPUBLISHED ESSAYS. to think of any poetry, except, perhaps, a miserable song or ballad, in praise of their own chieftain, or to the disparage- ment of his rivals ? I should be sorry to be suspected of saying any thing against the manners of the present Highlanders. I really believe that, besides their signal bravery, there is not any people in Europe, not even excepting the Swiss, who have more plain honesty and fidelity, are more capable of grati- tude and attachment, than that race of men. Yet it was, no doubt, a great surprise to them to hear that, over and above their known good qualities, they were also possessed of an excellence which they never dreamt of, an elegant taste in poetry, and inherited from the most remote anti- quity the finest compositions of that kind, far surpassing the popular traditional poems of any other language ; no wonder they crowded to give testimony in favour of their authen- ticity. Most of them, no doubt, Avere sincere in the delusion ; the same names that w T ere to be found in their popular ballads were carefully preserved in the new publication ; some incidents, too, were perhaps transferred from the one to the other; some sentiments also might be copied; and, 011 the whole, they were willing to believe, and still more willing to persuade others, that the whole was genuine. On such occasions, the greatest cloud of witnesses makes no manner of evidence. What Jansenist was there in Paris, which contains several thousands, that would not have given evidence for the miracles of Abbe Paris ? The miracle is greater, but not the evidence, with regard to the authenticity of Ossian. The late President Forbes was a great believer in the second sight; and I make no question but. he could, on a month's warning, have overpowered you with evidence in its favour. But as finite added to finite never approaches a hair's breadth nearer to infinite ; so a fact, incredible in itself', acquires not the smallest accession of probability by the accu- mulation of testimony. The only real Avonder in the whole affair is, that a person of so fine a taste as Dr. Blair, should be so great an admirer of these productions; and one of so clear and cool a judg- ment collect evidence of their authenticity. LETTER TO THE AUTHORS OF THE CRITICAL REVIEW CONCERNING THE EPIGONIAD OF WILKIE. 1 To the Authors of tJte Critical Review. April, 17.9. GENTLEMEN, The great advantages winch result from literary journals have recommended the use of them all over Europe ; but as nothing is free from abuse, it must be confessed that some inconveniences have also attended these undertakings. The works of the learned multiply in such a surprising manner, that a journalist, in order to give an ac- count to the public of all new performances, is obliged to pi-ruse a small library every month, and as it is impossible lor him to bestow equal attention on every piece which he criticises, he may readily be surprised into mistakes, and give to a book such a character as, on a more careful perusal, he would willingly retract. Even performances of the greatest merit are not secure against this injury; and, per- haps, are sometimes the most exposed to it. An author of genius scorns the vulgar arts of catching applause : he pays m> court to the great: gives no adulation to those celebrated lor learning : takes no care to provide himself of partisans, or i>i'ounr. -Eu.J 426 LETTER TO THE CRITICAL REVIEW equal spirit and impartiality : yet, I must confess that an article published in your lie view of 1757, gave me great surprise, and not a little uneasiness. It regarded a book- called the Epigoniad, a poem of the epic kind, which was at that time published with great applause at Edinburgh, and of which a few copies had been sent up to London. The author of that article had surely been lying under strong prepossessions, when he spoke so negligently of a work which abounds in such sublime beauties, and could endeavour to discredit a poem, consisting of near six thousand lines, on account of a few mistakes in expression and prosody, pro- ceeding entirely from the author's being a Scotchman, who had never been out of his own country. As there is a new edition published of this poem, wherein all or most of these trivial mistakes are corrected, I flatter myself that you will gladly lay hold of this opportunity of retracting your over- sight, and doing justice to a performance, which may, per- haps, be regarded as one of the ornaments of our language. I appeal from your sentence, as an old woman did from a sentence pronounced by Philip of Macedon : I appeal from Philip, ill-counselled and in a hurry, to Philip, well-advised, and judging with deliberation. The authority which you possess with the public makes your censure fall with weight : and I question not but you will be the more ready, on that account, to redress any injury into which either negligence, prejudice, or mistake, may have betrayed you. As I profess myself to be an admirer of this performance, it will afford me pleasure to give you a short analysis of it, and to collect a few specimens of those great beauties in which it abounds. The author, who appears throughout his whole work to be a great admirer and imitator of Homer, drew the subject of this poem from the fourth Iliad, where Sthenelus gives Agamemnon a short account of the sacking of Thebes. After the fall of those heroes, celebrated by Statins, their sons, and. among the rest Diomede, undertook the siege of that city, and were so fortunate as to succeed in their enterprise, and to revenge on the Thebans and the tyrant Creoii the death of their fathers. These young heroes were known to the (jivtks under the title of the Epigoni, or the descendants; and for this reason the author has given to his poem the title of Eiiigoniad, a name, it must be confessed somewhat un- fortunately chosen, for as this particular was known only to CONCERNING AVILKIF/S F.Pir.ONIAK 4:>7 a vory fow of the learned, the public were not able to con- jccture what could be ilie subject of ilie poem, and were apt to neglect what it was impossible for them to understand. There remained a tradition among the Greeks, that Homer had taken the siege of Thebes for the subject of a poem, which is lost; and our author seeins to have pleased, himself with the thought of reviving 1 the work, as well as of treading in the footsteps of his favourite author. The actors are mostly the same with those of the Iliad: Diomede is the hero: Ulysses, Agamemnon, Menelaus, Nestor, Idomeneus, Merion, even Thersites, all appear in different passages of the poem, and act parts suitable to the lively characters drawn of them by that great master. The whole turn of this new poem would almost lead us to imagine that the Scottish bard had found the lost manuscript of that father of poetry, and had made a faithful translation of it into English. Longinus imagines that the Odyssey was executed by Homer in his old ago ; we shall allow the Iliad to be the work of his middle age : and we shall suppose that the Epigoniad was the essay of his youth, where his noble and. sublime genius breaks forth by frequent intervals, and gives strong symptoms of that constant ilame which distinguished its meridian. The poem consists of nine books. We shall open the sub- ject of it in the author's own words : Ye pow'rs of soup; ! with whose immortal five Your b;inl enraptur'd sung Pelides' ire, To Greece so iiital, when in evil hour, lie brav'cl, in stern debate, the sov'reign pow'r, P>y like example teach me now to show From love, no less, what, dire disasters ilow. For when the youth of Greece, by Theseus led, Kcturn'd to conquer where their lathers bled. And punish guilty Thebes, by Heav'n ordain'd For pcriidy to fall, and oaths prol'an'd ; Venus, still partial to the Thcban arms, Tydeus' son seduc'd by female charms; Who, from his plighted faith by passion swayM, The chiefs, the army, and himself bet ray'd. This theme did once your favourite bard employ, Whose verse immortaliz'cl the fall of' Troy : ]>ut time's oblivions pull', whose curie draws All mortal thimis bv line's eternal laws, 428 LETTER TO THE CRITICAL REVIEW In whose wide vortex worlds themselves are tost, And rounding swift successively are lost, This song hath snatch'd. I now resume the strain, Not from proud hope and emulation vain, By this attempt to merit equal praise With worth heroic, born in happier days. Sooner the weed, that with the Spring appears, And in the Summer's heat its blossom bears, But, shriv'ling at the touch of Winter hoar, Sinks to its native earth, and is no more ; Might match the lofty oak, which long hath stood, From age to age, the monarch of the wood. But love excites me, and desire to trace His glorious steps, tho' with unequal pace. Before me still I see his awful shade, With garlands crown'd of leaves which never fade ; He points the path to fame, and bids me scale Parnassus' slipp'ry height, where thousands fail: I follow trembling; for the cliffs are high. And hov'ring round them watchful harpies fly, To snatch the poet's wreath with envious claws, And hiss contempt for merited applause. The poet supposes that Cassandra, the daughter of tho King of Pelignium in Italy, was pursued by the love of Ectretus, a barbarous tyrant in the neighbourhood ; and as her father rejected his addresses, he drew on himself the re- sentment of the tyrant, who made war upon him, and forced him to retire into Etolia, where Diomede gave him pro- tection. This hero falls himself in love with Cassandra, and is so fortunate as to make equal impression on her heart ; but before the completion of his marriage, he is called to the siege of Thebes, and leaves, as he supposes, Cassandra in Etolia with her father. But Cassandra, anxious for her lover's safety, and unwilling to part from the object of her affections, had secretly put on a man's habit, had attended him in the camp, and had fought by his side in all his battles. Meanwhile the siege of Thebes is drawn out to some length, and Venus, who favours that city, in opposition to Juno and Pallas, who seek its destruction, deliberates con- cerning the proper method of raising the siege. The fittest expedient seems to be the. 1 exciting in Diomede a jealousy of Cassandra, and persuading him that her affections were secretly engaged to Ectretus, and that the tyrant had invaded COXCKIJMNC WII.KIF/S KI'IfiONIAD. -120 Ktolia in pursuit of his mistress. For this purpose Venus sends down Jealousy, whom tlie author personilies under the name of /dot \-pr>. Her person and flight are painted in the most splendid colours that poetry affords: First to her tent the winged slinks she binds, Which tread tlic air, and mount, the rapid winds: Aloll they bear her thro' t.h' ethereal plain, Above the solid earth and liquid main : Her arrows next she takes of pointed steel, For sight too small, but terrible to feel : Kous'il by their smart the savage lion roars, And mad to combat rush the, tusky boars, Of wounds secure; for where their venom lights, What feels their power all other torments slights. A figur'd zone, mysteriously design'd, Around her waist her yellow robe eoniin'd : There dark Suspicion lurk'd, of sable hue; There hastv Kage his deadly dagger drew ; Pale Knvy inly pin'd : and by her side Stood Phrenzy, raging with his chains unty'd ; Affronted Pride with thirst of vengeance hurn'd, And Love's excess to deepest hatred turn'd. All these the artist's curious hand express'd, The work divine his matchless skill coni'ess'd. The virgin last, around her shoulders flung The bow ; and by her side the quiver hung; Then, springing up, her airy course she bends, For Thebes; and lightly o'er the tents descends. The son of Tydeus, 'midst his bands, she found In arms complete, reposing on the ground : And, as he slept, the hero thus address'd, Ileribrm to fancy's waking eye express'd. Diomede, moved by the instigations of jealousy, and enger to defend his mistress an:l his country, calls an assembly of the princes, and proposes to raise the siege of Thebes, on ac- count of the difficulty of the enterprize, and dangers which surround the army. Theseus, the general, breaks out into a passion at this proposal: but is pacified by Xestor. Idomeneus rises, and reproaches Diomede for bis dishonour- able counsel, and among other topics, upbraids him ^vith his degeneracy from his father's bravery. Should now, from hence arriv'd, some warrior's ghost 130 LETTER TO THE CRITICAL REVIEW And tell, when danger or distress is near, That Diomed persuades the rest to fear : He'd shun the synod of the mighty dead, And hide his anguish in the deepest shade : Nature in all an equal course maintains : The lion's whelp succeeds to awe the plains : Pards gender pards : from tigers tigers spring, Nor doves are hatch'd beneath a vultur's wing : Each parent's image in his offspring lives : But nought of Tydeus in his son survives. The debate is closed by Ulysses, who informs the princes that the Thebans are preparing to march out in order to attack them ; and that it is vain, for them to deliberate any longer concerning the conclusion of the war. We have next a description of a battle between the The- bans, under Creon, and the confederate Greeks, under Theseus. The battle is full of the spirit of Homer. We shall not trouble our reader with particulars, which Avould appear insipid in prose, especially if compared to the lively poetry of our author. We shall only transcribe one passage, as a specimen of his happy choice of circumstances : Next Areas, Cleon, valiant Chromeus dy'd ; AVith Dares, to the Spartan chiefs ally'd. And Phoemius, whom the gods in early youth Had form'd for virtue and the love of truth ; His gen'rous soul to noble deeds they turn'd, And love to mankind in his bosom burn'd : Cold thro' his throat the hissing weapon glide.-', And on his neck the waving locks divides. His fate the Graces mourn'd. The gods above, Who sit around the starry throne of Jove, On high Olympus bending from the skies, His i'ate beheld with sorrow-streaming eyes. Pallas alone, unalter'd and serene, AVith secret triumph saw the mournful scene , Not hard of heart : for none of all the pow'r^, In earth or ocean, or th' Olympian tow'rs, Holds equal sympathy with human grief, Or with a freer hand bestows relief: lint conscious that a mind by virtue steul'd To no impression of distress will yield; That, still unconquer'd, in its awful hour O'er death it triumphs with immortal pow'r. CONCERNING WILKIirs Kl'ICJONIAI). 481 Tho battle ends with :ul vantage to tin; confederate Greeks : but the approach of night prevents their total victory. Creon, king of Thebes, sends next an embassy to the confederate Greeks, desiring a truce of seven days, in order to bury the dead. Diomede, impatient to return home, and stimulated by jealousy, violently opposes this overture, but it is over-ruled b\ the other princes, and the truce is concluded. The author, in imitation of Homer, and the other ancient poets, takes here an opportunity of describing- Barnes celebrated for honouring the dead. The games he has chosen are different from those which are to be found among the ancients, and the incidents are new and curious. Dioinede took 110 share in these games : his impatient spirit could not brook the delay which arose from the truce : he pretends that he consented not to it, and is not included in it : he therefore proposes to his troops to attack the The- bans while they are employed in performing- the funeral rites of the dead ; but is opposed in this design by Deiphobus his tutor, who represents to him in the severest terms the rash- ness and iniquity of his proposal. After some altercation, Dioinede, impatient of contradiction in his favourite object, and stung by the free reproaches of his tutor, breaks out into a violent passion, and throws his spear at Deiphobus, which pierced him to the heart. This incident, which is apt to surprize us, seems to have been copied by our author, from that circumstance in the life of Alexander, where this heroic conqueror, moved by a sud- den passion, stabs Clytus his ancient friend, by whom his life had been formerly saved in battle. The repentance of Diomede is equal to that of Alexander. No sooner had he struck the fatal blow than his eyes are opened : he is sensible of his guilt and shame ; he refuses all consolation ; abstains even from food : and shuts himself up alone in his tent. His followers, amazed at the violence of his passion, keep at a distance from him : all but Cassandra, who enters his tent with a potion, which she had prepared for him. While she stands before him alone, her timidity and passion betray her sex : and Diomede immediately perceives her to be Cassandra, who had followed him to the camp, under a warlike disguise. As his repentance for the murder of Deiphobus was now the ruling passion in his breast, he is not moved by tenderness 432 LETTER TO THE CRITICAL REVIEW for Cassandra : on the contrary, lie considers her as the cause, however innocent, of the murder of his friend, and of his own guilt ; and he treats her with snch coldness that she re- tires in confusion. She even leaves the camp, and resolve^ to return to her father in Etolia ; but is taken on the road by a party of Thebans, who carry her to Croon. That tyrant determines to make the most political use of this incident : he sends privately a message to Diomede, threatening to put Cassandra to death, if that hero would not agree to a separate truce with Thebes. This proposal is at first rejected by Dio- inede, who threatens immediate destruction to Creon and all his race. Nothing can be more artfully managed by the poet than this incident. We shall hear him in his own words : Sternly the hero ended, and resign'd, To fierce disorder, all his mighty mind. Already in his thoughts, with vengeful hands, He dealt destruction 'midst the Theban bands, In fancy saw the tott'ring turrets fall, And led his warriors o'er the level 'd wall. Rcus'd with the thought, in 'in his high scat he sprung, And grasp'd the s \vord, which on a column hung ; The shining blade he balanc'd thrice in air ; His lances next lie view'd, and armour fair. "When, hanging 'midst the costly panoply, A scarf embroider'd met the hero's eye, Yv'hich fair Cassandra's skilful hands had wrought, A present for her lord, in secret brought That day, when first he led his martial train In arms, to combat on the Theban plain. As some strong charm, which magic sounds compose, Suspends a downward torrent as it flows ; Cheeks in the precipice its headlong course, And calls it trembling upwards to its source: Such seein'd the robe, which, to the hero's eyes, Made the fair artist in her charms to rise. His rage, suspended in its full career, To love resigns, to grief and tender fear. Glad would he now his former words revoke, And change the purpose which in wrath he spoke; From hostile hands his captive fair to gain, From fate to save her, or the servile chain : lint pride, and shame, the fond design suppre>t; Silent he stood, and lock'd it in his breast. CONCERNING WILKIK'S KI'IGONTAI). 43? Yet had the wary Theban well divin'd, By symptoms sure, each motion of his mind : With joy he saw the heat of rage suppress'd ; And thus again his artful words address'd. The truce is concluded for twenty days; but the perfidious) Creou, hoping 1 that Diomede would be overawed by the danger of his mistress, resolves to surprise the Greeks ; and accord- ingly makes a sudden attack upon them, breaks into their camp, and carries everything before him. Diomede at first stands neuter ; but when Ulysses suggests to him, that after the defeat of the confederate Greeks, he has no security ; and that so treacherous a prince as Creon will not spare, much less restore Cassandra, he takes to arms, assaults the Thebans, and obliges them, to seek shelter Avithin. their walls. Creon, in revenge, puts Cassandra to death, and shews her head over the walls. This sight so inflames Diomede, that he attacks Thebes with double fury, takes the town by scalade, and gratifies his vengeance by the death of Creon. This is a short abstract of the story on which this new poem is founded. The reader may perhaps conjecture (what I am not very anxious to conceal) that the execution of the Epigoniad is better than the design, the poetry superior to the fable, and the colouring of the particular parts more excellent than the general plan of the whole. Of all the great epic poems which have been the admiration of man- kind, the Jerusalem of Tasso alone would make a tolerable novel, if reduced to prose, and related without that splendour of versification and imagery by which it is supported : yet in the opinion of many great judges, the Jerusalem is the least perfect of all these productions : chiefly, because it has least nature and simplicity in the sentiments, and is most liable to the objection of affectation and conceit. The story of a poem, whatever may be imagined, is the least essential part of it : the force of the versification, the vivacity of the images, the justness of the descriptions, the natural play of the passions, are the chief circumstances which distinguish the great poet from the prosaic novelist, and give him so high a rank among the heroes in literature ; and I will ven- ture to affirm, that all these advantages, especially the three former, are to be found in an eminent degree in the Epi- goniad. The author, inspired with the true genius of Greece, VOL. IV. F P 134 LETTER TO THE CRITICAL REVIEW and smit with the most profound veneration for Homer, dis- dains all frivolous ornaments ; and relying entirely on his sublime imagination, and his nervous and harmonious ex- pression, has ventured to present to his reader the naked beauties of nature, and challenges for his partizans all the admirers of genuine antiquity. There is one circumstance in which the poet has carried his boldness of copying antiquity beyond the practice of 11 any, even judicious moderns. He has drawn his per 7 sonages, not only with all the simplicity of the Grecian heroes, but also with some degree of their roughness, and even of their ferocity. This is a circumstance which a mere modern is apt to find fault with in Homer, and which perhaps he will not easily excuse in his imitator. It is cer- tain, that the ideas of manners are so much changed since the age of Homer, that though the Iliad was always among the ancients conceived to be a panegyric on the Greeks, yet the reader is now almost always on the side of the Trojans, and is much more interested for the humane and soft manners of Priam, Hector, Andromache, Sarpedon, ^Eneas, Glaucus, nay, even of Paris and Helen, than for the severe and cruel bravery of Achilles, Agamemnon, and the other Grecian heroes. Sensible of this inconvenience, Feiielon, in his elegant romance, has softened extremely the harsh man- ners of the heroic ages, and has contented himself with retaining that amiable simplicity by which those ages wert distinguished. If the reader be displeased, that the British poet has not followed the example of the French writer, ht> must, at least, allow that he has drawn a more exact and faithful copy of antiquity, and has made fewer sacrifices of truth to ornament. There is another circumstance of our author's choice which will be liable to dispute. It may be thought that by intro- ducing the heroes of Homer, he has lost all the charm of novelty, and leads us into fictions which are somewhat stale and thread-bare. Boileau, the greatest critic of the French nation, was of a very different opinion : La fable offre a 1'esprit millc agrements divors La toils les noms heimaix semblent noz pour k'S vers : LJlysse, Agamemnon, Orcste, Idomenee, Hrlcne, Menelas, Paris, Hector, Euee. CONCERNING WILKTE'S EPIGONIAD. 4.",5 Tt is certain that there is in that poetic ground a kind of enchantment which allures every person of a tender and lively imagination ; nor is this impression diminished, but rather much increased, by our early introduction to the know- ledge of it in our perusal of the Greek and Latin classics. The same great French critic makes the apology of our poet in his use of the ancient mythology : Ainsi dans cct amus de nobles fictions, Le poet s'egeye en mille inventions, Orne, eleve, emhellit, aggraridit Unites clioses, Et trouve sous sa main des flours to uj ours ecloses. It would seem, indeed, that if the machinery of the heathen gods be not admitted, epic poetry, at least all the marvellous part of it, must be entirely abandoned. The Christian reli- gion, for many reasons, is unfit for the fabulous ornaments of poetry : the introduction of allegory, after the manner of Voltaire, is liable to many objections : and though a mere historical epic poem, like Leonidas, may have its beauties, it will always be inferior to the force and pathetic of tragedy, and must resign to that species of poetry the precedency which the former composition has always challenged among the productions of human genius. But with regard to these particulars, the author has himself made a sufficient apology in the judicious and spirited preface which accompanies his poem. But though our poet has in general followed so success- fully the footsteps of Homer, he has, in particular passages, chosen other ancient poets for his model. His seventh book contains an episode, very artfully inserted, concerning the death of Hercules : where he has plainly had Sophocles in his view, and has ventured to engage in a rivalship with that great master of the tragic scene. If the sublimity of our poet's imagination, and the energy of his style, appear any where conspicuous, it is in this episode, which we shall riot scruple to compare with any poetry in the English language. Nothing can be more pathetic than the complaint of Her- cules, when the poison oi the centaur's robe begins first to prey upon him : Sov'reign of Heav'n and Earth ! whose boundless sway The i'ates of men and mortal things; obey, 436 LETTER TO THE CRITICAL REVIEW If e'er delighted from the courts above, In human form you sought Alcmene's love ; If fame's unchanging voice to all the Earth, With truth, proclaims you author of my birth ; Whence, from a course of spotless glory run, Successful toils and wreaths of triumph won, Am I thus wretched ? better that before Some monster tierce had drank my streaming gore; Or crush'd by Cacus, foe to gods and men, My batter'd brains had strew'd his rocky den : Than, from my glorious toils and triumphs past, To fall subdu'd by female arts, at last. O cool my boiling blood, ye winds, that blow From mountains loaded with eternal snow, And crack the icy cliffs ; in vain ! in vain ! Your rigour cannot quench my raging pain ! For round this heart the furies wave their bran as, And wring my entrails with their burning hands. Now bending from the skies, O wife of Jove ! Enjoy the vengeance of thy injur'd love : For fate, by me, the Thund'rer's guilt atones ; And, punish'd in her son, Alcmene groans : The object of your hate shall soon expire, Fix'd on my shoulders preys a net of fire ; Whom nor the toils nor dangers could subdue, T3y false Eurystheus dictated from you ; Nor tyrants lawless, nor the monstrous brood Which haunts the desert or infests the flood, Nor Greece, nor all the barb'rous climes that lie Where Phoebus ever points his golden eye; A woman hath o'erthrown ! ye gods I I yield To female arts, uncoriquer'd in the field. My arms alas ! are these the same that bow'd Anteus, and his giant force subdu'd ? That dragg'd Nemea's monster from his den ? And slew the dragon in his native ten ? Alas! alas! their mighty muscles fail, While pains infernal cv'ry nerve assail : Alas, alas ! 1 feel in streams of woo These eyes dissolve, before untaught, to flow. Awake my virtue, oft in dangers try'd, Patient in toils, in deaths unterrify'd, Kouse to my aid ; nor let my labours past, With fame achiev'd, be blotted by the last: Firm and unrnov'd, the present shock endure; Once triumph, and for ever rest secure. COXCKI;NIX<; \VILKJI;.S EI-IGUXIAD. 437 Om* poet, though his genius bo in many respects very original, has not disdained to imitate even modern poets, lie has added to his heroic poem a dream, in the manner of Spenser, where the poet supposes himself to be introduced to Homer, who eensures his poem in some particulars, and excuses it in others. This poem is indeed a species of apology for the Epigoniad, wrote in a very lively and elegant manner: it may be compared to a well-polished gem, of the purest water, and cut into the most beautiful form. Those who would judge of our author's talents for poetry, without perusing his larger work, may satisfy their curiosity, by running over this short poem. They will see the same force of imagination and harmony of numbers, which distinguish his longer performance : and may thence, with small appli- cation, receive a favourable impression of our author's genius. D. H. DEDICATION OF THE < FOUR DISSERTATIONS/ To the Reverend Mr. ///one, 2 Author of 'Douglas,' a MY DEAR SIR, It was the practice of the antients to ad- dress their compositions only to friends and equals, ;i nd to reader their dedications monuments of regard and affection, not of servility and flattery. In those days of ingenuous and candid liberty, a dedication did honour to the person to whom it was addressed, without degrading the author. If any partiality appeared towards the patron, it was at least the partiality of friendship and affection. Another instance of true liberty, of which antient times can alone afford us an example, is the liberty of thought, which engaged men of letters, ho\vever different in their abstract opinions, to maintain a mutual friendship and re- gard ; and never to quarrel about principles, while they agreed in inclinations and manners. Science was often the subject of disputation, never of animosity. Cicero, an aca- demic, addressed his philosophical treatises, sometimes to Bmfus, a stoic; sometimes to Atticns, an epicurean. I have been seized Avith a strong desire of renewing these laudable practices of antiquity, by addressing the following dissertations to you, my good friend : For such I will ever call and esteem you, notwithstanding 1 the opposition, which prevails between us, with regard to many of our speculative tenets. These differences of opinion I have only found, to 1 [The circumstances att; ,.ding the may stand by the side of his sanction of publication of this ' Dedication ' are the Ej>iffonind and of his condemnation given in the History of the Editions,' of the Poems of O^ion. ED.] Vol. III. p. 65, where it has already [ So JIunie chose to spell the name : been printed. It is repeated here, in Burton's Life of Hume, Vol. II. p. 506. order that Hume's eulogy of Douglas ED.] 440 DEDICATION OF THE ' FOUR DISSERTATIONS,' 1757, enliven our conversation ; while our common passion for science and letters served as a cement to our friendship. I still admired your genius, even when I imagined, that you lay under the influence of prejudice ; and you sometimes told me, that you excused my errors, on account of the candor and sincerity, which, you thought, accompanied them. But to tell truth, it is less my admiration of your fine genius, which has engaged me to make this address to you, than my esteem of your character and my aifection to your person. That generosity of mind which ever accompanies you ; that cordiality of friendship, that spirited honour and integrity, have long interested me strongly in your behalf, and have made me desirous, that a monument of our mutual amity should be publicly erected, and, if possible, be preserved to posterity. I own too, that I have the ambition to be the first who shall in public express his admiration of your noble tragedy of DOUGLAS ; one of the most interesting and pathetic pieces, that was ever exhibited on any theatre. Should I give it the preference to the Merope of Maffei, and to that of Vol- taire, which it resembles in its subject ; should I affirm, that it contained more fire and spirit than the former, more tender- ness and simplicity than the latter ; I might be accused of partiality ; And how could I entirely acquit myself, after the professions of friendship, which I have made you ? But the unfeigned tears which flowed from every eye, in the numerous representations which were made of it on this theatre ; the unparalleled command, which you appeared to have over every affection of the human breast: These are incontestible proofs, that you possess the true theatric genius of ShaJcespear and Otway, refined from the unhappy barbarism of the one, and licentiousness of the other. My enemies, you know, and, I own, even sometimes my friends, have reproached me with the love of paradoxes and singular opinions ; and I expect to be exposed to the same imputation, on account of the character which I have here given of your DOUGLAS. I shall be told, no doubt, that I had artfully chosen the only time, when this high esteem of that piece could be regarded as a paradox, to wit, before its publi- cation; and that not being able to contradict in this particular the sentiments of the public, I ha.ve, at least, resolved to go before them. But I shall be amply compensated for all these TO JOHN' HOME. 44] pleasantries, if you accept this testimony of my regard, aiid believe me to be, with the greatest sincerity, Dear Sir, Your most affectionate Friend, and humble Servant, DAVID HUME. EDINBUUGH: 3 January. 1757.' 443 FRAGMENTS OF A PAPER IN HUME'S HAND- WRITING, DESCRIBING THE DESCENT ON Til U COAST OF BRITTANY, IN 1740, AND THE CAUSES OF ITS FAILURE. 1 THK forces under Lieutenant General St. ('lair consisted of live battalions, viz. the h'rst battalion of the 1st Royal, the oth Highlanders, :>rd Brad's, 4th Richbell's, 2d Harrison's, together with part of Frampton's, and some companies of Marines, making in all about 4500 men. The fleet consisted of . Though this army and fleet had been at first fitted out for entering upon action in summer 1746, and making conquest of Canada, it was found, after several vain efforts to get out of the Channel, first under Com- modore Cotes, then under Admiral Listock, that so much time had been unavoidably lost, from contrary winds and contrary orders, as to render it dangerous for so large a body of ships to proceed thither. The middle of May was the last day of rendezvous appointed at Spithead ; and in the latter end of August, the fleet had yet got no farther than St. Helen's, about a league below it. It is an observation, that in the latter end of autumn, or beginning of winter, the north-west winds blow so furiously on the coast of North America, as to render it always difficult, and often impossible, for ships that set out late to reach any harbour in those parts. Instances have been found of vessels that have been obliged to take shelter from these storms, even in the Lee- Avard Islands. It was therefore become necessary to abandon all thoughts of proceeding to America that season : arid as the transports were fitted out and fleet equipped at great expense, an attempt was hastily made to turn them to some account in Europe, during the small remainder of the sum- [' This numitive, published as Ap- took Hume with him as Secretary and pendix A to the Life of Hume,' Vol. i. Judjre Advocate of all the Forces under p. 441, is supposed by Mr. Burton to his command. Seo ' Life of Hume,' VoL have been 'drawn up as a vindication i, pp. 208 and teq. Ei).j of the conduct of General St. Clair,' who 444 DESCENT OX THE COAST OF BRITTANY. mer. The distress of the allies in Flanders demanded the more immediate attention of the English nation and ministry, and required, if possible, some speedy remedy. 'Twas too late to think of sending the six battalions under General St. Clair, to reinforce Prince Charles of Lorraine, who com- manded the armies of the allies ; and their number was, besides, too inconsiderable to hope for any great advantages from that expedient. 'T\vas more to be expected, that falling on the parts of France, supposed to be defenceless and dis- armed, they might make a diversion, and occasion the send- ing a considerable detachment from the enemy's army in Flanders. But as time pressed, and allowed not leisure to concert and prepare this measure, the Duke of Newcastle, Secretary of State, hoped to find that General St. Clair had already planned and projected some enterprise of this nature. He formed this presumption on a hint which had been started very casually, and which had been immediately dropped by the General. In the spring, when the obstructions and delays thrown in the way of the American enterprise were partly felt and partly foreseen, the Secretary, lamenting the great and, he feared, useless expense to which the nation had been put by that undertaking, gave occasion to the General to throw out a thought, which would naturally occur in such a situation. He said, ' Why may you not send the squadron and troops to some part of the coast of France, and at least frighten and alarm them as they have done us ; and, as all their troops are on the Flanders and German frontiers, 'tis most probable "that such an alarm ma}- make them recall some of them?' The subject was then no farther prosecuted; bxrt the King, being informed of this casual hint of the General's, asked him if he had formed any plan or project by which the service above-mentioned might be effectuated. He assured his majesty that he had never so much as thought of it ; but that, if it was his pleasure, he would confer with Sir John Ligonier, and endeavour to find other people in London who could let him into some knowledge of the coast of France. To this the King replied, 'No, no; you need not give yourself any trouble about it.' And accordingly the General never more thought of it, farther than to inform the Duke of Newcastle of this conference with his majesty. However, the Duke being willing that the person who was UNDKIl (iKNKKAL ST. CLAIK, 1710. -1 r> to execute the undertaking should ;ilso lie the projector of it, by whicli means both greater success might be hoped from it, and every body else be screened from reflection in case of its miscarriage, desired, in bis letter of the -'2d of August, that both the Admiral and (Jeneral should give their opinion of such an invasion; and particularly the General, who, having, lie said, formed some time ago a, project of this nature, might be the better prepared to give his thoughts with regard to it. They both jointly replied, that their uMcr ignorance made them incapable of delivering their senti- ments on so delicate a subject ; and the (Jeneral, in a sepa- rate 'otter, recalled to the Duke's memory the circumstances of the storv, as above related. Though they declined proposing a project, they both cheerfullv ottered, that if his majesty would honour them with iinv plan of operation for a descent, they would do their best to carry it into execution. They hoped that the Se<-retary of State, who, bv his office, is led to turn his eyes every where, and who lives at London, the centre of commerce and intelligence, could better form and digest such a plan, than they who were cooped up in their ships, in a remote sea-port town, without any former acquaintance with the coast of France, and without any possibility of acquiring new knowledge. They at least hoped, that so difficult a task would not be required of them as either to give their senti- ments without any materials afforded them to judge upon, or to collect materials, while the most inviolable secrecy was strictly enjoined on them. It is remarkable, that the Duke of Newcastle, among other advantages proposed by tins expedition, mentions the giving assistance to such Pro- testants as are already in arms, or may be disposed to rise on the appearance of the English, as if we were living in the time of the League, or during the confusion of Francis the Second's minority. Full of these reflections, they sailed from St. Helen's on the 2od of August, and arrived at Plymouth on the I 1( -Hli, i i obedience to their orders, whicli required them to put into that harbour for farther instructions. The}' there found positive orders to sail immediately, with the first fair wind, to the coast of France, and make an attempt on L'Orienf, or Bochefort, or Eochelle, or sail up the river of Bourdeaux ; or. if they judged any of these enterprises impracticable, to 44G DESCENT OX THE COAST OF BRITTANY. sail to whatever other place on the western coast they should think proper. Such unbounded discretionary powers could not but be agreeable to the commanders, had it been ac- companied with better, or indeed with any intelligence. As the wind was then contrary, they had leisure to reply in their letters of the 29th and 30th. They jointly represented the difficulties, or rather impossibilities, of any attempt 011 L'Orient, Rochefort, and Rochelle, by reason of the real strength of these places, so far as their imperfect informa- tion could reach ; or, if that were erroneous, by reason of their own absolute want of intelligence, guides, and pilots, which are the soul of all military operations. The General, in a separate letter, enforced the same topics, and added many other reflections of moment. He said, that of all the places mentioned in his orders, Bourdeaux, if ac- cessible, appeared to him the properest to be attempted; both as it is one of the towns of greatest commerce and riches in France, and as it is the farthest situated from their Flanders' army, and 011 these accounts an attack on it would most probably produce the wished- for alarm and diversion. He added, that he himself knew the town to be of no strength, and that the only place there capable of making any defence, is Chateau Trompette, which serves it as a citadel, and was intended, as almost all citadels are, more as a curb, than a defence, on the inhabitants. But though these circumstances promised some success, he observed that there were many other difficulties to struggle with, which threw a mighty damp on these promising expectations. In the first place, he much questioned if there was in the fleet any one person who had been ashore on the western coast of France, except himself, who was once at Bourdeaux ; and he, too, was a stranger to all the country betwixt the town and the sea. He had no single map of any part of France on board with him ; and what intelligence he may be able to force from the people of the country can be but little to be depended on, as it must be their interest to mislead him. And if money prove necessary, either for obtaining intelligence, carrying on of works, or even subsisting the officers, he must raise it in the country ; for, except a few chests of Mexican dollars, consigned to other uses, he carried no money with him. If he advanced any where into the country, he must be at a very great loss for want of horses to draw the artillery; as the inhabitants will undoubtedly carry off (iKNKKAL ST. CLAIII, 17-10. -117 as many <>(' them us they could, and lie had neither hussars nor dragoons to force them hack again. And as to the pre- serving any conquests he might make, (of which the Duke had dropped some hints,) he observed that every place which \\as not impregnable to him, with such small force, must he untenable by him. On the whole, he engaged for nothing but obedience; he promised no success ; he professed absolute ignorance with regard, to every circumstance of the undertaking; he even could not fix on any particular under- taking ; and yet he lay under positive orders to sail with the first fair wind, to approach the unknown coast, march through the unknown country, and attack the unknown cities of the most potent nation of the universe. Meanwhile, Admiral Anson, who had put into Plymouth, nnd had been detained there by the same contrary winds, which still prevailed, had a conversation with the General and Admiral on the subject of their enterprise. lie told them, that he remembered to have once casually heard from Mr. Hume, member for South wark, that he had been at L'Orient, and that, though it be very strong by sea, it is not so by land. Though Mr. Hume, the gentleman mentioned, be bred to a mercantile profession, not to war, and though the intelligence received from him was only casual, imperfect, and by second-hand, yet it gave pleasure to the Admiral and General, as it afforded them a faint glimmering ray in their present obscurity and ignorance ; and they accordingly re- solved to follow it. They wrote to the Duke of Newcastle, September the 3d, that 'twas to L'Orient they intended to bend their course, as soon as the wind offered. To remedy the ignorance of the coast and want of pilots, as far as pos- sible, Commodore Cotes in the Ruby, together with Captain Steward in the Hastings, and a sloop and tender, was imme- diately despatched by the Admiral to view Port L'Orient and all the places near it, so far as might regard the safe approach and anchorage of the ships. The ignorance of the country, and want of guides, was a desperate evil, for which the General could provide no remedy. But as the wind still continued contrary to the fleet and transports, though single ships of war might work their way against it, the General had oc- casion to see farther alterations made by the ministry in their project of an invasion. The Duke of Newcastle, who had before informed the General that, if he could establish himself on any part of the 448 DKSOEXT OX THE COAST OF BRITTANY. coast of France, two battalions of the Guards, and General Huske's regiment, should be despatched after him, now says, (Sept. 3), that these three battalions have got immediate orders to follow him. He farther adds, that if the General finds it impracticable to make any descent on the coast of Brittany, or higher up in the Bay of Biscay, he would probably find, on his return, some intelligence sent him, by the rein- forcement, with regard to the coast of Normandy. Next day the Duke changes his mind, and sends immediately this in- telligence with regard to the coast of Normandy, and a plan for annoying the French on that quarter, proposed by Major ixTacdonald ; and to this plan he seems entirely to give the preference to the other, of making an attempt on the western coast of France, to which he had before confined the Admiral and General. They considered the plan, and conversed with Major Macdonald, who came down to Plymouth a few days after. They found that this plan had been given in some years before, and was not in the least calculated for the pre- sent expedition, but required a body of cavalry as an essential point towards its execution; an advantage of which the General was entirely destitute. They found that Major Mac- donald had had so few opportunities of improving himself in the art of war, that it would be dangerous, without farther information, to follow his plan in any military operations. They found that he pretended only to know the strength of the town, and nature of the country, in that province, but bad never acquainted himself with the sea-coast, or pitched open, any proper place for disembarkation. They considered that a very considerable step had been already taken towards the execution of the other project on the coast of Brittany, vix. the sending Commodore Cotes to inspect and sound the coast ; and that the same step must now be taken anew, in so late a season, with regard to the coast of Normandy. They thought that, if their Avhole operations were to begin, an at- tempt on the western coast w r as preferable, chiefly because of its remoteness from the Flanders' army, which must in- crease and spread the alarm, if the country were really so defenceless as was believed. They represented all those reasons to the Secretary ; but at the same time expressed their intentions of remaining at Plymouth till they should receive his majesty's positive orders with regard to the enter- prise on which they were to engage. uxni'.u <;I:NT.I;AL ST. ri,.\n:, inn. -140 The Duke immediately despatched a iiKSsengor, with full powers to them to go whithersoever they pleased. During tliis interval, the General was obliged, to his great regret, to remain in a, manner wholly inactive. Plymouth was so re- mote a place, that it was not to be expected he could there got any proper intelligence. He was bound up by his orders to such inviolable secrecy, that he could not make any in- quiries for it, or scarce receive it, if ottered. The Secretary had sent Major Macdonald, and one Cooke, captain of a privateer, who, 'twas found, could be of no manner of service in this undertaking. These, he said, were the only persons he could find in London that pretended to know any thing of the coast of France, as if the question had been with regard to the coast of Japan or of California. The General desired to have ma.ps of France, chiefly of Gascony and Brittany. He receives only a map of Gascony, together with one of Normandy. No map of Brittany ; none of France ; he is obliged to set out on so important an enterprise without in- telligence, without pilots, without guides, without any map of the country to which he was bound, except a common map, on a small scale, of the kingdom of France, which his Aid- de-camp had been able to pick up in a shop at Plymouth. He represented all these difficulties to the ministry ; he begged them not to flatter themselves with any success from a General who had such obstacles to surmount, and who must leave his conduct to the government of chance more than prudence. He was answered, that nothing was expected of him, but to land any where he pleased in France, to pro- duce an alarm, and to return safe, with the fleet and trans- ports, to the British dominions. Though he was sensible that more would be expected by the people, yet lie cheerfully despised their rash judgments, while he acted in obedience to orders, and in the prosecution of his duty. The fleet sailed from Plymouth on the loth of September, and, after a short voyage of three days, arrived, in the evening of the 18th, off the island of Groa, where they found Commodore Cotes and Captain Stuart, who gave them an account of the suc- cess which they had met with in the survey of the coast near L'Orient. The place they had pitched on for landing, was ten miles from that town, at the mouth of the river of Quim- perlay. They represented it as a flat open shore, with deep water: on these accounts a good landing-place for the troop:;, VOL. IV. G G 4oO DESCENT OX THE COAST OF BRITTANY. but a dangerous place for the ships to ride in, on account of the rocks with which it was every where surrounded, and the high swell which was thrown in, from the Bay of Biscay, by the west and south-west winds. It was then about eight in the evening, a full moon and a clear sky, with a gentle breeze blowing in shore. The ques- tion was, whether to sail directly to the landing-place, or hold off till morning. The two officers who had surveyed the coast were divided in opinion : one recommended the former measure, the other suggested some scruples, by representing the dangerous rocks that lay on every side of them, and the ignorance of all the pilots with regard to their number and situation. The Admiral was determined, by these reasons, to agree to this opinion. The question seemed little important, as it regarded only a short delay ; but really was of the ut- most consequence, and was, indeed, the spring whence all the ill success in this expedition flowed. The great age of Admiral Listock, as it increased his ex- perience, should make us cautious of censuring his opinion in sea affairs, where he was allowed to have such consummate knowledge. But at the same time, it may beget a suspicion, that being now in the decline of life, he was thence naturally inclined rather to the prudent counsels which suit a con- certed enterprise, than to the bold temerity which belongs to such hasty and blind undertakings. The unhappy conse- quences of this over-cautious measure immediately appeared. The Admiral had laid his account, that by a delay, which procured a greater safety to the fleet and transports, only four or five hours would be lost ; but the wind changing in the morning, and blowing fresh off shore, all next day, and part of next night, was spent before the ships could reach the landing-place. Some of them were not able to reach it till two days after. During this time, the fleet lay full in view of the coast, and preparations were making in Port Louis, L'Orient, and over the whole country, for the reception of an enemy, who threatened them with so unexpected an invasion. The force of France, either for offence or defence, consists chiefly in three different bodies of men : first, in a numeroiis veteran army, which was then entirely employed in Italy and on their frontiers, except some shattered regiments, which were dispersed about the country, for the advantage of re- T'xnr.i: <":F.NT.I;AI. ST. CLAII:, 1:10. r.i printing, and of which there were two regiments of dragoons ut that time in Brittany ; secondly, in a regular and disci- plined militia, with which all the fortified cities along the sea-coast were garrisoned, and many of the frontier-towns, that seemed not to be threatened with any immediate attack. Some bodies of this militia had also been employed in the field with the regular troops, and had acquired honour, which gave spirits and courage to the rest: thirdly, in a numerous body of coast militia, or gardes-du-cote, amounting to near 200,000, ill armed and ill disciplined, formidable alone by their numbers ; and in Brittany, by the ferocity of the in- habitants, esteemed of old and at present, the most warlike and lea>t civilized of all the French peasants. Regular signals were concerted for the assembling of these forces by alarm guns, flags, and fires ; and in the morning of the 20th of September, by break of day, a considerable body of all these different kinds of troops, but chiefly of the last, amount- ing to above 3,000 men, were seen upon the sea-shore to oppose the disembarkation of the British forces. A disposition, therefore, of ships and boats must be made for the regular landing of the army ; and as the weather was then very blustering, and the wind blew almost off shore, this could not be effected till afternoon. There appeared, in view of the fleet, three places which seemed proper for a disembarkation, and which were separated from each other either by a rising ground, or by a small arm of the sea. The French militia had posted themselves in the two places which lay nearest to L'Orient; and finding that they were not numerous enough to cover the whole, they left the third, which lay to the windward, almost wholly defenceless. The General ordered the boats to rendezvous opposite to this beach ; and he saw the French troops march off from the next contiguous landing-place, and take post opposite to him. They placed themselves behind some sand-banks in such a manner as to be entirely sheltered from the cannon of those English ships which covered the landing, while at the same time they could rush in upon the troops, as soon as their approach to the shore had obliged the ships to leave oil firing. The General remarked their plan of defence, and was de- termined to disappoint them. He observed, that the next landing-place to the leeward was now empty; and that, G (l '2 452 DESCENT OX THE COAST OF BRITTANY. though the troops which had been posted on the more distant beach had quitted their station, and were making a circuit round an arm of the sea, in order to occupy the place deserted by the others, they had not as yet reached it. He immediately seized the opportunity. He ordered his boats to row directly forward, as if lie intended to land on the beach opposite to him ; but while the enemy were expecting him to advance, he ordered the boats to turn, at a signal ; and, making all the speed that both oars and sails could give them, to steer directly to the place deserted by the enemy. In order to render the disembarkation more safe, he had previously ordered two tenders to attack a battery, which had been placed on a mount towards the right, and which was well situated for annoying the boats 011 their approach. The tenders succeeded in chasing the French from their guns ; the boats reached the shore before any of the French could be op- posite to them. The soldiers landed, to the number of about six hundred men, and formed in an instant ; immediately upon which the whole militia dispersed and fled up into the country. The English followed them regularly and in good order; prognosticating success to the enterprise from such a fortunate beginning. There was a creek, or arm of the sea, dry at low water, which lay on the right hand of the landing-place, and through which ran the nearest road to L'Orient, and the only one fit for the march of troops, or the draught of cannon and heavy carriages. As it was then high water, the French runaways were obliged, by this creek, to make a circuit of some miles ; and they thereby misled the general, who, justly concluding they would take shelter in that town, and having no other guides to conduct him, thought that, by following their foot- steps, he would be led the readiest and shortest way to L'Orient. He detached, therefore, in pursuit of the flying militia, about a thousand men, under the command of Bri- gadier O'Farrel ; who, after being harassed by some firing from the hedges, (by which Lieut. -Col. Erskine, Quarter- Master General, was dangerously wounded,) arrived that evening at Guidel, a village about a league distant from the landing-place. The general himself lay near the sea-shore, to wait for the landing of the rest of the forces. By break of day he led thorn up to join the brigadier at Guidel. He there learned from some peasants, taken prisoners, and who spoke UNDKI: <;I:XKI;AL ST. CLAII:, IM'.J. 45:5 the Frcucli language, (\vhicli few of the coinnioii people in Brittany are able to do,) that the road into which he had been led, by the reasons above specified, was the longest by i'onror live miles. He was also informed, what lie had p.irtlv Keen, that the road was very dangerous and difficult, running through narrow lanes and defiles, betwixt high hedges, faced with stone walls, and bordered in many places with thick woods and brushes, where a very few disciplined and brave troops might stop a whole army ; and where even a few, without discipline or bravery, might, by firing suddenlv upon the forces, throw them into confusion. In order to acquire a more thorough knowledge of the country, of which he and the whole army were utterly igno- rant, he here divided the troops into two equal bodies, and inarched them up to L'Orient, by two different roads, which were pointed out to him. The one part, which he himself conducted, passed without much molestation. The other, under Brigadier O'Farrel, was not so fortunate. Two bat- talions of that detachment, Richbell's and Frampton's, parti v from their want of experience, and partly from the terror naturally inspired into soldiers by finding themselves in a difficult country unknown both to themselves and leaders, and partly, perhaps, from accident, to which the courage of men is extremely liable, fell into confusion, before a handful of French peasants who fired at them from behind the hedges. Notwithstanding all the endeavours of the Brigadier, many of them threw down their arms and ran away ; others fired in confusion, and wounded each other ; and if any regular forces had been present to take advantage of this disorder, the most fatal consequences miufht have ensued. And though they were at last led on, and joined the general that evening- before L'Orient, the panic still remained in these two batta- lions afterwards, and communicated itself toothers : kept the whole army in anxiety, even when they were not in danger. and threw a mighty damp on the expectations of success, con- ceived from this undertaking. L'Orient, lately a small village, now a considerable town, on the coast of Brittany, lies in the extremity of a fine bay, the mouth of which is very narrow, and guarded by the strong citadel of Port Louis. This town has become the centre of the French East India trade, the seat of the company established for that commerce, and the inajrazine whence thev distribute the East India commodities. 454 DESCENT ON THE COAST OF BRITTANY. The great prizes made upon them by the English, during the course of the war, had given a check to this growing com- merce ; yet still the town was esteemed a valuable acquisition, were it only on account of the wealth it contained, and the store-houses of the company, a range of stately buildings, erected at public charge, both for use and ornament. The town itself is far from being strong. Two sides of it, which are net protected with water, are defended only with a plain wall, near thirty feet high, of no great thickness, and without any fosse or parapet. But the water which covers the other two sides, rendered it impossible to be invested, and gave an opportunity for multitudes of people to throw themselves into it from every corner of that populous country. And though these, for want of discipline, could not be trusted in the tield against regular forces, yet became they of great use in a defence behind walls, by throwing up works, erecting batteries, and digging trenches, to secure (what was sufficient) for a few days, a weak town against a small and ill-provided army. The East India Company had numbers of cannon in their magazines, and had there erected a school of engineers, for the service of their ships and settlements ; the vessels in the harbour supplied them with more cannon, and with sea- men accustomed to their management and use; and whatever was wanting, either in artillery or warlike stores, could easily bo brought by water from Port Louis, with which the town of L'Orient kept always an open communication. But as these advantages, though great, require both a sufficient presence of mind, and some time, to be employed against an enemy, 'tis not improbable, that if the admiral had been supplied with proper pilots, and the general with proper guides, which could have led the English immediately upon the coast, and to the town, the very terror of so unex- pected an invasion would have rendered the inhabitants incapable of resistance, and made them surrender at discre- tion. The want of these advantages had already lost two days ; and more time must yet be consumed, before they could so much as make the appearance of an attack. Cannon was wanting, and the road by which the army had marched, was absolutely unfit for the conveyance of them. The general, therefore, having first despatched an officer and a. party to reconnoitre the country, and find a nearer and better road, Sepleniber 22<1, went himself next day to the rjea-shurc. for the ii C;I-:.\KI:AL ST. CI.AIR, 1740. 455 same purpose, and also in order to concert with the admirai the proper method of bringing up cannon ; as almost all the horses in the country, which are extremely \veak and of a diminutive si/e, had heen driven a\vay by the peasants. Accordingly, a road was found, much nearer, though still ten miles of length ; and much better, though easily rendered impassable by rainy weather, as was afterwards experienced. A council of war was held on board the Princessa, consist- ing of the admiral and general, Brigadier O'Farrel and Com- modore Cotes. The engineers, Director-General Armstrong, and Captain Watson, who had surveyed the town of L Orient, being called in, were asked their opinion with regard to the practicability of an attempt on it, together with the time, and artillery, and ammunition, requisite for that purpose. Their answer was, that with two twelve pounders and a ten inch mortar, planted on the spot which they had pitched on for erecting a battery, they engaged either to make a prac- ticable breach in the walls, or with cartridges, bombs, and red-hot balls, destroy the town, by laying it in ashes in twenty-four hours. Captain Chalmers, the captain of the artillery, who had not then seen the town, was of the same opinion, from their description of it, provided the battery was within the proper distance. Had the king's orders been less positive for making an attempt on some part of the coast of France, yet such Haltering views offered by men who pro- mised what lay within the sphere of their own profession, must have engaged the attention of the admiral and general, and induced them to venture on a much more hazardous and difficult undertaking. 'T\vas accordingly agreed that four twelve pounders, and a ten inch mortar, together with three field-pieces, should be drawn up to the camp by sailors, in order to make, with still greater assurance, the attempt, whose success seemed so certain to the engineers. These pieces of artillery, with the stores demanded, notwithstanding all difficulties, were drawn to the camp in two days, except two twelve pounders, which arrived not till the clay afterwards. A third part of the sailors of the whole fleet, together with all the marines, were employed in this drudgery ; the admiral gave all assistance in his power to the general; and the public, in one instance, saw that it was not impossible for land and sea officers to live in harmony together, and concur in pro- moting the success of an enterprise. 456 DESCENT OX THE COAST OF BRITTANY. The general, 011 liis arrival in the camp, found the officer returned whom he had sent to summon the town of L'Orient. By his information, it appeared that the inhabitants were so much alarmed by the suddenness of this incursion, and the terror of a force which their fears magnified, as to think of surrendering, though upon conditions, which would have ren- dered the conquest of no avail to their enemies. The inha- bitants insisted upon an absolute security to their houses and goods; the East India Company to their magazines and store-houses ; and the garrison, consisting of about seven hundred regular militia and troops, besides a great number of irregulars, demanded a liberty of marching out with all the honours of war. A weak town that opened its gates on such conditions was not worth the entering ; since it must imme- diately be abandoned, leaving only to its conquerors the shame of their own folly, and perhaps the reproach of treachery. The general, therefore, partly trusting to the promise of the engineers, and partly desirous of improving the advantages gained by the present danger, when the deputies arrived next day, September 23d, from the governor, from the town, and from the East India Company, refused to receive any articles but those from the governor, who commanded in the name of his most Christian majesty. He even refused liberty to the garrison to march out ; w r ell knowing that, as the town was not invested, they could take that liberty whenever they pleased. Meanwhile, every accident concurred to render the enter- prise of the English abortive. Some deserters got into the town, who informed the garrison of the true force of the English, which, conjecturing from the greatness and number of the ships, they had much magnified. Even this small body diminished daily, from the fatigue of excessive duty, and from the great rains that began to fall. Scarce three thousand were left to do duty, which still augmented the fatigue to the few that remained ; especially when joined to the frequent alarms, that the unaccountable panic they were struck with made but too frequent. Rains had so spoilt the roads as to render it impracticable to bring up any heavier cannon, or more of the same calibre, so long a way, by the more force of seamen. But what, above all things, made the enterprise appear desperate, wasthe discovery of the ignorance of the engineers, chiefly of the director-general, who in the UNDKIl (iKNKKAL S'J'. CI.AIi:, 17JU. 457 whole course of his proceedings :ip]>e:iren is found amonr Voltaire's in Hume's Correspondence that the iv- acknowledged works. Life: vol. ii. femuv is to Voit;iire, although nu >udi [>. L'19. E.] UXDKR (JKNKKAL ST. CLAILt, J7-K5. A'A) the situation of affairs, have had opportunities of acquiring more; honour; yet there is no one whose conduct, in eveij circumstance, could be more free from reproach. On th<> first of October, the fleet sailed out of Quirnperlay Road, from one of the most dangerous situations that so large a Heel had ever lain in, at so late a season, and in so stormy a sea as the Bay of Biscay. The reflection on this danger had been no inconsiderable cause of hastening the re-em- barkation of the troops. And the more so, that the secre- tary had given express orders to the admiral not to bring the fleet into any hazard. The prudence of the hasty departure appeared the more visibly the very day the fleet sailed, when a violent storm arising from the south west, it was concluded, that if the ships had been lying- at anchor on the coast, many of them must have necessarily been driven ashore, and wrecked on the rocks that surrounded them. The fleet was dispersed, and six transports being separated from the rest, went immediately for England, carrying with them about eight hundred of the forces. The rest put into Quiberon Bay, and the general landed his small body on the peninsula of that name. By erecting a battery of some guns on the narrow neck of land, which joins the peninsula to the con- tinent, he rendered his situation almost impregnable, while he saw the fleet riding secure; in his neighbourhood, in one of the finest bays in the world. The industry and spirit of the general supported both himself and the army against all these disadvantages, while there was the smallest prospect of success. But his pru- dence determined him to abandon it, when it appeared altogether desperate. The engineers, seeing no manner of effect from their shells and red-hot balls, and sensible that 'twas impossible either to make a breach from a battery, erected at so great a dis- tance, or to place the battery nearer, under such a superiority of French cannon, at last unanimously brought a report to the general, that they had no longer an\- hope of success; and that even all the ammunition, which, with infinite labour, had been brought, was expended: no prospect re- mained of being farther supplied, on account of the broken roads, which lay between them and the fleet. The council of war held in consequence of this report, balanced the reasons for continuing or abandoning the enterprise, if men 400 DESCENT OX THE COAST OF BRITTANY. can be said to balance where they find nothing on the one side but an extreme desire to serve their king and country, and on the other every maxim of war and prudence. They unanimously agreed to abandon the attempt, and return on board the transports. The whole troops were accordingly re-embarked by the 28th of September, with the loss of near twenty men killed and wounded, on the whole enterprise. SCOTTICISMS. 1 Wilt, in the first, person, as I will walk, we will walk, ex- presses the intention or resolution of the person, along 1 with the future event : Tn the second and third person, as, yon will, lie tn'11, tln'tj -wilt, it expresses the future action or event, without comprehending or excluding the volition. Shall, in the tirst person, whether singular or plural, ex- presses the future action or event, without excluding or comprehending the intention or resolution : But in the second or third person, it marks a necessity, and commonly a neces- sity proceeding from the person who speaks; as, he shall walli, you shall repent it. These variations seem to have proceeded from a politeness in the Enylisli, who, in speaking to others, or of others, made use of the term will, which implies volition, even where the event may be the subject of necessity and constraint. And in speaking of themselves, made Tise of the term shall, which implies constraint, even though the event may be the object of choice. Wou'd and should are conjunctive moods, subject to the same rule ; onlv, we may observe, that in a sentence, where there is a condition exprest, and a consequence of that con- dition, the former always requires shou'il, and the latter tvou\l, in the second and third persons ; as, if he should fall, he woiCd break his ley, etc. These, is the plural of this; those of that. The former, 1 [This List of Scotticism.*, printed Edition published during Hume's life- from the Edinburgh Edition of 1826, is time. "I told him that I>avid Hume said to occur in some copies of the had made a short collection of Seotti- ' Political Discourses.' Edition H. The pisms. ] wonder (said .Juh.tnn} that present Editor has not found it in any h< should find them.'" UOSWF.U..] SCOTTICISMS. therefore, expresses -vvliat is near: the latter what is more remote. As, in these lines of the Duke of Buckingham, " Philosophers and poets vainly strove, In every age, the lumpish mass to move. But THOSE were pedants if compared with THESE "Who knew not only to instruct, but please." . Where a relative is to follow, and the subject has not bi^en mentioned immediately before, those is always required. Those observations which lie made. Those kingdoms which Alexander conquered. In the verbs, which end in t, or tc, we frequently omit ed in the preterperfect and in the participle ; as, he operate, it- was cultivate. Milton says, in thought more elevate : but he is the only author who uses that expression. Notice should not be used as a verb. The proper phrase is take notice. Yet I find Lord Shaftesbury uses noticed, the participle : And unnoticed is very common. Hinder to do, is Scotch. The English phrase is, hinder from doing. Yet Milton says, Hindered not Satan to pervert the mind. Book IX. SCOTCH. Conform to Friends and acquaintances Maltreat Advert to Proven, improvcn, approver. Pled Incarcerate Tear to pieces Drunk, run Fresh weather Tender In the long run Notwithstanding of that Contented himself to do 'Tis a question if Discretion With child to a man Out of hand Simplv impossible A park In time corning ENGLISH. Conformable to Friends and acquaintance Abuse Attend to Prov'd, improv'd, approv'd Pleaded Imprison Tear in pieces Drank, ran Open weather Sickly At long run Notwithstanding that Contented himself with doi 'Tis a question whether Civility With child by a man Presently Absolutely impossible An enclosure In time to come SCOTTICISMS. 463 SCOTCH. Nothing else Mind it Denuded Severals Sonic better Anent Allenarly Alongst. Yet the EinjUtli snv both amid, amidst, among, and amongst Evenly As I shall answer Cause him do it. Yet 'tis good Emjlitli to .say, make him do it Marry upon Learn There, where Effectuate. This word in English means to effect with pains and difficulty A wright. Yet 'tis good. English to say a wheelwright Defunct Evite Part with child Notour To want it To be diffieulted Kebuted For ordinary Think shame In favours of Dubiety Prejudge Compete Heritable To remeed Bankier Adduce a proof Superplus Forfaulture In no event Common soldiers Big with a man KNOLI.SU. No other thing Remember it Divested Several Something better With regard to Soli-Iy Along Even 1 pr. test or declare Cause him to do it Marry to Teach Thither, whither Effect A Carpenter Deceast Avoid Miscarry Notorious To be without a thing, even though it be not desirable To be puzzled Discouraged by repulses Usually Asham'd In favour of Doubtfulness Hurt Enter into competition Hereditary To remedy Banker Produce a proof Surplus Forfeiture In no case Private men Great with a man SCOTTICISMS, SCOTCH. Bygone Debitor Exeemed Yesternight Big coat A chimney Annualrent Tenible argument Amissing To condescend upon To discharge To extinguish an obligation To depone A compliment To inquire at a man To be angry at a man To send an errand To furnish goods co him To open up Thucydide, Ihrodot, Sueton Butter and bread Pepper and vinegar Paper, pen, and ink Readily On a sudden As ever I saw For my share Misgive Rather cliusc to buy as sell Deduce Look't over the window A pretty enouirh girl 'Tis a week since he left, this Come in to the fire To take off a new coat Alwise Cut out his hair Cry him To crave To get a stomach Vacance EN'GLISH. Past Debtor Exempted Last night Great coat A grate Interest Good argument Missing To specify To forbid To cancel an obligation To depose A present To inquire of a man To be angry with a man To send off an errand To furnish him with goods To open, or lay open Thucydides, Herodotus, Suetonius Bread and butter Vinegar and pepper Pen, ink, and paper Probably Of a sudden As I ever saw For my part Fail Rather chusc to buy than sell Deduct Look't out at the window A pretty girl enough 'Tis a week since he left this piaco Come near the lire To make up a new suit Always Cut off his hair Call him To dun, to ask payment To get an appetite Vacation INDEX T II K FOUR T TI V L U M E. f. means ' and following pnges.' AB8 Abstract Sciences. See Sciences, Ma- thematics, Metaphysics Achceus, death of, 283 Actions, human, discussion of, 80, f. ; outlines of, 210, f. ; their ultimate ends unaccountable, 264. See Morals Addison, 5, 145 JRschines, 205 jEschines Socraticus, 286 Agrarian laws in Rome and Greece, 188 Alcihiades, why embraced by Timon, 213 Allegiance, based on good of society, 197 Alexander, the impostor, 97, f- Alexander the G-reat, 232 Alexander VI., character of, by Guic- ciardin, 286 Anacreon, 299 Analysis of the passions, 139, f. Anaxaqoras, the first theist among phi- losophers, 324 Ancients, their ideas of morals com- pared with modern, 289. f. ; their cosmogonies, 322, f. Animals, the reason of, 85, f. Anson, Admiral, 447 Antoninus, Marcus, 3.50 Antony, his character by Caesar, 232 Appian, 203 Aristophanes, 321 Aristotle, 5, 20, 241, 28o Arno?>iu.<, 327 Arrian, 338. 340 Ailtf.ists, ancient philosophical. 324 Athenians, their triumphs in arts of war and peace, 238 Athens, marriage laws in, 199, 292 Atticus, 267 Augustine, St.. 3-16 VOL. IV. H CAC Augustus, Emperor, tainted with super- stition, 347 ; his lenity, 403 Avarice, Essay on, 392, f. ; a fable, 394 Bacon, Lord, 207 ; his reasoning upon miracles, 107 Bayk, 127, 193, 340 Beauty, in animals, 226, f. ; moral and natural, 263, f. Belief, nature of, 41, f., 49 evidence of, 88, f. Bt'llarminc, Cardinal, 340 Benevolence, morally considered, 174, f.; marks of, 178; no one quite devoid of, 212 ; softening influence of, 236; distinctions of, 268, f. Berkeley, Dr., 127 Boccaccw. 22 Boileau, 233 Bomilcar, an example of superstition, 360 Boulainvilliers, 331 Brasidas, 340 Brittany, English descent on coast of, described by Hume, 443, f. Brumoy, Pire, Theatre des Grf-cs. 321 Burton, Mr., his Life of Hume quoted, 415,443 C&sar, J., his chariicUr of Antony, 2j>J ; quoted, 321. 328 Catiline, his superstitious terrors, 3 Causation, principle of connection of ideas, 18, 23, 43, 45. 49; volition or the Supreme Being, 58 ; absence of connpction in, 61, f.; our idea of, ri7 , II 4GC CAU in human actions, 70, f.; property, a species of, 151 Cause and Effect, reasoning on, 24 ; dis- coverable by experience only, 25, f., 36 ; ultimate cause uudiscoverable, 27, 62 ; maxim as to. 119; definition of cause, 63, 64, 78 ; idea of relation of, 64 Charles XIL, influence of his bravery, 238 Chastity, laws of, 198; its virtue con- sists in its utility, ib.; marriage laws in Greece and Kome, 199 ; reason of the blame attaching to failure in, 222 Chatillon, evidence of the Due de, as to a miracle, 103 Cheerfulness, great merit of, 231 ; ex- cessive, 237 Christian Religion, founded on faith. not reason, 107 ; miracles of the, 108 Cicero, 5, 45, 175, 177, 184, 224,242, 284, 285, 300, 345, 347, 350, 351, 352, 407 Conde, Prince of, 232 Congreve, 22 Connection, idea of necessary, 50, 52 Contiguity, principle of connection of ideas, 18, 23, 43, 46 Contrariety, a connection among ideas, 18, 22 Cordeliers, the, 331 Cosmogony, of the ancients, 322 Courage, merit of, 234. f. Crime, definition of, 260 Critical Review, an unpublished letter of Hume's to, 425, f., Custom, effect of, 37 ; the guide of life, 39 ; link of ideas, 46, 49 Decency, agreeableness of, 243 Deity, vulgar notions of, 329. f.; 352, f.; Magian and Mahometan conceptions of, 333. See God, PolytJutism De la Motte, his fable on avarice, 394 Demosthenes, 205, 234, 301 J)e Befz, Cardinal, story related by, 100 DCS Cartes, 61 ; scepticism of, 123 DlcaearcUvK, erects one altar to Impiety and another to Injustice, 223 Diodorus Siculus, 177, 227, 319, 321, 323, 345 Diogenes, compared with Pascal, 304 ; cited, 372 Discretion, quality of, 220 Divine Nature, impious notions of, 352, f. See Deity Drama. See Pot-try Drydm, 346 HEN Ejject, principle of connection of ideas, 18. See Cause and effect Emotions. See Passions Energy, idea of in Metaphysics, 51 Epainonidas, character of, 227 Epictetus, 35, 236, 285, 350, 372 Epicurus, 110, 111, f., 267, 324 Equality, political, impracticable, 188 Essays, Hume's : on Essay Writing, 367, f.; on Moral Prejudices, 371, f . , on a Middle Station in Life, 375, f . ; on Impudence and Modesty, 380, f. ; Love and Marriage, 383, f.; the Study of History, :{88, f. ; Avarice, 392, f. ; on Sir K. Wai pole, 395, f. ; Immor- tality of the Soul, 399, f.; Suicide, 406, f. ; Authenticity of Ossian's Poems 415, f. Euclid, 263 Euripides, 233, 285, 318 Experience, basis of reasoning on matter of fact, 28 ; teaching of, 30, 34 ; argu- ments from, founded on similarity, 31 ; inference from. 32, f. ; effect of custom, 38 ; not distinct from reason, ib. ; value of, 69 ; not always infal- lible, 89, f. Fanatics, religious, 187 Fontenelie, 269, 321 Force, idea of, in Metaphysics, 51 ; physical, 227 Frugality, quality of, 221 ; extremes of, ib. Future State, 109, f . ; hypothetical apology of Epicurus, 111, f. ; argu- ments on, 118, f. See Immortality Geometry, use of in Philosophy, 28 ; ideas of, 128, f. Getes, monks mentioned by Strabo, 319; theism of, 334 God, operation of in nature, 59. f. ; ultimate cause of all our volitions ; 81; attributes of. 119, f . ; universal belief in, 320. See Deity. Gods, the, not regarded by the ancients as creators. 320, f.; dependent on the powers of Nature, 324 ; allegories of, 325 ; apotheosis, 327. See Poly- theism Gold/en Age, poetical fiction of, 184 Good, and Evil. See Passions Grotins. 184, 275 (hiirciardin, 100. 210. 286 HannifiaJ. character of, by Livy. 285 Henri ?J'., amours of, 237 47 llrnriade, 20 , Hr rod inn, ,'527 Herodotus, 235, 321, 322, 331, 337, 312, 354, 357 Jlt'siml, 31."), 322, 326 History, comparison of with epic poetry, 11), V. ; study of, 388, f. : iMachiavel as an historian, 391 Hobbes, 181, 27 Homer, 22, 232, 320 Horace, 1 12, 208, 250, 207, 286, 2!)!), 31)1, 31,") Human Suture, unvarying principles of, 68 Human Reason, division of objects of. 20 ; its utmost effort, 27 Hume, 1)., dedication of his Four Dis- sertations to the author of 'Douglas,' 439, f . ; his essays, 307. f.--See Essays ; his account of British descent upon coast of Brittany, 443, f. Hume, Mr., M.I', for Soutlnvark, 446 Hiitcht'son, Mr,, taught that morality is only relative, 10 Hyde, de, Helig. Veterum Persarum, '333, 338 Ideas, origin of, 13; dependent on sen- sation, 15 ; of colours, 16; all are faint, ih.\ innate, 17; loose meaning of in Locke, ib. ; association of, 17. 144; principles connecting, 18, 43; effects of their connection on the pas- sions and imagination, 19, 14;), f., 199 ; relations of, 20, 161 ; copies of impressions, 51, (it Idolatry. .See Polytheism. Imagination, its freedom, 40, f ; its dis- tinction from belief, 41, f.; painful or pleasant stimulants of, 209, f. ; effect of physical accomplishments on, 22" ; of high position and wealth, 228 ; influence of cheerfulness on, 231. See Ideas Immortality of the Soul, natural reasons against, 400 ; moral arguments, 400. f. ; physical reasons, 403. See Future State. Impressions, all vivid. 17. See Ideas Impudence and Modest i/, 380, f.; allegory on, 382 Industry, quality of. 221 Inference, foundation of. 32, f. ; effect of custom, 38 Instinct, in animals. 88 International law, cases justifying vio- lation of, 198 Iphicrut/f. the Athenian. 242 Irish Ethic,*, 23-3. Seo Morals MKN Jacobins, tin-, 331 ,/nnsi'nist Mirad/s, 101, f . ; attempts by .Molinists to discredit, 102 Jesuits, subtleties of the, 193 J unticr, founded on utility, 179, f.; law* of, 187, f . ; whimsicalities of, 191; considerations on, 194, 272, f. ; it real value, 196; international, 107; a rule having exceptions, 257, f. ; conventional, 274 ; origin of, 275, f. Jitir>iaf, 175, 352 Ln Iln/yere, 5 Ij(icrd'iUers,\\\o, 188 Liberty and Sr<-rssi1y, fi,3 ; controversy on, 66, f. ; belief in liberty accounted for, 77 ; definil ion, 78 Listuck, Admiral, 450 Literature, plan necessary in composi- tions, 19: union proposed between men of learning and conversation, 367, f. ; women best judges of, 369. Seo Essays Lin/, 285, 350, 357 Locke, 5, 17. 47, 53,61, 2(57 Longinus, 232, 321 L Orient, British attack on Port, 452 Louis XIV., 345 IjOir and Marriage, 383, f. ; origin of, 385, f. ; allegory, 386. f. Lucian, 97, 98, 225, 322, 354. 355 Lucretius, 352, 391 J.-n.riin/, different opinions of, 178 Li/sias, 301 Machiavcl, 221, 340, 391 Macrobius, 336 Mulebranche. 5, 61, 191 3faic//ca?/s, thetwoprinciplesoftho, 213 Mathi matics. based on a supposition, 28 ; their advantage over moral science, 50 ; absurdities of, 128. f. Matter, vis inerti;e of. 60 Matters of fact, 22, f. ; reasoning on, 24, f.. 85. 28 ; nature of belief in. 40 ; incapable of demons; ration. 134 Meinory. quality of, 224 Men'al science, province of. 9. -Pea Morals 468 INDEX MET Metaphysics, 8 ; compared with mathe- matics, 58 ; absurdities of, 128, f. Milton, 22, 311 Mind, its operation involved in ob- scurity, 9; its faculties, 10; its pas- sions divided into two classes, 11 their scope, ib. ; difference of its per- ceptions, 13 ; power of, 54, f. ; its relation to the passions, 140 ; pro- perties of, 144; strength of, 222; greatness of, 232. See Morals Miracles, evidence of, 88, f., 94, f., 102, f. ; definitions of, 93 ; none in all his- tory, 94, f.; natural tendency to be- lieve in, 95, and to invent, 96 ; the product of barbarism, 97 ; reasons against, 99 ; hypothetical, 106 ; said to have been wrought by Vespasian, 99, f.; door-keeper of Saragossa, 101 ; the Abbe Paris, 101, f. ; Bacon's reasoning upon, 107 ; scriptural, 108 Molinists, try to discredit the Jansenist miracles, 102 Monks, their virtues rejected by men of sense, 246 ; an order of Pagan, 319 Montaigne, 242 Montesquieu, 190 Montgernon, M., 101 Morality, relation of self-love to, 207 Morals, science of, compared with ma- thematics, 50, f. ; ideas of, 51 ; theories of. in reference to the passions. 139- 166; general principles of, 169, f. ; distinctions in. 170, f.; object of specu- lations in, 171 ; method of analysis, 173; qualities determining, 176, f . ; rules of, 200, f. ; sceptical view of, 203 ; origin of, 204, 207 ; qualities useful to ourselves, 217, f . ; their connection with physical endowments, 226, f. ; qualities agreeable to our- selves, 231, f . ; agreeable to others, 239; monkish virtues, 246; savage and civilized, 250, f. ; the social virtues, 253, f. ; general principles of, 258, f . ; definition of virtue, 261 ; mental and physical beauty, 263, f. ; selfish system of, 266 ; verbal disputes about, 278, f. ; virtuous and vicious, 282, f. ; dialogue on. 289, f.; French, 297, f., 301, different opinions and customs, 300 ; modesty of Greek. 301 ; English and Roman, 302 ; bad influence of popular religion on. 357, f. ; a philo- sophic reformer of, 373 Natural History of Religion, 309 f. ftitiirf, her secret powers, 29, 32, 37 Necessity, our idea of, 67 ; in human conduct, 71 ; definitions of, 79, See Jjherttj and PLU Neivcastle, Duke of, 445 f. Nt-wton, 60, 196 Noaillcs, Cardinal, 102 Numitianus, Claudius Eutilius, 347 Orange, Maurice, Prince of, 242 Ossian's Po/ms, Hume on authenticity of, 415 1. ; a tiresome performance, ib. ; arguments against their genuine- ness, 416 f. Ovid, 19, 321, 322, 357 Paganism, See Theism, Polytheism Pan&tius, the Stoic, 350 Paris, VAbbe, alleged miracles of, 101 f. Pascal, compared with Diogenes, 304 Passions, theories of the, 139 f. ; good and evil, ib. ; mixed, 144 f. ; associa- tion of ideas in producing, 14of. ; pride and humility, 146 f . ; human sympathy, 208 f. ; influence of maxims on, 155 ; calming or exciting causes, 162 f., 209 f. ; effect of power and riches upon, 230 ; vulgar, 248 f. ; humane, 249 ; their influence in life, 251 ; none disinterested, 266 Pastoral Poetry, cause of the pleasure it gives, 2(9 Ptrceptions, difference of, 13 ; two classes of, 13, 14; reasoning on, 124 f. Pericles, 175 Persecution, religious, 336 f. ; among Egyptians, 337; among the Persians, 338 Personal Merit,- -See Motals, Passions, Qualities Petronius, 299 Philip of Macedon, described by Demosthenes, 234 Philosophers, two species of, 1,2; en- couragement of in Greece and Rome, 109 Philosophy, different kinds of, 1 f. ; study of, 1 ; accurate and just rea- soning, 9; abstract speculations, 11, 12; how to test its terms, 17; un- able to reconcile human actions with God, 84; birth of, 109; jealousy of, 1 09 f . ; the Academic or Sceptical, 35, 122 f., 132; selfish system of, 266 f. ; difference between modern and ancient methods, 287 Physical endowments, their influence on the moral sentiments, 226 f. Plato, 184, 198, 221, 286, 351, 385 Pliny, 314, 315, 324, 405, 414 Plutarch 92, 175, 198, 233, 285, 298 S40 INDEX. ?OE Poetry, epic, 20; dramatic, 21 ; pas- | toral, 209 ; charm and merit uf, 238 Politeness, rules of, 239 1'olt/bius, 204, 223, 2H(i Polytheism, the primary rrligion of man, 310 f. ; origin of, 313 f., 334 ; distinctive powers, of the gods, 315; deification (if causes, 317; medi.x-val, 320; gross ideas of Deity, 321 ; taking revenge on the gods, 322 ; various forms of, 325 f. ; general principles of, 32(5 f. ; originates Theism, 328 f . ; tutelar deities, 33fi ; inconvenience of, ib. ; tolerance of, 338 ; pagan heroes and Christian saints, 339 ; Erasidas and Bellar- mine, 340 Pompey, his blunders, 284 ; his reli- gious devotion, 347 Pope, 394 Power, idea of, in Metaphysics, 51 f . ; of the will, 63 ; Locke on, ib. ; mental, 54 f. ; idea of relative, 04 Prejudices, moral, 371 f. J'ricfe and humility, passions of, 14fi f. ; meanings of pride, 281, See Pas- sions Prior, M.. 1 60 Probability, 47 f. Property, laws regulating, 189f. ; not transferable by the will alone, 103 : methods of acquisition, 194; origin of, 275 f. Prophecies, ?ee Mirac/> ,tr->y reason by argument, 127; sceptic's objections to moral evidmee, 130 ; no good resulting from, 131 ; objec- tions fatal to, ib. ; academical or mitigated, 132 f . ; assertion as to origin of rditrious vors-hip. 177; during Ciceronian age. 317, ^0 Philosophy Schoolmen, their ambiguity and cir- cumlocution, 1 7 Sciences, abstract, objects of. 1 '60 f ; other sciences. 135 Sr"ffici.<,,>f. list of, 461 f. Scripture,", miracles related. 108 4TO INDEX. SOT Scythians, martial custom of, 235 ; the men blinded by the women, 384 Sctf-Love, its relation to Morals, 207 ; 266 f. ; vulgar passions included in, 2-18 Self -Satisfaction, quality of, 223 Seneca, 302, 322, 410 Sense, perceptions of, 124 f. Shakespeare, 232 Shaftesbury, Lord. 170 Sign, a, wliat it is, 64 Social Virtues, their utility their chief merit, 203 f . ; different feelings ex- cited by, 214; pretensions to, 225 their merit beyond dispute, ib. Society, of political, 197 ; rules of justice in, ib. Socrates, 236, 242, 351 Solon, 2,10 Soul, its union with the body, 54 ; essay on immortality of, 399 f. See Immortality Sparta, equality in, 188 Spartian, 347 Spencer, 235 Statilius, maxim, 3721 Station in Lif-/, advantages of the middle, 375 St. Clair, Lieut. -Gen., his expedition against lirittany described by Hume, 443 ; his interview with the King, 444; his failure, 458 St. Evremond, 220, 232 Strabo. 319 Svetonius, 100, 203, 211, 322, 338, 345, 347, 403 Suei'i, their dress designed to terrify their enemies, 235 Suicide, essay on, 406 f. ; arguments for and against, 407 f. ; not pro- hibited by Scripture, 414. See Essays Superstition, vagaries of, 191, 344 f., 357; growth of. 218; women the leaders of, 319; medieval, 320; Egyptian, 345 ; of the Stoics, 350 ; instances of Xenophon's, 351 ; causes of. 359 ; ignorance the mother of devotion, 363 Sympathy, degrees of, 214 f . ; no one without, 219 Tacitus. 99, 100, 211, 233, 328. 31 5. 350, 410 Talents. See Qualities, Morals Terence, 22 Teren t ia Cicero's w i t> . 317 XEN Theism, origin of, 328 f. ; advantages and disadvantages of, 336 ; intoler- ance of, 337, See Polytheism Theists, ancient philosophical, 324 Thoughts, confined within narrow limits, 14; analysis of, 15. See Ideas Thucydides, 210, 235, 340 Tillotson, his argument against the Real Presence, 88 Timon, why he embraced Alcibiades, 213 Timotheus, 354 Toliration, religious, 336 f. ; of idola- ters, 337; English and Dutch, 338 Tranquillity, philosophical, 235 f. Turenne, Marshal, 220 Tyrannicide, extolled in ancient times, 178 Ultimate Cause. See Cause and Effect. Understanding, doubts as to the opera- tion of, 20 ; its ignorance and weak- ness, 63 Unity of action in literary compositions, 20, 21 Universe, system of, 82 ; geometrical and metaphysical absurdities, 128 Utility, why it pleases, '202 f. ; in ani- mate and inanimate objects, ib. Vanity, quality of, 241 f. Varro, 346, 405 Verrius Flaccus, 336 Vespasian, said to have wrought miracles, 99 f. Vice, compared with Virtue, 256 Virgil, 163, 227 Virtue, character and utilitv of. 253 282 Vitfllius, humiliation of, '233 Volition, influence of, 54 f. Walpole. Sir It., character of, 395 f. Wi/A'i/'ti Epigoniad, unpublished letter of Hume to ' Critical Review,' 42.) f. Will, influence of, 54 f. ; does not by itself transfer property, 193 ; Roman Catholic doctrine as to, il>. Woo/ax ton, Mr., 184 nphnn, 203, 227, 35 1; his supur- it ion, 351 THK PHILOSOPHICAL WOEKS OF DAVIT) HUME VOL. IV. THE PHILOSOPHICAL WO11KS DAVID HUME EDITED BY T. ][. GKKEX AXI, T. H. GROSE LA1K I l:l.I."\V AND TUTlMl OK UALUOL FELLOW AND Tl TIM; OI' Ql COLLEGE, OXKOH1 Col.LKOK, OXFIM;I> IN FOUK VOLUMES VOL. IV. NEW IMPHESSION LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO. 3D .PATERNOSTER ROW, LONDON NEW YORK AND BOMBAY 1898