ELEMENTS 
 
 OF 
 
 MORAL SCIENCE 
 
 VOL. L
 
 ELEMENTS 
 
 OF 
 
 MORAL SCIENCE. 
 
 Br JAMES BEATTIE, ll.d. 
 
 tkofessor of moral philosophy and logic is the mariscu \ t 
 
 COLLEGE, AND UNIVERSITY OF ABERDEEN. 
 
 IX TWO VOLUMES. 
 
 VOL. 1. 
 
 THE SECOND EDITION. 
 
 EDINBURGH, 
 
 PRINTED FOR WILLIAM CREECH; 
 AND T. CADELL AND W. OAVIES, LONDON. 
 
 1807.
 
 tfVXDELl, D01G, AXD iTETESSOSy PRIKTEttS, r.DWBVRCH.
 
 6J 
 
 )O0Q> 
 
 ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 These Volumes contain an Abridgement, 
 and for the most part a very brief one, of 
 a series of Discourses, delivered in Ma- 
 rischal College, on Moral Philosophy and 
 Logic. 
 
 It has long been the Author's practice, 
 with a view to assist the memory of his 
 hearers, to make them write Notes of each 
 discourse. But as that was necessarily 
 done in haste, inaccuracy was unavoid- 
 able : and many of them have expressed 
 their wishes that he would put it in their 
 power to procure correct copies of the 
 whole Summary, a little enlarged in the 
 
 ?noo<o-
 
 doctrinal parts, and with the addition of a 
 few illustrative examples. This is one of 
 his motives to the present publication ; 
 which some are pleased to think has been 
 too long delayed : and which is become 
 the more excusable, as hundreds of manu- 
 script copies of the Notes, many of them 
 incomplete as well as incorrect, are now 
 extant ; and as several extracts from them 
 have got, he knows not how, into print, 
 with more imperfections, it may be, than 
 could reasonably be imputed to the author. 
 He begs leave to add, as another reason 
 for making these papers public, that he 
 has been advised to it by many persons, 
 whose judgment and love of good learning 
 entitle them at all times to his most re- 
 spectful attention. 
 
 It will no doubt be observed, that some 
 of the following topics, though brevity has 
 been aimed at in all, are treated more 
 compendiously than others. This could, he 
 thinks, be accounted for ; but not without
 
 Vll 
 
 much egotism, and a detail of particulars 
 neither necessary nor interesting. 
 
 No body, he presumes, will be offended, 
 if in these papers there be found, as there 
 certainly will, numberless thoughts and ar- 
 guments which may be found elsewhere. 
 It will be considered, that, as a professor's 
 province is generally assigned him by pub- 
 lic authority, his business is rather to col- 
 lect and arrange his materials, than to- in- 
 vent or make them. In his illustrations, in 
 order to render what he teaches as perspi- 
 cuous and entertaining as possible, he may 
 give ample scope to his inventive powers: 
 but, in preparing a summary of his prin- 
 ciples, he will be more solicitous to make 
 a collection of useful truths, however old, 
 than to amuse his readers with paradox, 
 and theories of his own contrivance. 
 And let it be considered further, that, as 
 all the practical, and most of the specula- 
 tive, parts of Moral Science, have been 
 frequently and fully explained by the 
 ablest writers, he would, if he should at-
 
 Vlll 
 
 feet novelty in these matters, neither do 
 justice to his subject, nor easily clear him* 
 self from the charge of ostentation. 
 
 Of such of the Author's Lectures as have 
 already, under the name of Essays, -been 
 published in the same form in which they 
 were at first composed, particularly those 
 on Language, Memory, and Imagination, 
 he has made this abridgement as brief as 
 was consistent with any degree of perspi- 
 cuity. Some may think, that he ought 
 to have left out those parts ; and he once 
 thought so himself. But it occurred to 
 him, that many persons, into whose hands 
 this book would perhaps come, may have 
 never seen those printed lectures, and pos- 
 sibly never would see them ; that he could 
 not with a good grace recommend it to 
 any body to purchase the volumes in which 
 they are to be found ; and that, if those 
 parts should be wholly omitted, his System, 
 as exhibited in this Epitome, would have 
 a mutilated appearance, and be still more 
 imperfect than it is.
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 OF THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
 Pape 
 
 Introduction xi 
 
 PART I. PSYCHOLOGY 1 
 
 CHAP. I. PERCEPTIVE FACULTIES 2 
 
 Sect. 1 . Some words explained 3 
 
 2. The Faculty of Speech 10 
 
 3. Essentials of Language 26 
 
 4. Perception, or External Sensation .... 53 
 
 5. Consciousness, or Reflection 64 
 
 6. Memory 66 
 
 7. Imagination 76 
 
 8. Dreaming 88 
 
 9. Some Secondary Sensations 93 
 
 10.' Sympathy 126 
 
 11. Taste 134 
 
 CHAP. II. ACTIVE POWERS 144 
 
 1 . Free Agency ib. 
 
 2. Remarks on the Will 158 
 
 3. Principles of Action 16S 
 
 4. Subject continued. Passions $ Afjectionsll 4> 
 
 5. Passions and Affections 1S9 
 
 6. Passions and Affections 254 
 
 7. Of the Passions as they display them- 
 
 selves in the look and gesture. . . . 2C2
 
 X CONTENTS. 
 
 PART II. NATURAL THEOLOGY. 
 
 Page 
 
 Introduction 277 
 
 CHAP. I. OF THE DIVINE EXISTENCE 281 
 
 CHAP. II. OF THE DIVINE ATTRIBUTES .... 292 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 Of the Incorporeal Nature of the Soul 300 
 
 Of the Immortality of the Soul 308 
 
 PART III. MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 Introduction 327 
 
 PART FIRST OF ETHICS. 
 CHAP.I. OF THE GENERALNATUREOFVIRTUE 332 
 
 chap. ii. . .The subject continued. Miscella- 
 neous Observations 357 
 
 CHAP. III. OF THE NATURE AND FOUNDATION 
 OF PARTICULAR VIRTUES. 
 
 Sect. 1. Of Piety, or the duties we owe to God 383 
 
 2. Of the duties men owe to one another 395 
 
 3. Of the duties whichamanoivesto himself '403
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 1. JuLuman knowledge has been divided into his- 
 tory, philosophy, mathematics, and poetry or fable.* 
 History records the actions of men, and the other 
 appearances of the visible universe. Poetry or 
 fable is an imitation of history, according to pro- 
 bability, and exhibits things, not as they are, but 
 as we might suppose them to be. Philosophy in- 
 vestigates the laws of nature, with a view to the 
 regulation of human conduct, and the enlarge- 
 ment of human power. The mathematical sciences 
 ascertain relations and proportions in quantity and 
 number. History and philosophy are founded in 
 the knowledge of real things. Mathematical truths 
 result from the nature of the quantities or num- 
 bers compared together. Poetical representations 
 are approved of, if they resemble real things, and 
 are themselves agreeable. 
 
 * Bacon considers poetry as a part of human knowledge, 
 and mathematics as an appendage to natural philosophy.
 
 xii INTRODUCTION. 
 
 2. These parts of knowledge are not always 
 kept distinct or separate. Philosophical investiga- 
 tion may rind a place in history, and historical nar- 
 rative is often necessary in philosophy. Many 
 things in natural philosophy are ascertained and il- 
 lustrated by mathematical reasoning. Poetical de- 
 scription may contribute to the embellishment of 
 history ; as may be seen in many passages of Livy, 
 Tacitus, and other great historians. And true 
 narrative and sound reasoning may in poetry be 
 both ornamental and useful, as we see in many 
 parts of Paradise Lost* 
 
 3. History is referred to memory, because it 
 records what is past, whereof without memory 
 men would have no knowledge. Poetry is the 
 work of fancy or imagination, that is, of the in- 
 ventive powers of man j which however must be 
 regulated by the knowledge of nature. Philoso- 
 phy and mathematics are improved and prosecuted 
 by a right use of reason : but there is this differ- 
 ence between them, that to the discovery of ma- 
 thematical-truth reason is alone sufficient ; where- 
 as, to form a philosopher, reason and knowledge 
 of nature are both necessary. Mathematics, there- 
 fore, though an instrument of philosophy, and an 
 appendage to it, cannot with propriety be called a 
 part of it.
 
 INTRODUCTION. liii 
 
 4. Of philosophy different definitions and de- 
 scriptions have been given, according to the dif- 
 ferent views which have been taken of it. As im- 
 proved by Bacon, Boyle, Newton, and other great 
 men, it may now be defined, the knowledge of 
 nature applied to practical and useful purposes. It 
 js useful in these four respects : first, because it 
 exercises, and consequently improves, the rational 
 powers of man : secondly, because it gives plea- 
 sure by gratifying curiosity : thirdly, because it 
 regulates the opinions of men, and directs their 
 actions : and, fourthly, because it enables us to dis- 
 cover in part the existence and attributes of the 
 Supreme Being, the Creator of all things, who 
 has established those general principles, which are 
 called the laws of nature, and according to which 
 all the phenomena of the universe are produced. 
 
 5. Without some acquaintance with nature, we 
 could not act at all, either in pursuing good, or in 
 avoiding evil j we should not know that fire would 
 burn or food nourish us. In brutes, whose expe- 
 rience, compared with ours, is very limited, the 
 want of this knowledge is supplied, as far as may 
 be necessary for them or beneficial to us, by na- 
 tural instinct. We discover causes by comparing 
 things together, and observing the relations, re- 
 semblances, and connections, that take place among
 
 xiT INTRODUCTION. 
 
 them, and the effects produced by their being ap- 
 plied to one another. And, by comparing several 
 causes together, we may sometimes trace them up 
 to one common cause, or general principle ; as 
 Newton resolved the laws of motion into the vis 
 hiertnv of matter. 
 
 6. As all philosophy is founded in the knowledge 
 of nature, that is, of the things that really exist ; 
 and as all the things that really exist, as far as we 
 are concerned in them and capable of observing 
 them, are either bodies or spirits, philosophy con- 
 sists of two parts, the Philosophy of Body, and the 
 Philosophy of Spirit or Mind. The latter, which 
 is our present business, has been sometimes called 
 the Abstract Philosophy, because it treats of things 
 abstracted or distinguished from matter \ and some- 
 times it is called Moral Philosophy, on account of 
 its influence on life and manners. It consists, like 
 every other branch of science, of a speculative 
 and a practical part : the former being employed 
 in ascertaining the appearances, and tracing out 
 the laws of nature ; the latter, in applying this 
 knowledge to practical and useful purposes. But 
 to keep these two parts always, and entirely dis- 
 tinct, would, if at all practicable, occasion no little 
 inconvenience.
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 XT 
 
 7. The speculative part of the philosophy of 
 mind has been called Pneumatology. It inquires 
 into the nature of those spirits or minds, whereof 
 we may have certain knowledge, and wherewith 
 it concerns us to be acquainted ; and those are the 
 Deity and the human mind. Of other spirits, as 
 good and evil angels, and the vital principle of 
 brutes, (if this may be called spirit), though we 
 know that such things exist, we have not from the 
 light of nature any certain knowledge, nor is it 
 necessary that we should. Pneumatology, there- 
 fore, consists of two parts, first, Natural Theology, 
 which evinces the being and attributes of the Deity, 
 as far as these are discoverable by a right use of 
 reason ; and, secondly, the Philosophy of the Hu- 
 man Mind, which some writers have termed Psycho- 
 logy. We begin with the latter, because it is more 
 immediately the object of our experience. An 
 Appendix will be subjoined, concerning the immor- 
 tality and incorporeal nature of the human soul. 
 
 8. The mind of man may be improved, in re- 
 spect, first of action, and secondly, of knowledge. 
 The practical part, therefore, of this abstract phi- 
 losophy consists of two parts, Moral Philosophy 
 (strictly so called), which treats of the improve- 
 ment of our active or moral powers ; and Logic, 
 which treats of the improvement of our intellectual
 
 xvi INTRODUCTION. 
 
 faculties. Thus we see that the moral sciences may 
 be reduced to four, psychology, natural the- 
 ology, moral philosophy, and logic. These, 
 with their several divisions and subdivisions, I shall 
 consider in that order which may be found the 
 most convenient.
 
 ELEMENTS 
 
 Off 
 
 MORAL SCIENCE. 
 
 PART FIRST. 
 
 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 9. HPHIS science explains the nature of the se- 
 veral powers or faculties of the human 
 mind. By the faculties of the mind, I understand 
 those capacities which it has of exerting itself in 
 perceiving, thinking, remembering, imagining, &c. ; 
 and by the mind itself, or soul, or spirit ,* of man, 
 I mean that part of the human constitution which 
 is capable of perceiving, thinking, and beginning 
 motion, and without which our body would be a 
 senseless, motionless, and lifeless thing. These 
 
 * These words are not strictly synonymous ; but it is need- 
 less to be more explicit in this place. 
 
 VOL. I. A
 
 2 ELEMENTS OF TART 1. 
 
 faculties were long ago divided into those of per- 
 ception and those of volition; and the divi- 
 sion, though not accurate, may be adopted here* 
 By the perceptive powers we are supposed to ac- 
 quire knowledge ; and by the powers of volition, 
 or will, we are said to exert ourselves in aclion. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE PERCEPTIVE FACULTIES* 
 
 10. These may perhaps be reduced to nine. 1. 
 External sensation, by which we acquire the know- 
 ledge of bodies and their qualities. 2. Conscious- 
 ness, by which we attend to the thoughts of our 
 minds, and which is also called reflection. 3* 
 Memory. 4. Imagination. 5. Dreaming. 6. The 
 faculty of speech, whereby we discover what is 
 passing in the minds of one another. 7. Abstrac- 
 tion, a thing to be explained by and by. 8. Rea- 
 son, judgment, or understanding, by which we 
 perceive the difference between truth and falsehood. 
 9. Conscience, or the moral faculty, whereby 
 we distinguish between virtue and vice, between 
 what ought to be done and what ought not to be 
 done. 
 
 11. Whether this distribution o our perceptive
 
 CHAP. I. I. MORAL SCIENCE. 3 
 
 powers be accurate, or sufficiently comprehensive, 
 will perhaps appear afterwards ; at present we need 
 not stop to inquire. I shall consider them, not in 
 the order in which I have just now named them, 
 but in that order that shall seem the most conve- 
 nient. And I begin with the faculty of speech : 
 that subject being connected with some others that 
 my hearers are already acquainted with, and there- 
 fore likely to be attended with little difficulty, even 
 to those who are not much accustomed to abstract 
 inquiry ; to which it will, for that reason, serve as 
 a proper and easy introduction. But, before I 
 proceed to it, a few remarks must be premised for 
 the purpose of explaining some words which will 
 frequently occur in the course of these inquiries. 
 
 SECTION I. 
 
 Some words explained. 
 
 12. That we exist, and are continually employed 
 about a variety of things, is certain and self-evident. 
 Sometimes we perceive things themselves; and this 
 happens when they are so far present with us as to 
 affect our organs or powers of sensation : thus we 
 just now perceive light, and the other things around 
 us. Sometimes we think of things when they are 
 not in this sense present with us. Thus at nud- 
 night, or when our eyes are shut, we can think of 
 light, and the other things we have seen or heard 
 
 A2
 
 4 ELEMENTS OF PART I. 
 
 during the day. When we thus think of that 
 which we do not perceive, that is, which does not 
 affect our powers of sensation or perception, we 
 are said, in the language of modern philosophy, 
 to have an idea or a notion of it. Habere notionem 
 rei alicujus, is a Latin phrase of like import. 
 
 IS. The word idea has been applied to many 
 purposes ; and, from the inaccurate manner in 
 which some writers have used it, has proved the 
 occasion of many errors. It has been used to de- 
 note opinion, as when we speak of the ideas of 
 Aristotle, meaning his opinions or doctrines : but 
 this sense of the word is rather French than Eng- 
 lish. Sometimes it means one's particular way of 
 conceiving or comprehending a thing ; as when we 
 say, the Epicurean philosophy, according to Ci- 
 cero's idea of it, was very unfriendly to virtue. 
 It was long used to signify an imaginary thing, by 
 the intervention of which we were supposed to per- 
 ceive external things, or bodies. For many ancient 
 and modern philosophers fancied, that the soul 
 could perceive nothing but what was contiguous to 
 it, or in the same place with it ; and, as the bodies 
 we perceive ivithout us are not in the same place 
 with the soul, (for, if they were, they would all 
 be within the human body), it was said that we did 
 not perceive those bodies themselves, but only 
 ideas or unsubstantial images of them, which pro- 
 ceeded from them, and, penetrating the human 
 body, might be in the same place with the soul,
 
 CHAP. I. I. MORAL SCIENCE. 5 
 
 or contiguous to it. Ail this is not only fiction, 
 but unintelligible. We perceive bodies themselves; 
 and can as easily understand how the soul should 
 perceive what is distant, as how it should perceive 
 what is contiguous or near.. 
 
 14. In the Platonic, and perhaps too in the 
 Pythagorean philosophy, ideas are those external, 
 self-existent, and uncreated models, prototypes, or 
 patterns, according to which the Deity made all 
 things of an eternal and uncreated matter ; and 
 which, while he employs himself in creation, he 
 continually looks upon : whence it is supposed that 
 the word ilta. (from et'luv, to see or behold) is de- 
 rived. Cicero gives two Latin terms corresponding 
 to idea, in this sense of the word ; and those are 
 species and forma. The first (derived from the old 
 Latin verb specio, I behold) is more according to 
 analogy ; but is inconvenient, because those ob- 
 lique cases in the plural specierum and speciebus 
 cannot be admitted into good Latin ; and therefore 
 our author prefers the other word forma, to whose 
 plural cases there can be no objection. Of these 
 self- existent ideas Plato was, as Cicero says, mar- 
 vellously fond j supposing that there was some- 
 thing divine in their nature. The word idea, in 
 this sense of it, we shall not often have occasion 
 to repeat. 
 
 15. The same word has still another meaning 
 among philosophers ; having been used to denote 
 a thought of the mind, which may ,be expressed 
 
 A3
 
 O ELEMENTS OF PART I, 
 
 by a general term, or common appellative, that is, 
 by a noun which is not a proper name. The 
 words man, horse, mountain, &c. are significant 
 of ideas in this sense of the term, and are general 
 names or common appellatives, because they be- 
 long equally to every man, every horse, every 
 mountain. That this may be the better under- 
 stood, and in order to prepare my hearers for some 
 things that will immediately follow, it is proper to 
 introduce here a few remarks on that faculty of 
 our nature, which some have called abstraction, or 
 the power of forming general ideas by arranging 
 things in classes ; a faculty, which the brutes pro- 
 bably have not, and without which both language 
 and science would be impossible. 
 
 16. All the things in nature are individual 
 things : that is, every thing is itself and one, and 
 not another or more than one. But when a num- 
 ber of individual things are observed to resemble 
 each other in one or more particulars of im- 
 portance, we refer them to a class, tribe, or species, 
 to which we give a name ; and this name belongs 
 equally to every thing comprehended in the species. 
 Thus, all animals of a certain form resemble each 
 other in having four feet ; and therefore we con- 
 sider them as in this respect of the same species, 
 to which we give the name quadruped; and this 
 name belongs equally to every individual of the 
 species ; from the elephant, one of the greatest, to 
 the mouse, one of the least.
 
 HAP. I. I. MORAL SCIENCE, 7 
 
 17. Again, observing several species to re- 
 semble each other in one or more particulars of 
 importance, we refer them to a higher class, called 
 a genus, to which we give a name ; which name 
 belongs equally to every species comprehended in 
 the genus, and to every individual comprehended 
 in the several species. Thus all the tribes of living 
 things resemble each other in this respect, that 
 they have life ; whence we refer them to a genus 
 called animal; and this name belongs equally to 
 every species of animals, to men, beasts, fishes, 
 fowls, and insects, and to each individual man, 
 beast, fish, fowl, and insect. 
 
 18. Further, All things animated and inanimate 
 resemble each other in this respect, that they are 
 created ; whence we refer them to a genus still 
 higher, which may be called creature : a name 
 which belongs equally to every genus and species 
 of created things, and to each individual thing 
 that is created. Further still, all beings whatever 
 exist, or are, and in this respect may be said to 
 resemble each other : in which view we refer them 
 to a genus still higher, called being, which is the 
 highest possible genus. 
 
 19. The English word kind is said to have been 
 originally of the same import with genus, and sort 
 the same with species. But the words kind and 
 sort have long been confounded by our best writers ; 
 and hence, when we would speak accurately on 
 this subject, we are obliged to take the words genus
 
 8 ELEMENTS OF PART I. 
 
 and species from another language. All those 
 thoughts or conceptions of the mind, which we 
 express by names significant of genera and species, 
 may be called general ideas, and have been by 
 some philosophers called ideas simply. And those 
 thoughts or conceptions, which we express by pro- 
 per names, or by general names so qualified by 
 pronouns as to denote individual things or persons, 
 may be called singular or particular ideas, and 
 were by some English writers of the last century 
 termed notions. In this sense of the words, one 
 has a notion of Socrates, Etna, this town, that 
 house; and an idea of man, mountain, house, town. 
 It were to be wished, that the words idea and no- 
 tion had been still thus distinguished , but they 
 have long been applied to other purposes. And 
 now idea seems to express a clearer, and notion a 
 fainter, conception. 
 
 20. Of the manner in which the mind forms 
 general ideas, so much has been said by metaphy- 
 sical writers, that without great expence of time, 
 not even an abridgement of it could be given : and 
 I apprehend it would not be easy to make such an 
 abridgement useful, or even intelligible. It ap- 
 pears to me, that, as all things are individuals, all 
 thoughts must be so too. A thought therefore is 
 still but one thought ; and cannot, as such, have 
 that universality in its appearance, which a general 
 term has in its signification. In short, as I under- 
 stand the words, to have general ideas, or general
 
 CHAP. I. $ I. MORAL SCIENCE. 9 
 
 conceptions, is nothing more, than to know the 
 meaning and use of general terms, or common ap- 
 pellatives. Proper names occur in language much 
 more seldom than general terms. And therefore, 
 if we had not this faculty of arranging things 
 according to their genera and species, general 
 terms would not be understood, and consequently 
 language (as already observed) would be impos- 
 sible. 
 
 21. There is another sort of abstraction, which 
 affects both our thinking and our speaking ; and 
 takes place, when we consider any quality of a 
 thing separately from the thing itself, and speak 
 and think of it as if it were itself a thing, and 
 capable of being characterised by qualities. Thus 
 from beautiful animal, moving animal, cruel ani- 
 mal, separate the qualities, and make nouns of 
 them, and they become beauty, motion, cruelty ; 
 which are called in grammar abstract nouns ; and 
 which, as if they stood for real things, may be 
 characterised by qualities, great beauty, swift mo- 
 tion, barbarous cruelty. These qualities, too, may 
 be abstracted and changed into nouns, greatness, 
 swiftness, barbarity, &c. Of these abstract nouns 
 there are multitudes in every language.
 
 lO ELEMENTS QF PART I. 
 
 SECTION II. 
 Of the Faculty of Speech. 
 
 22. The philosophy of speech is an important 
 and curious part of science. In treating of it, I 
 shall, first, explain the origin and general nature 
 of speech ; and, secondly, consider the essentials 
 of language, by shewing how many sorts of words 
 are necessary for expressing all the varieties of 
 human thought, and what is the nature and use of 
 each particular sort. 
 
 Origin and general Nature of Speech. 
 
 23. Man is the only animal that can speak. 
 For speech implies the arrangement and separation 
 of our thoughts ; and this is the work of reason 
 and reflection. Articulate sounds resembling speech 
 may be uttered by parrots, by ravens, and even by 
 machines ; but this is not speech, because it im- 
 plies neither reflection, nor reason, nor any sepa- 
 ration of successive thoughts ; because, in a word, 
 the machine or parrot does not, and cannot, un- 
 derstand the meaning of what it is thus made to 
 utter. 
 
 24. The natural voices of brute animals are not, 
 however, without meaning. But they differ from 
 speech in these three respects. First, man speaks
 
 CHAP. I. 11. MORAL SCIENCH. 11 
 
 by art and imitation ; whereas brutes utter their 
 voices without being taught, that is, by the instinct 
 of their nature. Secondly, the voices of brutes 
 are not separable into simple elementary sounds, 
 as the speech of man is ; nor do they admit of 
 that amazing variety whereof our articulate voices 
 are susceptible. And, thirdly, they seem to ex- 
 press, not separate thoughts or ideas, but such 
 feelings, pleasant or painful, as it may be neces- 
 sary, for the good of those animals, or for the 
 benefit of man, that they should have the power 
 of uttering. 
 
 25. We learn to speak, by imitating the speech 
 of others ; so that he who is born quite deaf, and 
 continues so, must of necessity be dumb. In- 
 stances there have been of persons, who had heard 
 in the beginning of life and afterwards became 
 deaf, using a strange sort of language, made up 
 partly of words they had learned, and partly of 
 other words they had invented. Such persons 
 could guess at the meaning of what was spoken to 
 them in their own dialect, by looking the speaker 
 in the face, and observing the lips, and those other 
 parts of the face, which are put in motion by 
 speaking. 
 
 26. We speak, in order to make our thoughts 
 known to others. Now thoughts themselves are 
 not visible, nor can they be perceived by any out- 
 ward sense. If, therefore, I make my thoughts 
 perceptible to another man, it must be by means
 
 12 ELEMENTS 0? PART 1. 
 
 of signs, which he and I understand in the same 
 sense. The signs that express human thought, so 
 as to make it known to others, are of two sorts, 
 natural and artificial. 
 
 27. The natural signs of thought are those out- 
 ward appearances in the eyes, complexion, features, 
 gesture, and voice, which accompany certain emo- 
 tions of the mind, and which, being common to 
 all men, are universally understood. For example, 
 uplifted hands and eyes, with bended knees, are 
 in every part of the world known to signify earnest 
 entreaty ; fiery eyes, wrinkled brows, quick mo- 
 tions, and loud voice, betoken anger ; paleness and 
 trembling are signs of fear, tears of sorrow, laugh- 
 ter of merriment, &c. Compared with the mul- 
 titude of our thoughts, these natural signs are but 
 few, and therefore insufficient for the purposes of 
 speech. Hence artificial signs have been univer- 
 sally adopted, which derive their meaning from 
 human contrivance, and are not understood ex- 
 cept by those who have been taught the use of 
 ihem. 
 
 28. These artificial signs may be divided into 
 visible and audible. The former are used by 
 dumb men ; by ships that sail in company ; and 
 sometimes by people at land, who, by means of 
 fire and other signals, communicate intelligence 
 from one place to another : but for the ordinary 
 purposes of life such contrivances would be in- 
 convenient and insufficient. And therefore audible
 
 CHAP. I. 11. MORAL SCIENCt. ] 3 
 
 signs, performed by the human voice, are in all 
 nations used in order to communicate thought. 
 For the human voice has an endless variety of ex- 
 pression, and is in all its varieties easily managed, 
 and distinctly perceptible by the human ear, in 
 darkness as well as in light. 
 
 29. Human voice is air sent out from the lungs, 
 and by the windpipe conveyed through the aperture 
 of the larynx, where the breath operates upon the 
 membranous lips of that aperture, so as to pro- 
 duce distinct and audible sound ; in a way re- 
 sembling that in which the lips of the reed of a 
 hautboy produce musical sound when one blows 
 into them. We may indeed breathe strongly, 
 without uttering what is called voice : and, in or- 
 der to transform our breath into vocal sound, it 
 seems necessary, that, by an act of our will, which 
 long practice has rendered habitual, we should 
 convey a sort of tenseness to the parts through 
 which the breath passes. New-born infants do 
 this instinctively ; which changes their breathing, 
 when stronger than usual, into crying. And per- 
 sons in great pain do the same j which transforms 
 their breathing into groans. 
 
 30. The aperture of the larynx is called the 
 glottis, and, when we swallow food or drink, is 
 covered with a lid called the epi-glouis. As our 
 voice rises in its tone, the glottis becomes narrower, 
 and wider as the voice becomes more grave or 
 deep. Now any ordinary human voice may sound
 
 14 ELEMENTS OF PART t. 
 
 a great variety of tones - r and each variety of tone 
 is occasioned by a variation in the diameter of the 
 glottis. And therefore, the muscles and fibres, 
 that minister to the motion of these parts, must be 
 exceedingly minute and delicate. 
 
 31. One may use one's voice without articula- 
 tion ; as when one sings a tune without applying 
 syllables to it : in which case the vocal organs per- 
 form no other part than that of a wind instrument 
 of music. But speech is made up of articulate 
 voices: and articulation is performed by those parts 
 of the throat and mouth, which the voice passes 
 through in its way from the larynx to the open 
 air ; namely, by the tongue, palate, throat, lips, 
 and nostrils. Speech is articulated voice : whisper- 
 ing is articulated breath. 
 
 32. Of vocal articulated sounds the simplest 
 are those which proceed through an open mouth, 
 and which are called vowel sounds. In transmit- 
 ting these, the opening of the mouth may be 
 pretty large, or somewhat smaller, or very small ; 
 and thus three different vowel sounds may be 
 formed, each of which may admit of three vari- 
 eties, according as the voice, in its passage through 
 the inside of the mouth, is acted upon by the lips, 
 the tongue, or the throat. In this way, nine sim- 
 ple vowel sounds may be produced. There are 
 ten in the English tongue, though we have not a 
 vowel letter for each. Indeed our alphabet of 
 vowels is very imperfect. In other languages there
 
 CHAP. L 11. MORAL SCIENCE* 15 
 
 may be vowel sounds different from any we have : 
 that of the French u is one. 
 
 33. When the voice in its passage through the 
 mouth is totally intercepted by the articulating or- 
 gans coming together, or strongly compressed by 
 their near approach to one another, there is formed 
 another sort of articulation, which in writing is 
 marked by a character called a consonant. Now 
 silence is the effect of a total interception of the 
 voice, and indistinctness of sound is produced by 
 a strong compression of it. And therefore, a 
 consonant can have no distinct sound, unless it be 
 preceded or followed by a vowel, or opening of 
 the mouth. 
 
 34. The variety of consonants, formed by a total 
 interception of the voice, may be thus accounted 
 for* The voice, in its passage through the inside 
 of the mouth, may be totally intercepted by the 
 lips, or by the tongue and palate, or by the tongue 
 and throat ; and each of these interceptions may 
 happen, when the voice is directed to go out by 
 the mouth only, or by the nose only, or partly by 
 the mouth and partly by the nose. In this way 
 We form nine primitive consonants ; which are di- 
 vided into mutes, p, t, k ; semimutes, b, d, 
 and g, as sounded in egg ; and semivowels, m, n, 
 and that sound of ng which is heard in king, 
 and which, though we mark it by two letters, is 
 as simple a sound as any other. The mutes arc 
 -so called, because their sound instantly and totally
 
 16 ELEMENTS OF PART I. 
 
 ceases on bringing the organs together ; the semi- 
 mutes, because a little faint sound is heard in the 
 nostrils, or roof of the mouth, after the organs 
 intercept the voice ; and the semivowels, because 
 their sound, escaping through the nostrils, may be 
 continued for a considerable time after the voice is 
 intercepted. 
 
 35. When the voice, directed to go out by the 
 mouth only, or by the mouth and nose jointly, is 
 not totally intercepted, but strongly compressed, in 
 its passage, there is formed another class of con- 
 sonants, which are the aspirations of the mutes and 
 semimutes. Thus p is changed into f; b into v; 
 t into that sound of th which is heard in thing; 
 p into that sound of th which is heard in this, 
 that, thine. The semivowels do not admit of as- 
 piration, or at least are not aspirated in our lan- 
 guage. And we have some irregular consonants, 
 that cannot be accounted for according to this 
 mode of arrangement, as l and r, s, and sh ; 
 and in other tongues there may be consonant as 
 well as vowel sounds, with which we are not ac- 
 quainted. 
 
 36. In English the simple elementary sounds 
 are thirty-two or thirty-three ; namely, ten vowels, 
 and twenty-two or twenty-three consonants. Our 
 alphabet, therefore, if it were perfect, would con- 
 sist of thirty-two or thirty-three letters. But, like 
 other alphabets, it is imperfect, having several un- 
 necessary letters, and wanting some which it ought
 
 CHAP. I. II. MORAL SCIENCE. \1 
 
 to have. Our spelling is equally imperfect ; for 
 many of our words have letters which are not 
 sounded at all ; and the same letter has not in 
 every word the same sound. Hence some inge- 
 nious men have thought of reforming our alphabet, 
 by introducing new letters ; and our spelling, by 
 striking oif such as are unnecessary, and writing 
 as we speak. But both schemes are unwise, be- 
 cause they would involve our laws and literature- 
 in confusion ; and impracticable, because pronun- 
 ciation is liable to change, and no two provinces* 
 in the British empire have exactly the same pro* 
 nunciation. 
 
 37. By attending to those motions of the ar- 
 ticulating organs, whereby the elementary sounds 
 of speech are formed, an art has been invented, 
 of teaching those to speak who do not hear. But 
 it is most laborious, and by no means useful ; for 
 the articulation of such persons is so uncouth, as 
 to give horror rather than pleasure to the hearer. 
 The time, therefore, that is employed in this 
 study, might be laid out to better purpose, in 
 teaching those unfortunate persons the use of writ- 
 ten language, the art of drawing, and a convenient 
 system of visible signs for the communication of 
 thought. Every necessary letter of the alphabet 
 might be signified by pointing to a certain joint of 
 the fingers, or to some other part of the hand ; 
 and the more common words, by other visible signs 
 of the same nature : and such a contrivance, when 
 
 vol. i. B
 
 IS ELEMENTS OF CHAP. I. 
 
 a dumb man becomes expert in it, and has learned 
 to read and spell, would be of very great use to 
 him. 
 
 38. By combining consonants with consonants, 
 and with vowels and diphthongs, an endless variety 
 of syllables, and consequently of words, may be 
 formed. In English, exclusive of proper names, 
 and of words derived from them, the number of 
 words does not amount to fifty thousand ; but 
 most of them have several, and some of them many 
 significations. Two vowels coalescing in one syl- 
 lable, so as to form a double vowel sound, make 
 what is called a diphthong, as ou in round, ui in 
 
 juice; and sometimes a diphthongal sound is ex- 
 pressed by a single vowel letter, as u in muse, i in 
 mind, and sometimes by three vowel letters, as eau 
 in beauty, ieu in lieu. 
 
 39. As much speech as we pronounce with one 
 effort of the articulating organs, is called a syl- 
 lable. It may be a single vowel, as a, o ; or a 
 diphthong, as oi ; or either of these modified by 
 one, or more consonants, placed before it, or after 
 it, or on both sides of it ; as to, of, toy, oyl, top, 
 cup, boil, broils, swift, strength, &c. The least 
 part of language that has a meaning is a word 5 
 and words derive their meaning from common use: 
 and it is both our interest and our duty, to use 
 them in the common acceptation. 
 
 40. Some words are long, and others short. 
 Those that are in continual use, as articles, pro*
 
 HAP. I. h II. MORAL SCIENCE, 19 
 
 nouns, auxiliary words, prepositions, and con- 
 junctions, ought to be short, and generally are so. 
 Primitive words are in most languages short; which 
 proves, that those authors are mistaken who affirm, 
 on the authority of some travellers, that barbarous 
 languages abound in long words. Such travellers 
 probably mistook a description or circumlocution 
 for a single word ; and as the voice in speaking 
 does not make a pause at the end of each word, it 
 is not unnatural for those, who hear what they do 
 not understand, to mistake two or more successive 
 words for one. Short words do not make style 
 inharmonious, or insipid, unless they be in them- 
 selves harsh, or of little meaning. 
 
 41. Words alone do not constitute speech : 
 emphasis and accent belong to all languages. The 
 former is of two sorts ; the emphasis of words, 
 and the emphasis of syllables. The first is a 
 stronger exertion of the voice laid upon some 
 words, in order to distinguish the more significant 
 parts of a sentence. The last is an energy of the 
 voice laid upon some syllables of a word more 
 than upon others, because custom has so deter- 
 mined. 
 
 42. The first, which may be called the rhetorical 
 emphasis, is necessary to make spoken language 
 perfectly intelligible. For if the speaker or reader 
 misapply the emphasis, by laying the force of his 
 voice upon the less significant, or not laying it on 
 the more significant words, the hearer must in 
 
 B2
 
 'JO ELEMENTS OF PART I, 
 
 many cases mistake the meaning. And no person 
 in reading can apply the emphasis properly, unless 
 he read slowly, be continually attentive, and un- 
 derstand the full import of every word he utters. 
 Children therefore, while learning to read, ought 
 to read nothing but what they perfectly understand. 
 The emphasis of speech is by most grammarians 
 called accent ; but accent is quite a different thing. 
 
 43. Accent is the tone with which one speaks. 
 For, in speaking, the voice of every man is some- 
 times more grave in the sound, and at other times 
 more acute or shrill. Accent i6 related to music 
 or song ; as appears in the formation of the Latin 
 word, from ad and cantus, and in that of the cor- 
 respondent Greek term vpovahx, from a-/=o? and aln. 
 Many people are insensible of the tone with which 
 themselves and their neighbours speak ; but all 
 perceive the tone of a stranger who comes from a 
 considerable distance : and if his tone seem in any 
 degree uncouth or unpleasant to them, theirs it is 
 likely is equally so to him. This at least is true of 
 provincial accents. That accent, and that pronun- 
 ciation, is generally in every country accounted the 
 best, which is used in the metropolis by the most 
 polite and learned persons. 
 
 44. The Greeks used in writing certain marks 
 called accents, in order to make the tones of their 
 language of more easy acquisition to foreigners : 
 and those still remain in their books ; but we can 
 make no use of them, because we know not in
 
 CHAP. I. II. MORAL SCIENCE. 21 
 
 what way they regulated the voice. Every lan- 
 guage, and almost every provincial dialect, is dis- 
 tinguished by peculiarities of tone ; and nothing is 
 more difficult than to acquire those tones of lan- 
 guage that one has not learned in early life : so 
 that the native country, and even the native pro- 
 vince, of a stranger, may be known by his accent ; 
 which in both public and private life is frequently 
 an advantage. 
 
 45. We learn to speak when our organs are 
 most flexible, and our powers of imitation most 
 active j that is, when we are infants : and, even 
 then, this is no easy acquisition ; being the effect 
 of constant practice continued every day, for some 
 years, from morning to night. Were we never to 
 attempt speech till grown up, there is reason to 
 think, that we should never learn to speak at all. 
 And therefore, if there ever was a time when all 
 mankind were dumb, mutum et turfie pe.cus, as 
 Epicurus taught, all mankind must, in the ordinary 
 course of things, have continued dumb to this day. 
 For speech could not be necessary to animals who 
 were supposed to have existed for ages without it ; 
 and among such animals the invention of unneces- 
 sary and difficult arts, whereof they saw no ex- 
 ample in the world around them, was not to be 
 expected. And speech, if invented at all by them, 
 must have been invented either by dumb infants 
 who were incapable of invention, or by dumb men 
 who were incapable of speech. Mankind, there- 
 
 B3
 
 22 ELEMENTS OF PART I. 
 
 fore, must have spoken in all ages ; the young 
 constantly learning to speak by imitating those who 
 were older. And if so, our first parents must 
 have received this art, as well as some others, by 
 inspiration. 
 
 46. Moses informs us, that the first language 
 continued to be spoken by all mankind till the 
 building of Babel, that is, for about two thousand 
 years. But, on that occasion, a miraculous con- 
 fusion of languages took place ; which must have 
 immediately divided the human race into tribes or 
 nations, as they only would choose to keep together 
 who understood one another ; and which accounts 
 for the great variety of primitive tongues now in 
 the world. By primitive tongues I mean those, 
 which, having no resemblance to any other tongue 
 in the sound of their words, are not supposed to 
 be derived from any other. Greek and Latin re- 
 semble one another not a little ; whence it is pro# 
 bable, that both were derived from some primitive 
 tongue more ancient than either. The modern 
 languages of France, Spain, Italy, and Portugal, 
 f esemble one another very much ; and we know 
 they are in a great measure derived from the an- 
 cient Latin. 
 
 47. But there is no reason to think, that at 
 Babel any other material alteration w r as introduced 
 into human nature. And as men ever since have 
 had the same faculties, and been placed in the same 
 r similar circumstances, it may be presumed, that
 
 CHAP. I. * II. MORAL SCIENCE. 25 
 
 the modes of human thought must have been 
 much the same from that time forward ; and, con- 
 sequently, as speech arises from thought, that all 
 languages must have some resemblance, in struc- 
 ture at least, if not in sound. Those particulars 
 in which all languages resemble one another, must 
 be essential to language. The Essentials of Lan- 
 guage I shall proceed to consider, when I have 
 made a remark or two on speech made visible by 
 writing. 
 
 48. A word is an audible and articulate sign 
 of thought : a letter is a visible sign of an articulate 
 sound. Every man can speak who hears, and 
 men have spoken in all ages ; but in many nations 
 the art of writing is still unknown. For before 
 men can invent writing, they must divide their 
 speech into words, and subdivide their words into 
 simple elementary sounds, assigning to each sound 
 a particular visible symbol : which, though easy to 
 us, because we know the art, is never thought of 
 by savages, and has been overlooked, or not suf- 
 ficiently attended to, by some nations of very long 
 standing. By means of writing, human thoughts 
 may be made more durable than any other work 
 of man ; may be circulated in all nations ; and 
 may be so corrected, compared, and compounded, 
 as to exhibit within a moderate compass the accu- 
 mulated wisdom of many ages. It is therefore 
 needless to enlarge upon the usefulness of this art.
 
 24 ELEMENTS OF PART I., 
 
 as the means of ascertaining, methodising, pre- 
 serving, and extending human knowledge. 
 
 49. There is reason to think, that this art must 
 have been in the world from very early times, and 
 that the use of an alphabet was known before the 
 hieroglyphics of Egypt were invented. These 
 last were probably contrived for the purpose of 
 expressing mysteries of religion and government 
 in a way not intelligible to the vulgar. For a hi- 
 eroglyphic is a sort of riddle addressed to the 
 eye ; as if the figure of a circle were carved on a 
 pillar, in order to represent eternity ; a lamp, to 
 denote life ; an eye on the top of a sceptre, to 
 signify a sovereign. Such conceits imply refine- 
 ment rather than simplicity, and the disguise rather 
 than the exhibition of thought ; and therefore 
 seem to have been the contrivance of men, who 
 were in quest not of a necessary, but of a myste- 
 rious art ; who had leisure to be witty and alle- 
 gorical ; who could express their thoughts plainly, 
 but did not choose to do it. 
 
 50. In China they understand writing and 
 printing too, and have done so, we are told, for 
 many ages : but to this day they have not invented 
 an alphabet, at least their men of learning use 
 none. They are said to have a distinct character 
 for each of their words, about fourscore thousand 
 in all ; which makes it impossible for a foreigner, 
 and extremely difficult to a native, to understand
 
 CHAP. I. II. SltfRAL SCIENCE. 25 
 
 their written language. In very early times, men 
 wrote, by engraving on stone ; afterwards, by 
 tracing out figures with a coloured liquid upon 
 wood, the bark of trees, the Egyptian papyrus 
 manufactured into a sort of paper, the skins of 
 goats, sheep, and calves, made into parchment : 
 in a word, different contrivances have been adopted 
 in different ages, and by different nations. Pens, 
 ink, and paper, as we use them, are said to have 
 been introduced into these parts of the world about 
 six hundred years ago. 
 
 51. The first printing known in Europe was y 
 like that of the Chinese (from whom, however, 
 our printers did not borrow it), by blocks of wood,, 
 whereon were engraved all the characters of every 
 page. This art is supposed to have been invented 
 in Germany, or in Flanders, about the year 1420. 
 Printing with moveable types was found out about 
 thirty years later, and is a very great improvement 
 upon the former method. By means of this won- 
 derful art, books are multiplied to such a degree, 
 that every family (I had almost said every person) 
 may now have a Bible ; which, when manuscripts 
 only were in use, every parish could hardly afford 
 to have ; as the expence of writing out so great a 
 book would be at least equal to that of building an 
 ordinary country church. This one example may 
 suggest a hint for estimating the importance of the 
 art of printing. 
 
 52, Within less than a century after it wns in-
 
 26 ELEMENTS OF PART I* 
 
 vented, printing was brought to perfection in 
 France, by the illustrious Robert Stephen and his 
 son Henry ; who were not only the greatest of 
 printers, but also the most learned men of modern 
 times ; and to whom, for their beautiful and cor- 
 rect editions of the Classics, and for their dicti- 
 onaries of the Greek and Latin tongues, every 
 modern scholar is under very great obligations. 
 
 SECTION III. 
 
 Essentials of Language. 
 
 53. How many sorts of words are necessary 
 in language ? And what is the nature and use of 
 each particular sort ? When we have answered 
 these twt> questions, we may be supposed to have 
 discussed the present subject. In English, there 
 are ten sorts of words, which are all found in 
 the following short sentence * I now see the good 
 f man coming ; but, alas S he walks with diffi- 
 c culty.' / and he are pronouns ; now is an ad- 
 verb ; see and walks are verbs ; the is an article ; 
 good, an adjective ; man and difficulty are nouns> 
 the former substantive, the latter abstract ; coming 
 is a participle ; hut, a conjunction ; alas ! an in- 
 terjection ; with, a preposition. That no other 
 sorts of words are necessary in language will ap- 
 pear, when we have seen in what respects these 
 are necessary.
 
 CHAP. I. III. MORAL SCIENCE. 27 
 
 .54. Of Nouns. A noun, or, as it is less pro* 
 perly called, a substantive, is the name of the 
 thing spoken of. Without this sort of word, men 
 could not speak of one another or of any thing 
 else. Nouns, therefore, there must be in all lan- 
 guages. Those which denote a genus, as animal, 
 or a species, as man, may be applied either to one 
 or to many things, and must therefore be so con- 
 trived as to express both unity and plurality. But 
 a noun which is applicable to one individual only, 
 and which is commonly called a proper name, can- 
 not, where language is suited to the nature of 
 things, have a plural. Proper names, therefore, 
 when they take a plural as well as a singular form, 
 cease to be proper names, and become the names 
 of classes or tribes of beings : so that, when one 
 says duodecim Cczsares, the twelve Caesars, the 
 noun is used as an appellative common to twelve 
 persons. Two numbers, the singular and plural, 
 are all that arc necessary in language. Some an- 
 cient tongues, however, as the Hebrew, the Celtic, 
 and the Attic and poetic dialects of the Greek, 
 have also a dual number to express two ; but this 
 is superfluous. And some nouns there are, in 
 every language perhaps, that have no singular, and 
 some that have no plural, even when there 13 
 nothing in their signification to hinder it ; s this is 
 irregular and accidental. 
 
 55. Another thing essential to nouns is gender, 
 to signify sex* 1\ things are either male, or fe-
 
 28 ELEMENTS Ofr PARTI. 
 
 male, or both, or neither. Duplicity of sex being 
 uncommon and doubtful, language has no expres- 
 sion for it in the structure of nouns, but considers 
 all things, and all the names of things, as mascu- 
 line or feminine, or as neuter ; which last word 
 denotes neither feminine nor masculine. Of all 
 things without sex the names in some languages, 
 particularly English, are, or may be, neuter: in 
 Latin and Greek, and many other tongues, the 
 gender of nouns denoting things without sex is 
 fixed by the termination of the noun, or by its 
 declension, or by some other circumstances too 
 minute to be here specified. 
 
 56. Things without sex have sometimes mascu- 
 line or feminine names from a supposed analogy 
 which they seem to bear to things that have sex. 
 Thus, on account of his great power, Death is 
 masculine in Greek, and in English has been called 
 the king of terrors. But this does not hold uni- 
 versally. In Latin, and many other languages, 
 Death is feminine ; and in German, and some other 
 northern tongues, the sun is feminine, and the 
 moon masculine. Sometimes the name of an ani- 
 mal species is both masculine and feminine ; which, 
 however, implies nothing like duplicity of sex, 
 and means no more than that the name belongs to 
 every individual of the species, whether male or 
 female. 
 
 57. When the sex of animals is obvious, and 
 material to be known, one name is sometimes given
 
 CHAP. I. III. MOBAL SCIENCE. 29 
 
 to the male, and another to the female ; as king, 
 queen ; son, daughter ; man, woman, &c. When 
 the sex is less obvious, or less important, as in in- 
 sects, fishes, and many sorts of birds, one name 
 serves for both sexes, and is masculine or feminine 
 according to the custom of the language. And 
 here let it be remarked, once for all, that in what 
 relates to the gender of nouns, and indeed in al- 
 most every part of the grammar of every lan- 
 guage, certain arbitrary rules have been established, 
 which cannot be accounted for philosophically, 
 from the nature of the thing j which, therefore, 
 it belongs not to universal grammar to consider ; 
 and for which no other reason can be given, than 
 that such is the law of the language as custom has 
 settled it. 
 
 58. Of Pronouns. The name given to this 
 class of words sufficiently declares their nature ; 
 they being in all languages put pro nominibus, in 
 the place of nouns or of names, Persons con- 
 versing together may be ignorant of one another's 
 names, and may have occasion to speak of things 
 or persons, absent or present, whose names they 
 either do not know, or do not care to be always 
 repeating. Words therefore there must be, to be 
 used instead of such names ; and withal to asceiv 
 tain the gender, situation, and some other obvious 
 and general circumstances of the things or persons 
 spoken of. These words are called pronouns. 
 Some of them may introduce a sentence, and are
 
 SO ELEMENTS OF PART I. 
 
 therefore called prepositive, as I, thou, he, she, 
 this, that, &c. Others are termed subjunctive or 
 relative, because they subjoin a clause or sentence 
 to something previous, as qui, qiue, quod, who, 
 which, that. This sort of pronoun has the im- 
 port of both a pronoun and a copulative con- 
 junction, and may be resolved into et ilk, et ilia, 
 et illud. 
 
 59. In conversation, the person who speaks is first 
 and chiefly attended to, and the person spoken to 
 is next. Hence ego, I, is called the pronoun of 
 the first person ; tu, thou, of the second ; and, 
 as distinguished from these, he, she, and it, are 
 called pronouns of the third person. Those of the 
 first and second need no distinction of gender, as 
 the sex of the speakers is obvious to each other 
 from the voice, dress, &c. But the pronoun of 
 the third person must have gender, ille, ilia, illud, 
 he, she, it ; because what is spoken of may be ab- 
 sent, and consequently its sex not obvious ; or 
 may be not a person, but a thing, and consequently 
 of neither sex. The pronouns of all the three 
 persons must have number ; because the speaker, 
 the hearer, or the thing or person spoken of, may 
 be either one or more than one. Pronouns are 
 not numerous in any language, very few being 
 sufficient for all occasions on which they become 
 necessary. The different classes of them are well 
 "enough distinguished in the common grammars. 
 
 60. Op Attributes. These are words which
 
 CHAP. I. III. MORAL SCIENCE. 31 
 
 denote the attributes, qualities, and operations, of 
 things and persons. They form a very numerous 
 class, and were by the ancient grammarians called 
 fiipxra., verba, whatever may be said or affirmed 
 concerning persons or things. Thus of a man it 
 may be said, that he is good, that he speaks, or 
 that he is walking. Attributives are of three sorts, 
 adjectives, verbs, and participles. An adjective, 
 or epithet, denotes a quality, and nothing more ; as 
 good, bad, black, white. Verbs and participles de- 
 note qualities too, but with the addition of some- 
 thing else, as will appear by and by. 
 
 61. It is strange, that in all the common gram- 
 mars the adjective should be considered as a noun. 
 It is no more a noun than it is a verb. Nay, verbs 
 and adjectives are of nearer affinity than nouns and 
 adjectives. For the verb and adjective agree in 
 this, that both express qualities or attributes ; 
 whereas the noun is the name of the thing to which 
 qualities or attributes belong. And therefore the 
 term adjective -noun is as improper as if we were to 
 say participle-noun, or verb-noun. 
 
 62. In many languages it is a rule, that the ad- 
 jective must agree with its noun in gender, number, 
 and case : and where adjectives have gender, num- 
 ber, and case, the rule is reasonable and natural. 
 But it is not so in all languages. English adjectives 
 have neither gender nor number ; but, like in- 
 declinable Latin adjectives (as frugi, centum, ne- 
 yuamj, are invariably the same. We say, a good
 
 32 Elements of part i. 
 
 man, a good woman, a good thing ; good men, 
 good women, good things ; without making any 
 change in the adjective: and in this syntax we feel 
 no inconvenience. And the same thing is true of 
 English participles. 
 
 63. One variation, however, those English ad- 
 jectives require, which in their signification admit 
 of the distinctions of more and less. This paper 
 is white, and snow is white, but snow is whiter 
 than this paper. Solon was wise, Socrates wiser, 
 Solomon the wisest of men. The degrees are in- 
 numerable in which different things may possess 
 the same quality : it is impossible to say with pre- 
 cision, how much wiser Solomon was than Socrates, 
 or by how many degrees snow is whiter than this 
 paper. But in human art there is no infinity ; 
 and, therefore, we cannot in language have de- 
 grees of comparison to express all possible varieties 
 of more and less. 
 
 64. Two degrees of comparison, the compara- 
 tive and superlative, are all that seem to be neces- 
 sary ; and, for expressing these, different nations 
 may have different contrivances : what is called 
 the positive degree is the simple form of the ad- 
 jective, and expresses neither degree nor compari- 
 son. Participles admit not of the variation we 
 speak of : when they seem to assume it, as when 
 we say doctus, doctior, doctissimus, they cease to 
 be participles, and become adjectives. Some ad- 
 verbs admit of this variety, as diu ? diutius, diutis*
 
 HAP. I. III. MORAL SCIENCE. S3 
 
 sime. Verbs too may express degrees of com- 
 parison, but do it by means of auxiliary adverbs ; 
 as, magis amat, vehementissime amat. 
 
 63. The comparative degree denotes superiority, 
 and implies a comparison of one, or more, persons, 
 or things, with another, or with others, that is, or 
 are, set in opposition ; Solomon was wiser than 
 Socrates ; the Athenians were more learned than 
 the Thebans ; he is more intelligent than all his 
 teachers. There are two superlatives ; one imply- 
 ing comparison, and each denoting eminence or 
 superiority. We use the former when we say, 
 Solomon was the wisest of men ; where Solomon 
 is compared to a species of beings of whom he is 
 said to be one. We use the latter, when we say, 
 Solomon was a very wise, or a most wise man. 
 In these last sentences, comparison, though re- 
 motely insinuated, is not, as in the former example, 
 expressly asserted. 
 
 66. Op Verbs. Man is endowed, not only 
 with senses to perceive, and memory to retain, but 
 also with judgment, whereby we compare things 
 and thoughts together, so as to make affirmations 
 concerning them. When we say, Solomon wise, 
 we affirm nothing, and the words are not a sen- 
 tence. But when we say, Solomon is wise, we 
 utter a complete sentence, expressing a judgment 
 and an affirmation, founded on a comparison of a 
 certain man Solomon, with a certain quality ivise. 
 The judgment of the mind is here expressed by 
 
 vol. i. C
 
 34 ELEMENTS OF PART L> 
 
 the affirmative word is ; and this word is a verb. 
 A verb, therefore, seems to be c a word expressing 
 * affirmation, and necessary to form a complete 
 6 sentence or proposition.' 
 
 67. Here observe, that every proposition affirms 
 or denies something ; as, snow is white, riches are 
 not permanent. Observe further, that the thing 
 concerning which we affirm or deny is called the 
 subject of the proposition, namely, snow in the one 
 example, and riches in the other ; that what is af- 
 firmed or denied concerning the subject is called 
 the predicate of the proposition, namely, white in 
 the one example, and permanent in the other ; and 
 that the words whereby we affirm or deny, are 
 called the copula of the proposition, namely, is in 
 the one example, and are not in the other. It 
 was said, that every proposition either affirms or 
 denies. Now denial implies affirmation ; to deny 
 that a thing ia, is to affirm that it is not. In every 
 sentence or proposition, therefore, there is affirma- 
 tion, and a verb is that which expresses it. Con- 
 sequently, a verb ' is necessary in every sentence, 
 c and every verb expresses affirmation.' 
 
 68. Some affirmations have no dependence on 
 time, with respect to their truth or falsehood. 
 That God is good, that two and two are four, and 
 that malevolence is not to be commended, always 
 was, will, and must be, true. For expressing 
 these, and the like affirmations, those verbs alone 
 are necessary, which the Latins call substantive*
 
 CHAP. I. 111. MORAL SCIENCE. 35 
 
 and the Greeks more properly verbs of existence ; 
 as sum, Jio, existo, &jui, ynojuai, &c. But innu- 
 merable affirmations are necessarily connected with 
 time : I may affirm, that a thing was done, is done, 
 or will be done. In verbs, therefore, there must 
 be a contrivance for expressing time. Moreover, 
 affirmations have a necessary connection with a 
 person or with persons : /, thou, he, may affirm ; 
 we, ye, or they may affirm. In a verb, therefore, 
 c affirmation is expressed, together with time, num* 
 
 * her, and person* 9 
 
 69. Further : our thoughts shift with great ra- 
 pidity ; and it is natural for us to wish to speak as 
 fast as we think. No wonder then, that we should 
 often, where it can be done conveniently, express 
 two or three thoughts by one word ; and particu- 
 larly, that we should by one word express both 
 the attribute, and the affirmation which connects 
 that attribute, with some person or thing. In this 
 way, and partly for this reason, we say scribo, I 
 write, instead of ego sum scribens, I am writing. 
 And thus our idea of a verb is completed. And 
 we may now define it., ' A word necessary in every 
 ' sentence, and signifying affirmation with respect 
 4 to some attribute, together with the designation 
 
 * of time, number, and person.' Thus scribo, I 
 am writing, is a complete sentence, and compre- 
 hends these four things j first, / the person, and 
 *me person ; secondly, am the affirmation; thirdly^ 
 
 C2
 
 36 . ELEMENTS OF PART I. 
 
 writing, the attribute ; and fourthly, now, or pre- 
 sent time. 
 
 70. But the verbs of all languages are not so 
 complex : and this definition applies rather to 
 Greek and Latin verbs, than to those of the mo- 
 dern tongues. For we express a great deal of the 
 meaning of our verbs by auxiliary words : whereas 
 the Greeks and Romans generally varied the 
 meaning of theirs by iriflection, that is, by changing 
 the form of the word. We must say, he might 
 have written, where a Roman needed only, to say 
 scripsisset. Some auxiliary words indeed there are 
 in Greek and Latin verbs, but not near so many 
 as in ours. In English, French, Italian, and other 
 modern tongues, the passive verb (or passive voice, 
 as it is called), is entirely made up of auxiliary 
 words introducing the passive participle ; as, I am 
 taught, they were taught, thou wilt be taught, &c. 
 
 71. This peculiarity in the structure of modern 
 Verbs is to be imputed to those northern nations 
 who overturned the Roman empire, establishing 
 themselves and their government in the conquered 
 provinces ; and who, being an unlettered race of 
 men, and not caring either to learn the Latin 
 tongue, or teach their own to those whom they 
 had conquered, formed in time a mixed language, 
 made up partly of Latin words and partly of idioms 
 of their own ; with a great number of auxiliary 
 words, to supply the want of those Latin inflec-
 
 CHAP. I. III. MORAL SCIENCE. 37 
 
 tions, which they would not give themselves the 
 trouble to learn. It is not wholly improbable, that, 
 originally, the Greek and Latin inflections were 
 also auxiliary words ; which came to be, by the 
 accidental pronunciation of successive ages, gradu- 
 ally incorporated with the radical part of the verbs 
 and nouns to which they belong. This, however, 
 is only conjecture ; but it derives some plausibility 
 from the nature of the inflections of the Hebrew 
 tongue, many of which may be accounted for in 
 the way here hinted at. 
 
 72. The attributes expressed by the verb may 
 be reduced to four ; first, being, as sum, 1 am ; 
 secondly, action, as vulnero, 1 ivound ; thirdly, 
 being acted upon, as vulneror, I am wounded ; and 
 fourthly, being at rest, as sedeo, 1 sit, habito, I 
 dwell. Now, without a reference to time, not one 
 of these attributes can be conceived ; for existence, 
 action, suffering, and rest, do all imply time, and 
 may all be referred to different parts of time. 
 Hence the origin of the times of verbs, commonly, 
 though improperly, called the tenses. Time is 
 past, present, or future. 
 
 73. The tenses are in some languages reckoned 
 five. But, if we consider the exact meaning of 
 the several parts of the verb, we shall find, that, 
 in the languages most familiar to us, there are 
 eight or nine tenses ; though each may not have a 
 particular form of the verb adapted to it. In 
 ther languages there may perhaps be more : and 
 
 C 3
 
 H8 ELEMENTS OF PART I, 
 
 hi some, the Hebrew for example, there are not 
 near so many ; two tenses, the past and the future, 
 being all that the Hebrew grammarian acknow- 
 ledges ; though, as may be reasonably imagined, 
 means are not wanting for expressing in his lan- 
 guage the import of other necessary tenses. 
 
 74. Tenses may be divided ; first, into those 
 that are definite icith respect to time, and those that 
 with respect to time are indefinite or aorist : se- 
 condly, into those that in respect of action are 
 perfect, and those which are imperfect in respect 
 of action : thirdly, into simple tenses, expressive 
 of one time, and compound tenses, expressive of 
 more times than one. My examples on this subject 
 I take from active verbs, they being the fullest and 
 most complete of any. 
 
 75. Tenses definite in respect of time are, 1. 
 The definite present, scribo, 1 write ; which refers 
 to the present point of time, and to no other. 2. 
 The preteiperfect, I have written, which generally 
 refers to past time ending in or near the present. 
 For this tense the Greeks have a particular form 
 yiy$cx.<pcc', but the Latins have not ; for scripsi sig- 
 nifies not only I have written, but also / wrote and 
 1 did write, which last are aorists of the past, as 
 will appear presently. 3. The paulo-post-future, 
 scripturus sum, 1 am about to write, which im- 
 plies future time that is just going to commence. 
 
 76. Tenses indefinite in time, or aorist, are, 1. 
 The indefinite present, which appears in sentences
 
 CHAP. I. III. MORAL 8ClNCS. 3f> 
 
 like the following ; God is good ; two and two 
 are four ; a wise son makes a glad father, 8tc. ; in 
 which no particular present time is referred to, be- 
 cause these affirmations may be made with truth at 
 all times. In Hebrew and in Erse the import of 
 this tense is expressed by the future ; which some- 
 times happens in English : for whether we say, a 
 wise son makes a glad father, or will make a glad 
 father, the sense is the same. 2. The aorist of 
 tlte past, >f a^a, / wrote, or did write ; which re- 
 fers to past time, but to no particular part of past 
 time. 3. The indefinite future, y^\a y scribam, 1 
 shall write ; which in like manner refers to future 
 time, but to no particular part of time future. 
 
 77* Tenses perfect or complete in respect of 
 action are, 1. The preterperfect, yty^ai, I have 
 written, 2. The aorist of the past, ty?cc^>a., I wrote. 
 3. The plusquamperfect, iytypayeiv, scripseram, I 
 had written. 4. The future perfect, scripsero, J 
 shall have written, or J shall have done ivriting ; a 
 tense, which the Greeks cannot express in one 
 word ; and which is commonly, though very im- 
 properly, called tlie future of the subjunctive. 
 Scripsero in Greek would be io-opou yey^af^f. It 
 is as truly of the indicative mood as scribam, or 
 scriptus eiQ. 
 
 78. Tenses imperfect, or incomplete with respect 
 to action, are, 1. The imperfect preterit iy^cv, 
 scribebam, I was writing. 2. The indefinite fu- 
 ture, scribam, I shall write. 3. The paulo-post-
 
 40 Elements of fart i. 
 
 future , scrip tur us sum, I am. about to write, which 
 in Greek is /alkxcj y^xoetv. Observe, that the Greek 
 paulo-post-future (so called in the grammars), as ' 
 expressed by a single word, is found only in the 
 passive verb ; yty^o/y.ai, I am about to be written. 
 Observe also, that the imperfect preterit often de- 
 notes in Latin customary actions ; dicebat, he was 
 wont to say, the same as solebat dicere. 
 
 79. Compound tenses, which unite two or more 
 times in one tense, are, 1. The preterperfect y 
 which generally, though not always (at least in 
 English), unites the past with the present, / have 
 written ; where observe, that the auxiliary verb / 
 have is of the present tense, and the participle 
 written signifies complete action, and implies past 
 time. 2. The plusquamperfect, scripseram, I had 
 written, which unites past time with past time, and 
 intimates that a certain action was finished before 
 another action which is also past. He came to 
 desire me not to write, but I had written before 
 he came. 3. The future perfect, scripsero, 1 shall 
 have done writing ; which unites present and past 
 time with future ; and intimates, that when a cer- 
 tain time now future shall come to be present, I 
 shall then have finished a certain action. Cras 
 mane hora decima scripsero has literas. To-mor- 
 row morning at ten I shall have finished the 
 writing of this letter. 4. The paulo-post-future, 
 which unites present with future time, as plainly 
 appears in the Latin way of expressing it j scripturus
 
 CHAP. I. III. MRAL SCIENCI. 41 
 
 the participle being future, and sum the auxiliary 
 present. 
 
 80. Tenses expressive of one time are, 1. The 
 definite present. 2. The aorist of the past. 3. 
 The indefinite future. 4. The imperfect preterit ; 
 which have all been described under other charac- 
 ters. In this analysis of the tenses, I have made 
 their number nine. 1. The definite present. 2. 
 The indefinite present. 3. The imperfect. 4. The 
 aorist of the past. 5. The preterperfect. 6. The 
 plusquamperfect. 7. The indefinite future. 8. 
 The paulo-post-future. 9. The perfect future. All 
 these tenses are not necessary in language ; but, 
 in most of the languages we know, the full im- 
 port of each of them may in one way or other be 
 expressed. 
 
 81. The moods of verbs express not only our 
 thoughts, but also something of the intention or slate 
 of mind with which we utter them. If we affirm ab- 
 solutely, we use the indicative or declarative mood ; 
 if relatively, conditionally, or dependently on some- 
 thing else, it is the subjunctive. If we declare our 
 meaning in the form of a wish, it is called the 
 optative ; if in the form of a command or request, 
 it is the imperative. And if we affirm concerning 
 what might be done, or ought to be done, it has 
 been called the potential. But there is no need of 
 distinguishing moods so nicely. 
 
 82. They may be all reduced to two, the in- 
 dicative, which affirms absolutely, and the sub-
 
 42 SLEMENTS OF FART I. 
 
 junctive, which affirms relatively, or with a de- 
 pendence on something else. For the imperative 
 is only an elliptical way of expressing the indi- 
 cative j go thou being the same with / entreat or / 
 command thee to go : the potential is always either 
 indicative or subjunctive : the Oreek optative is a 
 form of the subjunctive, and has much the same 
 import : and the infinitive is neither a mood, nor a 
 part of the verb, because it expresses no affirma- 
 tion, and has no reference to any one person or 
 number more than any other. The infinitive ex- 
 presses abstractly the simple meaning of the verb, 
 and does therefore in its nature resemble an in- 
 declinable abstract noun ; and, in fact, is often 
 used as such in most languages : as cupio discere, 
 studere delectat me, reddas duke loqui, reddas ri- 
 dere decorum, 
 
 83. Verbs are divided into active, passive, and 
 neuter. An active verb denotes acting, as verbero, 
 I beat s a passive verb denotes being acted upon, 
 as verier or, I am beaten : a neuter verb denotes 
 neither the one nor the other, and only signifies 
 the state or condition of the thing or person con- 
 cerning which the affirmation is made ; as sedeo, I 
 sit ; sto, I stand ; dormit, he sleeps. Active verbs 
 are subdivided into transitive and intransitive. In 
 the former, the action passes, transit, from the 
 agent towards some other person or thing, as I 
 build a house, I break a stone, I see a man. The 
 latter denote action which does not pass from the
 
 HAP. I. III. MORAL SCIENCE. 43 
 
 agent towards any thing else, as / ran, I ivalk. 
 This sort of verb, when strictly intransitive, can- 
 not assume a passive form ; for where action does 
 not pass from the agent, there is nothing that can 
 be said to be acted upon. Nor do neuter verbs 
 take a passive, because nothing is acted upon v\ here 
 there is no action. 
 
 84. When a thing or person acts upon itself, 
 as Cato slew himself, the Greeks, in very early 
 times, are said to have made use of the middle verb, 
 or middle voice j which the grammarians endeavour 
 to prove by quoting three or four examples from 
 Homer, The Hebrews had a like contrivance. 
 But in most of the Greek books now extant the 
 middle voice has a signification purely active. The 
 verbs called deponent, desiderative, frequentative, 
 inceptive, &c. need not be considered here, being 
 found in some languages only, and therefore not 
 essential to speech. The impersonal verb is so 
 called, because the nominative, expressed or un- 
 derstood, on which it depends, is always a thing, 
 and never a person. The nature of this sort of 
 verb is well enough explained in the common 
 grammars. 
 
 85. Of Adverbs. It is the nature of the ad- 
 verb, as the name imports, to give some addi- 
 tional meaning to the verb, that is, to the attribu- 
 tive (see Oo), to the adjective, as v aide bonus ; 
 to the participle, as graviter vnlneratus ; to the 
 verb, as for titer pugnavit. Adverbs are also
 
 44 ELEMENTS OF PARTI. 
 
 joined to adverbs, as magis fortiter, sat cito si sat 
 bene ; and sometimes even to nouns ; but when 
 this is the case, the noun will be found to compre- 
 hend the meaning of an attributive, as admodum 
 paella, which occurs in Livy, and signifies that the 
 young woman was very young. Hence adverbs 
 have been called secondary attributives, or words 
 denoting the attributes of attributes. 
 
 86. But many of them are not of this character, 
 and seem to have been contrived for no other pur- 
 pose, but in order to express, by one indeclinable 
 word, what would otherwise have required two or 
 three words, as well as a more artful syntax. Thus 
 ubi signifies, in quo loco ; quo, in quern locum ; hue, 
 in hicne locum ; din, per longum temples, &c. 
 Adverbs, therefore, if not essential to speech, are 
 at least very useful, and all languages have them, 
 and some in a very great number. Too many of 
 them, however, have in writing a bad effect, and 
 make a style harsh and unwieldy ; and the same 
 thing is true of attributives in general. The 
 strength of language lies in its nouns or substan- 
 tives. 
 
 87. Of Participles. The common definition 
 of a participle is, ' A word derived from a verb, 
 ' and signifying a quality with time.' This is in- 
 deed true of the future participle active, but not 
 of the others. Scribens, writing, and scriptus, 
 written, do not of themselves express time at all^ 
 and may apply to any time, even as an adjective
 
 tf HA1. L III. MORAL SCIENCE. 45 
 
 may do, according to the tense of the verb with 
 which they are connected : I iv as writing yesterday, 
 I am writing to-day and shall be writing to-mor- 
 row ; the letter ivas written, is written, ivill be writ- 
 ten. As to the future participle passive (as it is 
 called) of the Latins, it generally denotes rather 
 necessity or duty, than future time : dicit litcras a 
 se scribendas esse, he says that a letter must be 
 written by him ; dicit liter as a se script inn iri, he 
 says that a letter will be written by him. When 
 Cato in the senate said Delenda est Carthago, he did 
 not utter a prophecy of what ivas to be done, but 
 recommended what in his opinion ought to be done. 
 
 88. Written is a passive participle, and denotes 
 complete action ; the letter is written. Writing is 
 an active participle, and denotes action continuing ; 
 I am writing now, I was writing yesterday, &c. 
 If then it be asked, in what respect the participle 
 differs from the verb, it may be answered, th^it the 
 participle does not imply affirmation, which to the 
 verb is essential. If again it be asked, what dis- 
 tinguishes the participle from the adjective, the an- 
 swer is this : The adjective denotes a quality sim- 
 ply, and is not necessarily derived from a verb ; the 
 participle is always derived from a verb, and denotes 
 a quality or attribute, together with some other con- 
 siderations relating to the continuance, completion, 
 and futurity, of action or condition. 
 
 89. Of Interjections. These words are found 
 in all languages, though perhaps it cannot be said
 
 4H ELEMENTS OF SART I* 
 
 that they are necessary. They are thrown into dis- 
 course interjecta, in order to intimate some sudden 
 feeling or emotion of the mind; and any one of them 
 may comprehend the import of an entire sentence : 
 at as, I am sorry; strange, I am surprised \fye, I hate 
 it, I dislike it. They are well enough described 
 and divided in any common grammar ; but a little 
 more minutely perhaps than was requisite. Laugh- 
 ter is not speech, but a natural and inarticulate con- 
 vulsion universally understood ; and, therefore, that 
 mark in writing which denotes it can be no part of 
 speech. And as to interjections of imprecation, I 
 cannot admit that in language they are either neces- 
 sary or useful. The Greeks referred interjections 
 to the class of adverbs ; but they are of a nature 
 totally different ; and therefore the Latins did bet- 
 ter in making them a separate part of speech. To 
 express our feelings by interjections is often natu- 
 ral : but too many of them, either in speech or writ- 
 ing, have a bad effect. 
 
 90. All the sorts of words hitherto considered 
 have each of them some meaning, even when taken 
 separate. But there are other words, as from, but; 
 a, the ; which taken separately signify nothing. The 
 two first of these are necessary in language ; the 
 other two are rather useful than necessary : the for- 
 mer are called connectives ; the latter, articles or 
 definitives. Connectives are of two sorts, preposi- 
 tions, which connect words, and conjunctions, which 
 connect sentences.
 
 CHAP. I. III. MORAL SCIENCE. 47 
 
 91. Of Prepositions. A preposition is a sort 
 of word, which of itself has no signification, but 
 which has the power of uniting such words, as the 
 rules of a language, or the nature of things, would 
 not allow to be united in any other way. When 
 prepositions are thus employed in uniting words, 
 they have signification : like cyphers in arithmetic, 
 which taken separately mean nothing, but when 
 joined to numbers have a very important meaning* 
 And the same thing is true of conjunctions and ar- 
 ticles. If I say, he came town, I join two words, 
 which the rules of our language will not permit to 
 unite so as to make sense. But if, I take a prepo- 
 sition, and say, he came to town, or he came from 
 toum, I speak good sense and good grammar. 
 
 92. Every body has seen a list of prepositions, 
 and knows how they are used in syntax. They all 
 express some circumstance relating to place, as at, 
 with, by, from, before, behind, beyond, over, under, 
 &c. : but in a figurative sense most of them are also 
 used to express other relations than those of place- 
 Thus we say, he rules over the people, he serves 
 under such a commander, he will do nothing bcneatii. 
 his character, gratitude beyond expression, &c. 
 They are sometimes prefixed to a word, so as to 
 form a part of it ; in which case they often, but not: 
 always, give it something of their own signification. 
 Thus, to undervalue is to , rate a thing under or 
 within its value ; to overcome is to subdue, for men 
 must be subdued before they allow others to go o\
 
 4$ ELEMENTS OF PART I. 
 
 come over them : but to understand does not mean 
 to stand under, but to comprehend mentally ; to un- 
 dergo means, not to go under, but to bear, or suf- 
 fer. A.n English preposition often changes the 
 meaning of a verb by being put after it. To cast, 
 is to throw ; but to cast up may signify, to calcu- 
 late : to give, is to bestow, but to give over, to cease 
 or abandon : to give up, to resign : to give out, 
 to publish, or proclaim, &c. 
 
 93. Some prepositions appear in the beginning 
 of words, but never stand by themselves, and are 
 therefore called inseparable. Of these there are 
 five or six in Latin, and about twice as many in Eng- 
 lish. Separable prepositions are not a numerous 
 class of words. In Latin there are about forty-five ; 
 in Greek eighteen ; and in English between thirty 
 and forty. But some prepositions have many dif- 
 ferent meanings. The English o/'has upwards of 
 twelve ; from has at least twenty ; and/or has no 
 fewer than thirty. See Johnson's Dictionary. 
 
 94. In the modern languages of Europe, prepo- 
 sitions prefixed to nouns supply the want of cases ; 
 of man, to man, with man, being the same with ho- 
 minis, homini, homine. The English genitive is 
 sometimes distinguished by subjoining s to the noun, 
 as marCs life, hominis vita ; and some of our pro- 
 nouns have an oblique case, as /which has me, 
 thou which has thee, she which has her, &c. With 
 these and a few other exceptions, we may affirm 
 that there are no cases in the English tongue ; and 
 the same thing is true of some other tongues.
 
 GHAP. I. III. MORAL SCIENCE. 49 
 
 Hence we infer, that cases, though in Greek and 
 Latin veryimportant, and a source of much elegance, 
 are not essential to language. 
 
 95.- Of Conjunctions. A conjunction unites 
 two or more sentences in one, and sometimes marks 
 the dependence of one sentence upon another. If 
 I say, he is good and he is wise, I unite two senten- 
 ses in one : if I say, he is good because he is wise, 
 I unite two sentences as before, and also mark the 
 dependence of the one, as a cause, upon the other, 
 as an effect. Conjunctions sometimes seem to unite 
 single words ; but. when that is the case, each of the 
 words so united will be found to have the import 
 of a sentence. When it is said, Peter and John 
 went to the temple, there is the full meaning of 
 two sentences, because there are two affirmations, 
 Peter went to the temple, John went to the temple. 
 
 Q6. Some conjunctions, while they connect sen- 
 tences, do also connect their meanings, making one 
 as it were a continuation of the other ; as, he went 
 because he was ordered: these are called conjunctive. 
 Others, termed disjunctive, connect sentences, while 
 they seem to disjoin their meanings, and set, as it 
 were, one part of a sentence in opposition to ano- 
 ther : as, Socrates was wise, but Aicibiades was not. 
 Each sort admits of subdivisions, which are suf- 
 ficiently explained in the common Latin grammars. 
 
 97. Of the Article. When a thing occurs, 
 which has no proper name, or whose proper name 
 we know not, or do not choose to mention, we, io 
 
 oi.. i. D
 
 50 ELEMENTS OF PART I 
 
 speaking of it, refer it to its species, and call it man, 
 horse, tree, &c. or to its genus, and call it animal, 
 quadruped, vegetable, &c. But the thing itself is 
 neither a genus nor a species, but an individual. 
 To show, therefore, that it is an individual, we 
 prefix an article, and call it a man, a horse, a tree, 
 &c. If this individual be unknown, or perceived 
 now for the first time, or if we choose to speak of 
 it as unknown, we prefix what is called the inde- 
 finite article, and say, here comes a man, I see an 
 ox : and this article coincides nearly in signification 
 with the word one. The French, and many other 
 nations, have a like contrivance. But, in the case 
 now supposed, the Greeks would prefix no article : 
 a man comes is in Greek k^ ifxircu. If the indi- 
 vidual be known to us, or if we choose to speak of 
 it so as to intimate some previous acquaintance with 
 it, we prefix the definite article, the, as the Greeks 
 did their b w to ; the man comes, ct-m^ tfx lT0U ' A 
 correspondent article is found in French, Italian, 
 Hebrew, and most other cultivated languages, the 
 Latin excepted. 
 
 98. That which is very eminent is supposed to be 
 generally known : which is also the case with those 
 things and persons, whether eminent or not, which 
 are nearly connected with us, or which we frequent- 
 ly see : and therefore to the names of such things 
 or persons we sometimes prefix the same definite 
 article. A king is any king ; but the king is the 
 person whom we acknowledge for our sovereign.
 
 CHAP. I. 111. MORAL SCIENCE. 51 
 
 They who live in or near a town, even though it 
 be a very small one, speak of it when at home by 
 the name of the town. 
 
 99. Those words only take the article, which 
 are capable of being made more definite with it than 
 they are without it. /, thou, and he, are as definite 
 as they can be, and therefore never take the article. 
 Names that denote genera and species may be more 
 or less definite, and may therefore take the article ; 
 a man, the man, an animal, the animal. Proper 
 names too may take it when they become common 
 appellatives ; as the Ccesars, the Catos. The pro- 
 per names of some great natural objects, as moun- 
 tains and rivers, take in English the definite arti- 
 cle ; as the Alps, the Grampians, the Thames. But 
 one single mountain, however great, if it have a 
 proper name, does not take it : we say, Etna, Atlas, 
 Lebanon, Olympus; not the Etna, &c. The 
 Greeks sometimes prefix their article to the proper 
 name of a man or woman ; in order, perhaps, to 
 mark the gender of the name, or to make the ex- 
 pression more emphatical, or merely to improve the 
 sound of the sentence. This is not usual in other 
 languages. But the Italians sometimes prefix their 
 definite article to proper names of favourite poets, 
 singers, and fidlers, and no doubt think that by so 
 doing they give energy to the expression. 
 
 100. So far is the indefinite article from being 
 necessary in language, that the Greeks have nothing 
 like it ; and in English we never prefix it to the 
 
 D2
 
 && ELEMENTS OF 
 
 FART I, 
 
 plural number. By the Greek poets the article is 
 more frequently omitted than used ; and it is also 
 frequently omitted in the prose of the Attic dialect. 
 Sometimes we may put the one article for the other 
 without changing the sense : as, the proverb says, 
 or a proverb says, that nothing violent lasts long. 
 These things seem to show that articles are not very 
 necessary. At other times, however, and for the 
 most part, the two articles differ widely in significa- 
 tion. Thus, instead of, Nathan said unto David, 
 hou art the man, if we were to say, thou art a man, 
 we should entirely change the meaning of the pass- 
 age. 
 
 101. In Latin, there is no article ; its place, when 
 it is necessary, being supplied by a pronoun, as Me 
 and ipse. And this seems to be sufficient. The 
 last example, translated thus, dixit Nathan Davidi 9 
 tu es We homo, or tu es We, is as significant in Latin 
 as in English. Sometimes, by prefixing the defi- 
 nite article to a noun, we bestow a peculiar signifi- 
 cation upon it. In Greek, aVfyaTcc is a man, but 
 o aVfy&jToc is, in the Attic dialect, the public execu- 
 tioner. In English, a speaker is any person who 
 speaks ; but the speaker is he who presides in the 
 house of commons. 
 
 102. And now it appears, that in Latin there are 
 nine sorts of words, the noun, pronoun, adjective, 
 verb, participle, adverb, interjection, preposition, 
 and conjunction. In Greek, Hebrew, English, and 
 many other languages, there is also an article, and
 
 CHAP. I. | III. MORAL SCIENCE. 53 
 
 consequently there are ten parts of speech. The 
 noun, pronoun, adjective, verb, participle, preposi- 
 tion, and conjunction, seem to be essential to lan- 
 guage ; the article, interjection, and most of the 
 adverbs, are rather useful than necessary. So 
 much for the faculty of speech, and universal gram- 
 mar. 
 
 SECTION IV. 
 
 Of Perception, or External Sensation. 
 
 103. As this subject is connected with natural 
 philosophy, I shall make but a few slight remarks 
 upon it ; with a view chiefly to some things that are 
 to follow. The soul, using the body as its instru- 
 ment, perceives external things, that is, bodies and 
 their qualities. All animals have this faculty in a 
 greater or less degree, and all complete animals in 
 that precise degree which is necessary to their life 
 and well-being. Corporeal things, when within 
 the sphere of our perceptive powers, and attended 
 to by us, affect our organs of sense in a certain 
 manner, and so are perceived by the soul or mind. 
 We know that this is the fact, but cannot explain 
 it, or trace the connection that there is between our 
 minds and impressions made on our bodily organs ; 
 being ignorant of the nature of that union which 
 subsists between the soul and its body. Our per- 
 ception of bodies is accompanied with a belief, that 
 they exist and are what they appear to be, and that 
 
 D 3
 
 54 ELEMENTS OF PART t, 
 
 we perceive the bodies themselves : and this belief 
 is unavoidable, and amounts to absolute certainty. 
 We cannot prove by argument, that bodies exist, 
 or that we ourselves exist ; nor is it necessary that 
 we should : for the thing is self-evident, and the 
 constitution of our nature makes it impossible for 
 us to entertain any doubt concerning this matter. 
 
 104. It would be a task equally tedious and un- 
 profitable, to explain the notions of philosophers 
 with respect to the manner in which the mind has 
 been supposed to perceive things external. Aris- 
 totle fancied, that, by means of our senses, outward 
 things communicate to the mind their form without 
 their matter ; as the seal imparts to the wax the 
 figures carved on it, without the substance. These 
 forms of things, in their first appearance to the 
 mind, he calls sensible species ; which, as retained 
 by the memory, or exhibited in the imagination, he 
 terms phantasms. And these phantasms, when by 
 the operations of the intellect they are refined into 
 general ideas, he calls intelligible species. For ex- 
 ample : I see a man ; this perception is the sensible 
 species. I afterwards remember his appearance ; 
 or perhaps his appearance occurs to my mind, with- 
 out my remembering, or considering that I had 
 perceived it before : this is a phantasm. Lastly, 
 my intellect, taking away from this phantasm every 
 thing that distinguishes it from others, and retaining 
 so much of it only as it has in common with a kind 
 or sort, (see 19), transforms it into an intelligi- 
 ble species, or general idea, which we express by
 
 CHAP. I. IV. MORAL SCIENCE. 55 
 
 the common appellative man. All this seems to 
 imply, that a thought of the mind has something 
 of body in it, and consists of parts that may be se- 
 parated ; which to me is inconceivable. 
 
 105. Most modern philosophers give an account 
 of this matter in words that are indeed different, 
 but seem to amount to the same thing. They will 
 not admit that the mind can perceive any thing 
 which is not in the mind itself, or at least in the 
 same place with it. Now the son, moon, and stars, 
 and the other things external to us, are neither in 
 the mind, nor in the same place with it : for if they 
 were, they would be in the inside of the human bo- 
 dy. External things themselves, therefore, our 
 mind, we are told, does not perceive at all ; but it 
 perceives ideas of them, which ideas are actually 
 in the same place with the mind ; either in the brain, 
 or in something which has got the name f of sensori- 
 um, in which the percipient being called the soul, or 
 mind, is supposed to have its residence. See 13. 
 
 106. When it was objected, that, on the suppo- 
 sition of our perceiving, not outward things them- 
 selves, but only ideas of them, we cannot be certain 
 that outward things exist, the same philosophers, 
 or rather their successors in the same school, ad- 
 mitted the objection ; and came at last to affirm, 
 that the soul perceives nothing but its own ideas j 
 and that the sun and moon, the sea, and the moun- 
 tains, the men and other animals, and, in a word, 
 the whole universe which we see around us, has no
 
 56 ELEMENTS OF PART I. 
 
 existence but in the mind that perceives it. Never 
 were reason and language more abused than by this 
 extravagant theory ; which instead of illustrating 
 any thing, involves a plain fact in utter darkness \ 
 and, by teaching- that our senses are fallacious fa- 
 culties, leads, as will appear hereafter, to the final 
 subversion of all human knowledge. The doctrine 
 already laid down must therefore remain as it is. 
 We perceive outward things themselves, and believe 
 that they exist, and are what they appear to be. 
 This is the language of common sense, and the be- 
 lief of all mankind. This we must believe whether 
 we will or not : and this even those who deny it 
 must take for granted ; otherwise they could not 
 know how to act on any one emergence of life. 
 And that the mind may perceive things at a dis- 
 tance, is as intelligible to us, as that it can perceive 
 its own ideas. 
 
 107. The powers, by which the soul, using the 
 body as its, instrument, perceives outward things 
 and their qualities, are called senses, and common- 
 ly reckoned five. Tastes or relishes are referred 
 to the sense of tasting, and perceived by means of 
 the tongue. Odours are referred to smelling, the 
 organ of which is the inner part of the nose. Sounds 
 are perceived by the sense of hearing, the organ 
 whereof is the inner part of the ear. By means of 
 the eye we perceive light and colours. All other 
 bodily sensations are referred to touch, the organs 
 whereof are diffused over the whole body. 
 
 3
 
 CHAP. I. ^ IV. MORAL SCIENCE. .57 
 
 108. Tastes and smells, as perceived by the 
 mind, bear no resemblance to the bodies that pro- 
 duce them ; nor is there always a likeness between 
 the tastes and smells of similar bodies ; for salt and 
 sugar may be very like in appearance, and yet are 
 very unlike in other respects. The nature, there- 
 fore, of any particular taste or smell is known by 
 experience only. Tastes and smells are innumera- 
 ble ; yet we have but few words to express them 
 by, as sour, sweety bitter, acid, musty, &c. ; and 
 some of these words are applied both to tastes 
 and to smells : a proof, that these two senses are 
 kindred faculties, and that the sensations we receive 
 by them are somewhat similar ; which also appears 
 from the position of the organs, and from this 
 well-known fact, that those persons who have no 
 smell have never an acute taste. 
 
 109. On applying a body to our tongue and 
 nostrils, we discover its taste and smell ; the mind 
 being, in consequence of this application, affected 
 in a certain manner, by means of nerves or other 
 minute organs. But what connects these organs 
 with the mind, or why one bodv thus applied 
 should convey to the mind the sensation of sweet- 
 ness, and another that of salt or acid, it is im- 
 possible for man to explain. These two senses are 
 necessary to life, because they direct us in the 
 choice of what is fit to be eaten and drank ; and 
 the form and situation of their organs are the best 
 that can be for this purpose. They are also in-
 
 58 ELEMENTS OF PART I* 
 
 struments of pleasure, in a low degree indeed, but 
 still in some degree. And they enlarge the sphere 
 of our knowledge, by making us acquainted with 
 two copious classes of sensible things discoverable 
 by no other faculty. To many animals smell is 
 necessary to lead them to their prey or food ; and 
 to man it sometimes gives notice of fire and wild 
 beasts, and other dangerous things, which could 
 not otherwise have been discovered till it was too 
 late. And it recommends cleanliness, whereby 
 both health of body and delicacy of mind are 
 greatly promoted. 
 
 110. The word taste, as the name of an ex- 
 ternal sense or of a quality of body, has three 
 different significations, which must be carefully 
 distinguished. It means, first, a quality of body 
 which exists in the body whether perceived or not : 
 thus we speak of the taste of an apple. Secondly, 
 it denotes a faculty in the mind, which faculty is 
 exerted by means of the tongue, and which is al- 
 ways in the mind whether it be exerted or not ; 
 for no man imagines, that when he tastes nothing 
 he has lost the power or faculty of tasting. In this 
 sense we use the word when we say, I have lost 
 my smell by a cold, and therefore my taste is not 
 so acute as usual. Thirdly, it signifies a sensation 
 as perceived by the mind, and which exists only 
 in the mind that perceives it, and no longer than 
 while it is perceived : in this sense we sometimes 
 use the word when we speak of a sweet or bitter
 
 CHAP. I. IV. MORAL SCIENCE. 59 
 
 taste, a pleasant or unpleasant taste, an agreeable 
 or disagreeable taste. The same threefold signifi- 
 cation belongs to the words smell, sight, and se- 
 veral others ; which are used to denote an external 
 thing, the faculty which perceives that thing, and 
 the perception itself as it affects the mind. 
 
 111. Natural philosophy teaches, that all sound- 
 ing bodies are tremulous, and convey to the air an 
 undulatory motion, which, if continued till it enter 
 the inner part of the ear, raises in the mind a sen- 
 sation called sound ; which bears no resemblance 
 either to body or to motion ; which is not per- 
 ceived by any other sense ; and which, being a 
 simple feeling, cannot be defined or described, and 
 is known by experience only. By experience also 
 we learn, that all sounds proceed from bodies : 
 and by attending to different sounds, as proceeding 
 from bodies different in kind or differently situ- 
 ated, we are, in many cases, enabled to judge, on 
 hearing a sound, what the sounding body is, and 
 whether it be near or distant, on the right hand 
 or on the left, before or behind us, above or 
 under. 
 
 112. Sounds may be variously divided ; into 
 soft and loud ; acute and grave ; agreeable, dis- 
 agreeable, and indifferent. And each of these 
 sorts may be subdivided into articulate and inar- 
 ticulate. Articulate sounds constitute speech, 
 whereof, we have treated already. Inarticulate 
 sounds mav be divided into musical sound and
 
 60 ELEMENTS OF PART I. 
 
 noise. Of musical sounds and their effects upon 
 the mind, I shall speak hereafter ; observing only, 
 at present, that their intervals are determined by 
 the natural risings and fallings of the human voice 
 in singing ; and that, when ice call some of them 
 high and others low, it seems to be with a view to 
 the high or low situation of their correspondent 
 symbols in our musical scale.* Indeed most of 
 the epithets, which we apply to sound, are in that 
 application figurative. High and low, soft, acute, 
 grave, and deep, in their original and proper sig- 
 nification refer to objects, not of hearing, but of 
 touch. 
 
 113. The ear is the great inlet to knowledge. 
 Deaf men must always be very ignorant : but a 
 man born blind, who hears, may learn many lan- 
 guages, and understand all sciences except those 
 that relate to light and colours ; and even of these 
 he may in some measure comprehend the theory. 
 The importance of this sense to our preservation 
 
 * It has been said, that in forming a grave tone our breath 
 or voice seems to rise from the lower part of the throat, and 
 from the upper part in forming an acute tone. This is no im- 
 probable account of the origin of the terms high and low as 
 applied to musical sound. It may, however, be remarked, 
 that the more ancient Greek writers considered grave tones 
 as high, and acute tones as low. See Smith's Harmonics, I. 
 The ancient Latin writers probably did the same. May not 
 this have been owing to the situation of the strings on some 
 of their musical instruments ?
 
 CHAP. I. IV. MORAL SCIENCE. Gi 
 
 is obvious. A deaf man in the company of those 
 who hear, and a blind man with those who see, 
 may live not uncomfortably : but, in order to 
 judge of the value of a sense, we ought to con- 
 sider what would be the consequence, if all man- 
 kind were to be deprived of it, or had never been 
 endowed with it. 
 
 114. The eye is the organ of seeing, and its 
 objects are light and colours. Bodies become vi- 
 sible by means of light, of which, in order to vision, 
 some animals require more and others less, but all 
 require some. The threefold signification of the 
 word sight was formerly hinted at : it means the 
 thing seen, the faculty of seeing, and the sensation 
 or act of seeing. This last we may put an end to, 
 by shutting our eyes ; but the visible object exists, 
 whether we see it or not ; and the faculty of see- 
 ing remains in the mind when it is not exerted. 
 No man imagines, that by shutting his eyes he an- 
 nihilates light, or his power of seeing it ; but every 
 man knows, that by shutting his eyes he puts an 
 end to the act of seeing, and renews it again when 
 he opens them. When I say, my sight is weak, 
 the noun denotes the power or faculty of seeing : 
 when I say, I see a strange sight, the same word 
 denotes the thing seen : and when I add, that I 
 have a confused or indistinct sight of it, the word 
 signifies the sensation or act of seeing. What is 
 necessary to distinct vision must have been ex-
 
 62 
 
 ELEMENTS OE *ART I. 
 
 plained to you in optics, and needs not be repeated 
 here. 
 
 115. Colours inhere not in the coloured body, 
 but in the light that falls upon it : and a body pre- 
 sents to our eye that colour which predominates in 
 the rays of light reflected by it : and different bo- 
 dies reflect different sorts of rays, according to the 
 texture and consistency of their minute parts. 
 Now the component parts of bodies, and the rays 
 of light, are not in the mind ; and therefore co- 
 lours, as well as bodies, are things external : and 
 the word colour denotes, always an external thing, 
 and never a sensation in the mind. 
 
 116. The motion of the two eyes is nearly 
 parallel ; and yet the muscles that move the one 
 are not connected with those that move the other. 
 A picture of the visible object is formed in the re- 
 tina of each eye ; and yet the mind sees the object 
 not double but single. The images in the retina 
 are both inverted ; and yet the object is seen, not 
 inverted, but erect. These facts are by some 
 writers so explained, as if we, at first, moved our 
 eyes in different directions, and saw objects in- 
 verted and double ; and afterwards, by the power 
 of habit, came to see things as we now do, and to 
 move our eyes as we now move them. But this 
 theory is liable to unanswerable objections ; for 
 which my hearers are referred to the latter part of 
 Dr. Reid's Inquiry into the human mind on the
 
 CHAP. I. IV. MORAL SCIENCE. 63 
 
 principles of common sense. The motion of the 
 eyes is parallel from the first ; unless where there 
 happens to be convulsion or disease. And it is 
 probable, that, when an infant can with his eye 
 take in all the parts of a visible object, he sees it, 
 as we do, erect and single. Nor is it more strange, 
 that the mind, by means of an inverted and double 
 image, should see an object erect and single, than 
 that it should perceive a visible thing by the inter- 
 vention of an image, whereof it is not conscious, 
 which is not known to the greater part of man- 
 kind, which can only be discovered by very nice 
 experiments, and which was never heard of till 
 Kepler found it out about the middle of the last 
 century. 
 
 117. Every part of the body being an instru- 
 ment of touch, we cannot pretend to enumerate 
 the objects and organs of this sense. Heat and 
 cold, hardness and softness, hunger and thirst, the 
 pain of weariness, and the pleasure of rest, and, 
 in a word, all bodily sensations, are referred to 
 touch, except those of smell, taste, sound, colour, 
 and light. In modern philosophy it has been made 
 a question, whether distance, magnitude, and fig- 
 ure, be perceived by sight, by touch, or by both. 
 The question belongs to optics ; and the truth 
 seems to be this : distance, magnitude, and figure, 
 are originally perceived, not by sight, but by touch ; 
 but we learn to judge of them from the informations
 
 64 ELEMENTS OF PART I. 
 
 of sight, by having observed, that certain visible 
 appearances do always accompany and signify cer- 
 tain distances, magnitudes, and figures. 
 
 SECTION V. 
 
 Of Consciousness , or Reflection, 
 
 J 1 8. By this faculty we attend to and perceive 
 what passes in our own minds. It is peculiar to 
 rational beings, for the brutes seem to have nothing 
 of it. In exerting it, the mind makes no use of 
 any bodily organ, so far as we know. It is true, 
 that the body and mind do mutually operate on 
 each other ; that certain bodily disorders hurt the 
 mind ; and that certain energies of the mind affect 
 the body. This proves them to be intimately 
 connected; but this does not prove, that any one 
 bodily part is necessary to consciousness in the 
 same manner as the eye, for example, is necessary 
 to seeing. 
 
 119. Of the things perceived by this faculty, 
 the chief is the mind itself. Every man is con- 
 scious, that he has within him a thinking active 
 principle called a soul or mind. And this belief 
 seems to be universal ; so that if a man were to 
 say, that he was not conscious of any such thing, 
 the world would suspect him of either falsehood 
 or insanity. Nay, the general acknowledgment of
 
 CHAP. I. V. MORAL SCIENCE. 65 
 
 the immortality of the soul, or of its existing after 
 the dissolution of the body (an opinion which, in 
 one form or other, is found in all nations), proves, 
 that it is natural for mankind to consider the hu- 
 man soul and body as substances so distinct, that 
 the former may live, and be happy or miserable, 
 without the other. 
 
 120. Every man also believes, and holds him- 
 self to be absolutely certain, that, whatever changes 
 his body may undergo in this life, his soul always 
 continues one and the same. A temporary sus- 
 pension of all our faculties may happen in deep 
 sleep, or in a swoon ; but we are certain, when we 
 awake or recover, that we are the same persons 
 we were before. In many things, both natural, as 
 vegetable and animal bodies ; and artificial, as ships 
 and towns, the substance may be changed, and yet 
 the thing be supposed to continue the same ; be- 
 cause called by the same name ; situated in the 
 same place ; applied to the same purpose ; or hav- 
 ing its parts so united, that, though new substance 
 may have been added from time to time, or some 
 of the old taken away, there never was any change 
 of the whole substance made at once. But the 
 human soul is always the same ; its substance being 
 incorporeal, as will be shewn hereafter, and con- 
 sequently indivisible. 
 
 '121. The things perceived by consciousness do 
 as really exist, are as important, and may as well 
 serve for the materials of science, as external 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 66 ELEMENTS OF PARTI. 
 
 things and bodily qualities. What it is to think, 
 to remember, to imagine, to be angry or sorrow- 
 ful, to believe or disbelieve, to approve or disap- 
 prove, we know by experience, as well as what it 
 is to see and hear. And truth and falsehood, vir- 
 tue and vice, are as real as sounds and colours, 
 and much more essential to human happiness. 
 Accordingly, in all cultivated languages, there are 
 words to express memory, imagination, reason, 
 conscience, true and false, just and unjust, right 
 and wrong, &c. ; which is a proof, that in all na- 
 tions, not utterly barbarous, such things are at- 
 tended to, and spoken of, as matters of importance. 
 So much for consciousness in general. We are 
 now to consider more particularly the several 
 faculties comprehended in it. And first of me- 
 mory. 
 
 SECTION vr. 
 
 Of Memory. 
 
 122. This is that faculty, by which we acquile 
 experience and knowledge ; and without which we 
 should, at the end of the longest life, be as ignorant 
 as at its beginning. Memory presents to us ideas 
 or thoughts of what is past, accompanied with a 
 persuasion that they were formerly real and present. 
 What we distinctly remember to have seen we as 
 firmly believe to have happened, as what is now 
 present to our senses.
 
 tHAP. I. Vi. MORAL SCIENCE. G7 
 
 123. A sound state of the brain is no doubt 
 necessary to the right exercise of both memory 
 and judgment. And hence perhaps it is, that soma 
 philosophers have held, that all our perceptions 
 and thoughts leave upon the brain certain marks 
 or traces, which continue there for some time, and 
 when attended to by the mind occasion remem- 
 brance ; but that, when the brain is disordered by 
 drunkenness, or any other disease, so as not to 
 receive or retain such marks, or so as to receive or 
 retain them imperfectly, there is then no remem- 
 brance, or a confused one. But this is mere con- 
 jecture, incapable of proof, and indeed absurd. 
 For how thoughts of the mind, which are surely 
 no corporeal things, should leave upon the brain, 
 which is corporeal, particular stamps, variously 
 sized and shaped according to the nature of the 
 thoughts, and how the mind should take notice of 
 those stamps, or remember by means of them, is 
 altogether inconceivable. We know that we do 
 remember ; but of the immediate cause of re- 
 membrance we know nothing. 
 
 1 24. When we remember with little or no effort, 
 it is called remembrance simply, or memory, and 
 sometimes passive memory : when we endeavour 
 to remember what does not immediately and (as it 
 were) of itself occur, it is called active memory, 
 or recollection. A ready recollection of our know- 
 ledge, at the moment when we have occasion for 
 it, is a talent of the greatest importance. The 
 
 E 2
 
 6S ELEMENTS OF l'ART I. 
 
 man possessed of it is generally of good parts, and 
 seldom fails to distinguish himself, whatever sort 
 of business he may be engaged in. But some per- 
 sons, who are remarkable for what is here called 
 passive memory, and can remember all the words 
 of a long discourse on once hearing it, are, in 
 other respects, of no great abilities. Brutes have 
 memory, but of recollection they seem to be in- 
 capable ; for this requires rationality, and the 
 power of contemplating and arranging our thoughts. 
 Great memory is perhaps necessary to form great 
 genius, but is not always a proof of it. 
 
 125. The liveliest remembrance is not so lively 
 as the sensation that produced it ; and ideas of me- 
 mory do often, but not always, decay more and 
 more, as the original sensation becomes more and 
 more remote in time. Those sensations, and those 
 thoughts, have a chance to be long remembered, 
 which are lively at first ; and those are likely to be 
 most lively, which are most attended to, or which 
 are accompanied with pleasure or pain, or with 
 wonder, surprise, curiosity, merriment, and other 
 lively passions. 
 
 126. The art of memory, therefore, is little 
 more than the art of attention. What we wish to 
 remember we should attend to so as to understand 
 it perfectly, fixing our view particularly upon its 
 importance or singular nature ; that it may raise 
 within us some of the passions above mentioned : 
 and we should also beforehand disengage our mind
 
 CHAP. I. VI. MORAL SCIENCE. 6<? 
 
 from other things, that we may the more effectu- 
 ally attend to the new object which we wish to re- 
 member ; that being apt to be forgotten which 
 occurs to us when we are taken up with other 
 things. The memories of children should be con- 
 tinually exercised ; but to oblige them to get by 
 heart what they do not understand, perverts their 
 faculties, gives them a dislike to learning, and con- 
 firms them in habits of inattention, and inaccurate 
 pronunciation. 
 
 1 27. A habit of strictly attending to that, what- 
 ever it is, in which we happen to be engaged, and 
 of doing only one thing at one time, is of great 
 importance to intellectual improvement. It pro- 
 duces clearness and readiness of comprehension, 
 presence of mind, accuracy of knowledge, and fa- 
 cility of expression. Attention to our company is 
 a principal part of politeness, and renders their 
 conversation and behaviour both amusing and in- 
 structive to us. We ought, therefore, to be con- 
 stantly on our guard against contracting any of 
 those habits of indolence, or a wandering mind, 
 which, when long persisted in, form what is called 
 an absent man. 
 
 128. Our thoughts have, for the most part, a 
 connection ; so that the thought which is just now 
 in the mind, depends partly upon that which went 
 before, and partly serves to introduce that which 
 follows. Hence we remember best those things 
 whose parts are methodically disposed, and mutu- 
 
 E3
 
 70 ILEMENTS OF PART I. 
 
 ally connected. A regular discourse makes a more 
 lasting impression upon the hearer than a parcel of 
 detached sentences, and gives to his rational powers 
 a more salutary exercise : and this may show us 
 the propriety of conducting our studies, and all 
 our affairs, according to a regular plan or method. 
 When this is not done, our thoughts and our bu- 
 siness, especially if in any degree complex, soon 
 run into confusion. 
 
 129. The Greek and Roman orators, who 
 sometimes had occasion to deliver very long ora- 
 tions, and all from memory, took pains to fix in 
 their minds a series of objects or places naturally 
 connected, such as the contiguous houses in a 
 street, or the contiguous apartments in a house. 
 By long habit, these places were so arranged in 
 their memory, that when the first place occurred 
 to them, it introduced the idea of the second, and 
 the second the third, and so forward ; even as 
 when the first letter of the alphabet, or the begin- 
 ning of a well-known tune, occurs to the mind, it 
 introduces the subsequent letters and notes in the 
 proper order. Then the orator connected the first 
 head of his discourse with the first of these places, 
 the second with the second, &c. by thinking of 
 both at the same time. And thus they were ena- 
 bled to recollect, without confusion, all the parts 
 of the longest discourse. This was called the ar- 
 tificial memory. Cicero and Quintilian both speak 
 of it, but neither of them so minutely as to make
 
 CHAP. I. VI. MORAL SCIENCE. .71 
 
 it perfectly intelligible, at least to me : nor do I 
 know that any modern orator has ever made use 
 of it. It seems, indeed, to have been a laborious 
 way of improving memory ; as Quintilian himself 
 acknowledges. In allusion to it, we still call the 
 parts of a discourse places or topics, and say, in the 
 first place, in the second place, &c. 
 
 130. What we perceive by two senses at once 
 has a good chance to be remembered. Hence to 
 read aloud, slowly, and with propriety, when one 
 is accustomed to it, contributes greatly to remem- 
 brance. And that which we write in a good hand, 
 without contractions, with dark-coloured ink, ex- 
 actly pointed and spelled, in straight lines with a 
 moderate space between them, and properly subdi- 
 vided into paragraphs as the subject may require, 
 is better remembered than what we throw together 
 in confusion. For, by all these circumstances, 
 attention is fixed, and the writing, being better 
 understood, makes a deeper impression. Those 
 things also, which are related in two or more 
 respects, are more easily remembered than such as 
 are related in one respect only. Hence, by most 
 people, verse is more easily remembered than 
 prose, because the words are related in measure as 
 well as in sense ; and rhyme than blank verse, be- 
 cause the words are related not only in sense and 
 measure, but also by similar sounds at the end of 
 the lines. And, in general, elegant and harmoni-
 
 72 ELEMENTS OF PART I. 
 
 ous language is better remembered, than what is 
 harsh and incorrect. 
 
 131. Memories differ greatly both in kind and 
 in degree. One man remembers best one sort of 
 things, and another another ; which may, in part, 
 be owing to habits contracted of attending to one 
 sort of things more than to another : and this may 
 be assigned as one cause of the varieties of genius 
 that are observable among mankind. In the early 
 part of life, memory is commonly strong ; for 
 then the mind is disengaged, curiosity active, the 
 spirits high, and the agreeable passions predomin- 
 ant. Infants easily remember, and as easily forget. 
 A child of six years, going into a foreign country, 
 acquires the new language, and forgets his own, 
 in a few months. Most things are easily learned 
 in the first part of life, especially languages. In 
 mature age, curiosity is abated, and the spirits less 
 lively than in youth : but men are then more ca- 
 pable of strict attention, and both the memory and 
 the judgment must be considerably improved by 
 experience and long exercise. In old age, curi- 
 osity is still more abated, and few things yield 
 amusement, or are much attended to ; and there- 
 fore memory is for the most part weak, except in 
 regard to transactions long since past, or peculiarly 
 suited to the present disposition. 
 
 1 32. To improve this faculty, we must, as al- 
 ready observed, cultivate habits of strict attention,
 
 CHAP. I. VI. MORAL SCIENCE. 73 
 
 not only when we read books, or hear discourses, 
 but also in conversation, and in every part of our 
 daily business. It will also be prudent to study 
 according to a plan, to dispose our affairs methodi- 
 cally, and to study nothing but what may be use- 
 ful. To read a great variety of books is not ne- 
 cessary ; but those we read should all be good 
 ones ; and we shall do well to read them slowly 
 and considerately, often recollecting what we have 
 read, and meditating upon it ; and we should never 
 leave a good author till we be masters of both his 
 language and his doctrine. A list will be given 
 hereafter of some of those books in Greek, Latin, 
 and English, that deserve to be studied in this ac- 
 curate manner. For, as Bacon well observes, 
 some books are to be read only in parts ; others 
 ' to be read, but not curiously ; and some few to 
 .' be read wholly,- with diligence and attention/ 
 There is much good 6ense in the following apho- 
 rism of the same great author : * reading makes a 
 4 full man, writing an exact man, and conversation 
 6 a ready man.' 
 
 1 33. It is hardly credible to what a degree both 
 active and passive remembrance may be improved 
 by long practice. There are clergymen who can 
 get a sermon by heart in two hours, though iheir 
 memory, when they began to exercise it, was 
 rather weak than strong. And pleaders, and other 
 orators who speak in public and extempore, often 
 discover, in calling instantly to mind all the know-
 
 7* ELEMENTS OF fART I. 
 
 ledge necessary on the present occasion, and every 
 thing of importance that may have been advanced 
 in the course of a long debate, such powers of re- 
 tention and of recollection as, to the man who has 
 never been obliged to exert himself in the same 
 manner, are altogether astonishing. 
 
 1 34. Frequently to revise our knowledge ; to 
 talk about it when we have a convenient oppor- 
 tunity, that is, when we are in the company of 
 those who may wish to hear us talk about it ; to 
 teach it to others ; to reduce it to practice as much 
 as possible ; and to set down in writing, not on 
 loose papers, but in books kept for the purpose, 
 whatever may occur to us on any subject, would 
 greatly improve both our memory and our judg- 
 ment. To transcribe literally from books is of 
 little use, or rather of none ; for it employs much 
 time, without improving any one of our faculties. 
 But to write an abridgment of a good book may 
 sometimes be a very profitable exercise. In ge- 
 neral, when we would preserve the doctrines, sen- 
 timents, or facts, that occur in reading, it will be 
 prudent to lay the book aside, and put them in 
 writing in our own words. This practice will give 
 accuracy to our knowledge, accustom us to recol- 
 lection, improve us in the use of language, and 
 enable us so thoroughly to comprehend the thoughts 
 of other men as to make them, in some measure, 
 our own. 
 
 135. The memory of brutes seems to serve
 
 CHAP. I. VI. MORAL SCIENCE. 75 
 
 them no further, than is necessary to the preserva- 
 tion of them and their offspring, and for making 
 them useful to man. In some of them it is at- 
 tended with extraordinary circumstances. Bees, 
 for example, can see but a very little way before 
 them, as appears from the extreme convexity of 
 their eyes : and yet find their way, from a long 
 excursion, to their respective homes, and seldom 
 or never mistake a neighbouring hive for their 
 own. In this they must be guided, not only by 
 memory, but also by smell, or rather by some 
 other instinct whereof we have no conception. 
 Yet, with all the helps that he derives from in- 
 stinct, or from more acute organs of sense, the 
 memory of the most sagacious brute is to that of 
 men almost infinitely inferior. Many brutes are 
 quite untractable ; of such the memory must be 
 very limited. Those that are docile soon reach 
 the height of improvement ; and the arts and habits 
 which it is in our power to impress upon them are 
 but few. Destitute of consciousness, of reason, of re- 
 collection, of conversation, and of the powers of in- 
 vention and arrangement, the extent of their know- 
 ledge must be extremely small, and their memory 
 proportionable. Of abstract notions in regard to 
 truth and falsehood, virtue and vice, elegance and 
 deformity, proportions in quantity and number, 
 law, government, religion, commerce, and other 
 sciences and arts, which are the most important 
 parts of human knowledge, they are utterly ig-
 
 76 ELEMENTS OF PART I. 
 
 norant: nor can they ever know any thing of 
 what has happened in time past, is likely to happen 
 in the time to come, or is now happening at a 
 distance. 
 
 136. But to the power of human memory, and 
 to the possible extent of human knowledge, we 
 can set no bounds. And what is very remarkable, 
 the more real knowledge we acquire, the greater 
 is our desire of knowledge, and the greater our 
 capacity of receiving it. In a word, we seem to 
 be susceptible of endless improvement : which is 
 a proof, not only of the immense superiority of 
 our nature to that of other animals, but also that 
 our souls are formed for endless duration. 
 
 SECTION VII. 
 Of Imagination, 
 
 137. I remember to have seen a lion; I can 
 imagine a griffin or a centaur though I never saw 
 one : he who uses these words with understand- 
 ing knows the difference between imagination and 
 memory, though perhaps he may not be able to 
 explain it. When we remember, we have a view 
 to real existence and past experience: when we 
 imagine, we contemplate a notion or idea simply 
 as it is in itself, or as we conceive it to be, without 
 referring it to past experience or to real existence.
 
 CHAP. I. % VII. MORAL SCIENCE. 7? 
 
 Some writers limit the word imagination to the 
 mental conception of images or things visible ; and 
 this may perhaps have been the original meaning of 
 the word : but the modern use of language will 
 justify that more general application of the term 
 which is here given. For it would be improper 
 to say, that men born blind must be destitute of 
 imagination : such men may surely invent as well 
 as dream ; it is well-known they can do both : and 
 both invention and dreaming are referred to this 
 faculty. Imagination employed in its more trivial 
 exertions is often called fancy. A sublime poet is 
 a man of vast imagination : a witty author is a 
 person of lively fancy. 
 
 138. That we may see more particularly the 
 nature of the faculty in question, it is proper to 
 observe here, that all things may be divided into 
 simple and complex. The former do not seem to 
 consist of parts that can be separated ; and such 
 are our sensations of heat, cold, hunger, thirst, or 
 of any particular sound, or simple colour. Com- 
 plex things consist of parts, which may be se- 
 parated and conceived separately : such are all bo- 
 dies. Now all our simple ideas, that is, all our 
 notions of simple objects, are derived from ex- 
 perience : a man must have seen colour, and light, 
 and heard sound, and felt the pain of hunger, be- 
 fore he can conceive what those things are. Bin 
 complex ideas, or notions of complex objects, the 
 mind can form for itself, by supposing a number
 
 VS ELEMENTS OF PART I. 
 
 of simple or complex notions or things combined 
 together in one assemblage. When such complex 
 ideas are not derived from memory, we refer 
 them to the imagination. No man ever saw a 
 mountain of ivory ; but he, who has seen ivory 
 and a mountain, may easily imagine the substance 
 of the one extended to the size and shape of the 
 other, and thus form the idea of an ivory moun- 
 tain. 
 
 139. Memory suggests nothing to us but what 
 we have really perceived ; so that a being endowed 
 with memory, but destitute of imagination, could 
 never invent any thing : as all invention implies 
 novelty, and that certain things or thoughts are 
 put together which were never so put together be- 
 fore. Now this inventing power is ascribed, as 
 Observed already, to the imagination or fancy, and, 
 when regulated by good sense and applied to use- 
 ful purposes, is called genius. One may be learned 
 who is not ingenious ; in other words, one may 
 have a good memory well stored with knowledge, 
 and yet have little imagination or invention ; as, 
 on the other hand, one may be very ingenious 
 with little learning. But genius and learning, 
 when they meet in one person, are mutually and 
 greatly assistant to each other ; and, in the poetical 
 art, Horace declares that either without the other 
 can do little. 
 
 140. The succession of our thoughts is often 
 regulated by memory j as when we go over in our
 
 CHAP. I. ^ VII. MORAL SCIENCE. T9 
 
 mind the particulars of a place we have seen, of 
 a conversation we have heard, or of a book we 
 have read. At other times, when our attention is 
 not fixed on any one thing, a state of mind called 
 a reverie, we may observe, that our thoughts are 
 continually changing, so that in a little time our 
 imagination wanders to something very different 
 from that which we were thinking of just before. 
 Yet if we could remember every thing that passed 
 through our mind during this reverie, we should 
 probably find, that there was some relation, con- 
 nection, or bond of union, between those thoughts 
 that accompanied, or came next after, one another. 
 The relations, or bonds of union, which thus de-. 
 termine the mind to associate ideas, are various. 
 
 141. First, resemblance is an associating quality: 
 that is, when we perceive, or think of, any thing, 
 it is natural for us, at the same time, or imme- 
 diately after, to think of something that is like it. 
 "When we hear a story, or see a person, we are 
 apt to think of other similar stories or persons. 
 Our discourse we often embellish with metaphors, 
 allegories, and those other figures of speech, that 
 are founded in likeness. And when any powerful 
 passion, as anger or sorrow, takes hold of the 
 mind, the thoughts that occur to us have generally 
 a resemblance to that passion, and tend to en- 
 courage it. 
 
 142. Contrariety , or contrast, is another asso- 
 ciating principle,, especially when the mind is in a
 
 80 ELEMENTS OF PART T. 
 
 disagreeable state. Great cold makes us think of 
 heat, and wish for it. Hunger and thirst put us 
 in mind of eating and drinking. In poetry, and 
 other works of fancy, we are sometimes pleased 
 when we find things of opposite natures succeeding 
 each other; when, for example, the hurry of a 
 battle is interrupted, as in Homer it often is, with 
 a descriptive similitude taken from still life or rural 
 affairs ; or when, in the same fable, persons ap- 
 pear of opposite characters, and the violent is op- 
 posed to the gentle, the cunning to the generous, 
 and the rash to the prudent. 
 
 1 43. Thirdly : when we think of any place 
 which we are acquainted with, we are apt to think 
 at the same time of the neighbouring places and 
 persons : here the associating principle is contigu- 
 ity^ or nearness of situation. The sight of a house, 
 in which we have formerly been happy or unhappy, 
 renews the agreeable or disagreeable ideas that 
 were formerly realised there. Honce, in part, 
 arises that partiality which most people have for 
 the town, province, or country, in which they 
 passed their early years. Hence, on entering a 
 church, even when nobody is present, a considerate 
 mind is apt to feel some of those religious impres- 
 sions which it has formerly experienced in such 
 places : and sentiments of a different nature arise, 
 when we go into play-houses, ball-rooms, or apart- 
 ments that we have seen appropriated to purposes 
 of festivity.
 
 CHAP. I. VII. MORAL SCIENCE. 81 
 
 144. Fourthly : things related as cause and ef- 
 fect do mutually suggest each other to the mind. 
 
 When we see a wound, we think of the weapon or 
 the accident that caused it, and of the pain which 
 is the effect of it. The idea of snow or of ice brings 
 along with it that of cold ; and we can hardly think 
 of the sun without thinking of light and heat at the 
 same time. The associations founded on this prin- 
 ciple are equally strong, whether the causation be 
 real or imaginary. He who believes that darkness 
 and solitude are the cause of the appearance of 
 ghosts, will find, when he is in the dark and alone, 
 that the idea of such beings will occur to him as 
 naturally, as if the one were really the cause of the 
 other. It is true, that solitude and darkness may 
 reasonably produce some degree of fear ; because 
 where we cannot see we must be in some danger ; 
 and, when every thing is silent about us, we must 
 be at some distance from the protection and other 
 comforts of society. But ghosts and apparitions 
 have nothing more to do with darkness than with 
 light : and the stories told of them will be found, 
 on examination, to arise, either from imperfect sen- 
 sations owing to the darkness, or from those hor- 
 rors which disorder the imagination when one is 
 very much afraid, or from the folly, credulity, or 
 falsehood of them who circulate those silly tales. 
 
 145. Custom or habit is a very extensive princi- 
 ple of association. Things and thoughts that hava 
 no other bond of union may, by appearing together, 
 
 vol. i. F
 
 82 ELEMENTS OF PART I. 
 
 or being frequently joined together, become so 
 closely related, that the one shall ever after intro- 
 duce the other into the mind. Thus, in language 
 written or spoken, the mind instantly passes from 
 the word heard, or from the characters seen, to the 
 thing signified ; custom having so associated them 
 that the one always reminds us of the other. Upon 
 associations established by custom many of the pains 
 and pleasures of life depend. An indifferent thing 
 may become very agreeable, or very much the con- 
 trary, according to the nature of the ideas thus con- 
 nected with it ; and, in like manner, in consequence 
 of some perverse association, that which ought to 
 make us serious may incline us to laughter. 
 
 1 46. Things solemn and sacred, therefore, should 
 never be spoken of in terms of ridicule or levity 5 
 and places appropriated to the offices of religion 
 should never be made the scene of any thing ludi- 
 crous, trifling, or unsuitable. Where these rules 
 are not attended to, important and frivolous thoughts 
 may be so jumbled together in the mind, as that 
 the former shall sometimes, very unseasonably and 
 indecently, suggest the latter. Let sacred things 
 be always accompanied with serious language and 
 solemn circumstances : and let those who wish to 
 retain the government of their passions and the 
 command of their thoughts, be careful to check in 
 the beginning every tendency to perverse and im- 
 pure associations. 
 
 147. presses both ugly and inconvenient become
 
 CHAP. R ^ VII. MORAL SCIENCE. 8,'J 
 
 fashionable; and custom reconciles us to the fashion, 
 though at first, perhaps, it might appear ridiculous ; 
 which is also owing to associations founded in cusr 
 torn. For when we have long seen a particular 
 form of dress worn by persons whom we love and 
 esteem, and on occasions of the greatest festivity or 
 solemnity, it acquires in our mind a connection with 
 a great number of pleasing ideas ; and whatever is 
 so connected must itself be pleasing. It will appear 
 by and by, that, from associations founded in habit, 
 many, or perhaps most, of those pleasing emotions 
 are derived, which accompany the perception of 
 that which in things visible is called beauty. 
 
 148. This subject will often come in our way 
 hereafter. But before we leave it now, it may be 
 proper to remark, that some people contract strange 
 habits of what may be termed external association, 
 of joining together two actions that have no natural 
 connection, and appear very awkward when they 
 are so joined. You may have seen a boy button 
 and unbutton his coat all the while he is repeating 
 his catechism ; and we have heard of a lawyer, who 
 could not go on with his pleading, unless he was 
 continually winding a piece of packthread about 
 his finger. It should be our care to guard against 
 these and the like absurd habits, and to be very 
 thankful to those who caution us against them; for 
 the eyes of a friend are, in a matter of this kind, 
 much more to be depended on than our own. 
 
 149. It was already observed, that the talent of 
 
 F 2
 
 84 ELEMENTS OF TART T. 
 
 invention applied to useful purposes is called genius: 
 but it requires experience and good sense to enable 
 one so to apply it. Every person is not a man of 
 genius, nor is it necessary that he should. For in 
 human society, as in an army, though there must be 
 a few to contrive and command, far the greater num- 
 ber have nothing to do but to obey : and the efforts 
 of the multitude are necessary to public good, as 
 well as the contrivance of those who direct them. 
 Besides, if every man were a man of genius, there 
 would be so much ambition in the world, and so 
 many projectors, and such a multiplicity of opposite 
 interests, as would confound the order of human 
 affairs. To the perfection of genius, learning and 
 application are necessary, as well as natural talents. 
 It is true, that some men of great genius have had 
 little learning ; but this was their misfortune : and 
 it can hardly be doubted, that with a better educa- 
 tion they would have made a better figure. With- 
 out industry and attention, genius is good for no- 
 thing. 
 
 150. Many are the degrees, and the varieties, of 
 human genius. One man has a genius in mechan- 
 ics ; another, in architecture ; a third, in the con- 
 duct of military affairs ; or in painting, geometry, 
 music, poetry, eloquence, &c. ; and one man may 
 make great progress, and contrive many improve- 
 ments in one art, who could not have been so suc- 
 cessful in another. And some men there are, of 
 talents so universal, as to discover genius in every
 
 CHAP. I. k VII. MORAL SCIENCE. 8.5 
 
 thing to which they apply themselves. It is not 
 easy, nor perhaps possible, to account for these 
 peculiarities and varieties of intellectual character. 
 They may be partly owing to habits contracted in 
 early years ; and partly, and perhaps chiefly, to that 
 particular constitution of mind, by which, as well 
 as by his face and other bodily peculiarities, one 
 man is distinguished from another. 
 
 151. But, though we may be at a loss to explain 
 the efficient cause of this variety, it is easy to see 
 itsjinal cause, that is, the intention of providence 
 in appointing it. It is this that makes men take to 
 different pursuits and employments ; which renders 
 them mutually useful to one another, and prevents 
 too violent oppositions of interest. And hence 
 mankind enjoy a variety of conveniencies ; arts and 
 sciences are invented and improved ; and many 
 sources are opened of commerce and friendly inter- 
 course, whereby the circulation of truth is promot- 
 ed, and the bounds of social virtue enlarged. 
 
 152. When one takes a view of the arts that 
 flourish in society, one is apt to wonder at two 
 things ; first, their vast number and mutual sub- 
 serviency; and, secondly, that men should be found 
 who voluntarily make choice of one or other of all 
 the employments necessary in civilized life. This 
 consideration affords a proof of the extreme pliable- 
 ness of the human mind, as well as of the goodness 
 of providence. For, though some professions and 
 trades are of low esteem, we find, that in every con
 
 SQ ELEMENTS OF PART U 
 
 dition honest industry, with contentment may be 
 happy. Let us therefore learn to set a proper value 
 on all the useful arts of life, and on all those who 
 practise them with integrity and industry. 
 
 153. The imagination is subject to certain dis- 
 orders, which may be comprehended under the op- 
 posite extremes of levity and melancholy. Levity 
 produces thoughtlessnes, vanity, and contempt of 
 Others. Whatever therefore tends to make men 
 considerate and humble may be proposed as a re- 
 medy for this disease, or rather as a means of pre- 
 venting it. Habits of consideration may be acquir- 
 ed by studying history, geometry, and those parte 
 of philosophy which lead to the observation of life 
 and manners. Persons in danger from this disease 
 should be kept at a distance from flattery and no- 
 vels, and taught, that honesty and attention to busi- 
 ness are in every station respectable, and that con- 
 tempt and misery never fail to attend a life of idle- 
 ness or fantastic ambition. The company of those 
 who are wiser and better than they, will also be of 
 great and peculiar benefit to persons of this charac- 
 ter : and some experience of adversity may be 
 very serviceable in promoting that knowledge of 
 one's self, and that fellow-feeling for others, which 
 repress vanity, by producing consideration and a 
 lowly mind. 
 
 154. The practice of turning every thing into 
 joke and ridicule is a dangerous levity of imagina- 
 tion. Wit and humour, when natural, are very
 
 CHAP. I. $ VII. MORAL SCIENCE. 8? 
 
 useful and very pleasing. But that studied and 
 habitual jocularity, which I here speak of, and 
 which some people affect, makes one a disagreeable 
 and tiresome companion. It generally arises from 
 vanity ; it renders conversation unprofitable, and 
 too often immoral ; and it gradually perverts the 
 understanding, both of those who practise it, and 
 of those who take pleasure in hearing it. Our se- 
 rious concerns demand our first attention : wit, 
 humour, and merriment, may be used in the way 
 of relaxation, but are not the business for which we 
 were sent into this world. 
 
 155. An imagination disordered by melancholy 
 is one of the greatest calamities incident to human 
 nature. In order to prevent it, we ought by all 
 means to avoid idleness, and lead an active life j 
 to be temperate and social j to cherish every cheer- 
 ful affection, as good nature, good humour, pa- 
 tience, forgiveness, piety, humility, and benevo- 
 lence, by all which the health of both the mind 
 and body is effectually promoted ; and to check 
 the gloomy passions of anger, revenge, pride, sus- 
 picion, jealousy, misanthropy, excessive anxiety, 
 and immoderate sorrow, which are all productive 
 of misery and disease, both mental and corporeal. 
 They, who are in danger from a melancholy ima- 
 gination, will do well to study nothing but what is 
 amusing and practical ; to abstain from tragical 
 narratives, controversy, and law-suits, which wear 
 out the spirits to no purpose , to use moderation
 
 SS ELEMENTS OF TART I, 
 
 in study, a? in every thing else ; and to have re- 
 course every day, more or less according to cir- 
 cumstances, to bodily exercise, innocent amuse- 
 ment, fresh air, and cheerful company. To guard 
 against superstition and enthusiasm, by forming 
 right notions of God's adorable nature and provi- 
 dence ; and to avoid, as one would the pestilence, 
 all books and all conversations that are likely to in- 
 fuse impious, irreligious, or immoral opinions, is 
 the duty, not of those only whose minds are op- 
 pressed with melancholy, but of all mankind with- 
 out exception. 
 
 SECTION VIII. 
 Of Dreaming. 
 
 156. That may be very useful, of which we 
 cannot discover the use : and dreams, though we 
 know little of their nature, may yet be of great 
 importance in our constitution. Most of the few 
 unconnected remarks that follow are offered as 
 mere conjecture ; for it would be vain to attempt to 
 treat this subject in a scientific manner. Most men 
 dream, but all do not ; and sometimes we dream 
 more than at other times. In dreams we mistake 
 ideas of imagination for real things. But when 
 awake, and in our perfect mind, we never mistake 
 a reality for a dream. Realities are perceived in- 
 tuitively. We cannot prove by argument, that we
 
 CHA?. 1. VIII. MORAL SCIENCE. S9 
 
 are now awake ; for we know of nothing more evi- 
 dent to prove it by : and it is essential to every 
 proof to be clearer than that which is to be proved. 
 But it is impossible for us to doubt of our being 
 awake : such is the law of our nature. And our 
 experience of the delusions of dreaming never af- 
 fects, and is not supposed to affect, the certainty of 
 human knowledge. 
 
 157. In good health we often dream of our or* 
 dinary business ; which however is considerably 
 disguised by imaginary circumstances. Such dreams 
 partake of the nature of allegory : they resemble- 
 common life, and yet they differ from it. This the 
 poets attend to ; and, when they have occasion to 
 describe any person's dream, they generally make 
 it contain some shadowy representation of what is 
 supposed to be in his mind when awake ; and this 
 we approve of, because we know it is natural. Dis- 
 agreeable dreams accompany certain bodily disor- 
 ders ; and when there is any tendency to fever in 
 the human frame, they are very fatiguing and tire- 
 some : whence a man of prudence, who is free from 
 superstition, may make discoveries concerning his 
 health, and learn from his dreams to live more 
 temperately than usual, or take more or less exer- 
 cise, or have recourse to other means, in order to 
 avert the impending evil. 
 
 158. Dreams may sometimes be useful, as fables 
 are, for conveying moral instruction. If, for ex- 
 ample, we dream that we are in violent anger, and
 
 90 ELEMENTS OF ^ART I. 
 
 strike a blow which kills a man, the horror we feel 
 on the occasion may dispose us, when awake, to 
 form resolutions against violent anger, lest it should 
 at one time or other prompt us to a like perpetra- 
 tion. In the Tatler (N. 117), there is an ac- 
 count of a dream that conveys a sublime and in- 
 structive lesson of morality.* Dreams are a striking 
 instance of the activity of the human soul, and of 
 its power of creating, as it were, without the help 
 of the senses, ideas that give it amusement, and 
 command its whole attention. Sometimes, how- 
 ever, in sleep, our memory, and sometimes our 
 judgment, seem to have forsaken us : we believe 
 the wildest absurdities, and forget the most remark- 
 able events of our life. It is at least possible, that 
 this temporary suspension of our faculties may 
 make the soul act more vigorously at other times, 
 ven as our bodily powers derive refreshment from 
 rest. 
 
 159. Dreams may in other respects be friendly 
 to our intellectual nature. To think too long, or 
 too intensely, on any one subject, is hurtful to 
 health, and sometimes even to reason. They may 
 therefore be useful in giving variety to our thoughts, 
 and forcing the mind to exert itself, for a while, 
 in a new direction. And persons who dream most 
 frequently may perhaps, from their constitution, 
 have more need, than others have, of this sort of 
 amusement ; which is the more probable, because 
 it is found in fact, that those people are most apt
 
 CHAP. I. VIII. MORAL SCIENCE. 91 
 
 to dream who are most addicted to intense think- 
 ing. In this view, even disagreeable dreams are 
 useful : as a life of violent activity, of hardship, 
 and even of danger, is recommended, and known 
 to give relief, to persons oppressed with melancho- 
 ly, and other mental disorders. 
 
 160. In ancient times, the dreams of some men 
 were prophetical ; but as we are not prophets, we 
 have no reason to think that ours are of that sort. 
 It may happen indeed, in the revolution of chances, 
 that a dream shall resemble a future event. But 
 this is rare ; and, when it happens^ not more won- 
 derful, than that an irregular clock should now and 
 then point at the right hour. Nor can it be ad- 
 mitted, that dreams are suggested by invisible be- 
 ings j as they are for the most part mere trifles, 
 and depend so much on the state of our mind and 
 body. The soul in herself seems to possess vivaci- 
 city sufficient to account for all the odd appearances 
 that occur in sleep. For even when we are awake, 
 and in health, very strange thoughts will sometimes 
 arise in the mind. And, in certain diseases, wak- 
 ing thoughts are often as extravagant as the wild- 
 est dreams. 
 
 161. Our dreams are exceedingly various ; but 
 that they should be so, is not at all surprising. A 
 very slight impression made on our organs of sense 
 in sleep ; a sound heard imperfectly ; a greater or 
 Jess degree of heat ; our breathing in any respect
 
 &2 ELEMENTS O? PART I, 
 
 interrupted, by the state of the stomach and bowels, 
 by an awkward position of the head, or by external 
 things affecting our organs of respiration ; the tem- 
 perature of the air in general, or that of our bed- 
 chamber in particular ; these, and the like casu- 
 alties, as well as the tenor of our thoughts through 
 the day, the state of our health, and the passions 
 that may happen to predominate in our mind, have 
 all considerable influence in giving variety to our 
 nocturnal imaginations. Uncommon dreams, there- 
 fore, should give us no concern. In these vision- 
 ary appearances, uniformity would be more won- 
 derful, than the greatest variety. Some people, it 
 is true, often find the same dream recur upon them. 
 Possibly this may be in part owing to habit ; they 
 dream the same thing a third or a fourth time, be- 
 cause they have talked or thought of it more than 
 of other dreams. Hence, with respect to disagree- 
 able dreams, we may learn a caution ; which is, to 
 banish them from our thoughts as soon as possible, 
 and never speak of them at all. It is indeed a vul- 
 gar observation, but there is truth in it, that they 
 who seldom talk of dreams are not often troubled 
 with them.
 
 CHRP. I. IX. MORAL SCIENCE. 93 
 
 SECTION IX. 
 
 Of some Secondary Sensatio?is. 
 
 162. Of the perceptive powers of man there stil! 
 remain to be considered, conscience, whereby we 
 distinguish between vice and virtue ; and reason, 
 whereby we perceive the difference between truth 
 and falsehood. These, to prevent unnecessary re- 
 petition, we pass by at present, as they will come 
 in our way hereafter, the former in moral philo- 
 sophy, the latter in logic. If I had not wished to 
 avoid troubling my hearers with too many divisions 
 and subdivisions in the beginning, I would have 
 divided sensation into primary and secondary. The 
 former has been spoken of already. The latter I 
 now enter upon ; and, indeed, could hardly bring 
 it in sooner ; what has been said on the subject of 
 imagination being necessary as an introduction to 
 it. These secondary faculties of sensation have, 
 by some writers, been called internal senses ; by 
 others, emotions. The name is of little im- 
 portance: the nature of the thing will soon ap- 
 pear. 
 
 163. We perceive colours and figures by the 
 eye; we also perceive that some colours and fi- 
 gures are beautiful, and others not. This power 
 of perceiving beauty, which the brutes have not,
 
 94 ELEMENTS OF PAR* I. 
 
 though they see as well as we, I call a secondary- 
 sense. We perceive sounds by the ear ; we also 
 perceive, that certain combinations of sound have 
 harmony, and that others are dissonant. This 
 power of perceiving harmony, called in common 
 language a musical ear, is another secondary sense, 
 which the brutes have not, and of which many 
 men who hear well enough are utterly destitute. 
 Of these secondary senses there are, no doubt, 
 many in the human constitution. I confine my- 
 self to those of novelty, sublimity, beauty, imita- 
 tion, harmony, and ridicule y which, together with 
 sympathy, which I shall also describe, form what 
 is commonly called good taste. The pleasures re- 
 ceived by the secondary senses are, by Addison, 
 in the sixth volume of the Spectator, and by Aken- 
 side, in the title of a poem which he wrote on the 
 subject, termed pleasures of imagination, 
 
 164, Of Novelty. Things in themselves in- 
 different, or even disagreeable, may be agreeable 
 when new ; and novelty in general has a charm in 
 it, of which every rational, or every human being 
 at least, is sensible. Hence our passion for variety, 
 for amusement, for news, for strange sights, and 
 for knowledge in general. The pleasure we take 
 in new things arises from the active nature of man. 
 We are never happy unless employed about some- 
 thing ; and when we have nothing to do in the 
 way of business or amusement, the mind becomes 
 languid, and of course uneasy. Yet into this state
 
 CHAP. I. IX. MORAL SCIENCE. 95 
 
 we are apt to fall, when there is nothing to rouse 
 our attention, or give play to our faculties. For 
 when we have long been conversant about one set 
 of objects, the mind comprehends them so easily, 
 that they give it no exercise. In this case, a new 
 object occurring gives an impulse to the mind, and 
 puts it upon exerting itself ; and the exertion, if 
 moderate, is agreeable. If the new object occa- 
 sion surprise, or any other lively and pleasing 
 emotion, its novelty will be still more interesting, 
 because it will convey to the mind a more sprightly 
 and perhaps a more permanent impulse. 
 
 1 65. Some things are more disagreeable at first, 
 than they come to be afterwards ; which may be 
 owing to one or other of these two causes. Either 
 the new object may have required, in order to its 
 being comprehended, a violent and painful exertion 
 of the faculties ; as in the case of one entering 
 upon a new study, or a new course of life : or we 
 may have fixed our first attention on what seemed 
 disagreeable in the new object ; not discovering its 
 agreeable qualities till we were better acquainted 
 with it. Hence Let us learn, that a good course 
 of life, though somewhat unpleasant at first, ought 
 not on that account to be relinquished ; for we 
 may be assured it will in time become pleasant, it 
 persisted in. It is remarkable, that men some- 
 times contract a most violent liking to certain tastes 
 that were at first extremely offensive, as those f
 
 96 ELEMENTS OF PART f. 
 
 tobacco and strong liquors. This depends on 
 causes in which the mind has little concern. It 
 may be, that, by the constant use of such things, 
 the stomach or the palate, and of course the animal 
 spirits, are reduced to such a state as to be uneasy 
 in the want of them. The part of prudence, 
 therefore, is, to abstain from such things alto- 
 gether, which requires no effort, rather than to 
 hazard the acquisition of a habit which it may be 
 almost impossible to overcome. Unnatural plea- 
 sures of this sort it is no evil to be without, but it 
 may be a fatal evil to acquire a relish for. 
 
 166. In all the arts that minister to rational 
 pleasure, variety is studied, that the mind may be 
 refreshed with a succession of novelties. The 
 prose-writer, where it can be done conveniently, 
 varies the length, the sound, and the syntax, of 
 contiguous clauses and sentences ; and amuses the 
 reader's fancy with metaphors, similitudes, and 
 other apposite figures of speech. The poet varies 
 the structure of contiguous verses ; and, in fram- 
 ing his fable, is careful to bring in events that are 
 both probable and unexpected, and persons who 
 differ from each other in character, appearance, 
 and adventures. So in the other fine arts. In the 
 works of nature there is great uniformity, and at 
 the same time the most unbounded variety : so 
 that he who studies them is continually delighted 
 Avith new and wonderful discoveries j and yet is
 
 CHAP. I. h IX. MORAL SCIENCE. 97 
 
 never perplexed by their multiplicity, because or- 
 der, proportion, and fitness, prevail through the 
 whole system. 
 
 167. The taste for novelty is an important part 
 of the human constitution. It is the source of 
 much amusement, and prompts men to labour in 
 the acquisition of knowledge. It is, besides, one 
 of our first passions. You cannot gratify a child 
 more, than by shewing him something new, or 
 telling him a wonderful story. The same novel- 
 ties are not equally captivating to all. Some seek 
 after new attainments in science ; some wander 
 through the world to visit different nations ; some 
 explore the wonders of inanimate nature, and 
 some the characters of men ; some read history, 
 some study the fine arts, some are curious in 
 whatever relates to mechanism, and some mind 
 little more than the news of the day ; some amuse 
 themselves with collecting pictures, prints, manu- 
 scripts, medals, shells, minerals; and some are 
 fond of old, and others of new books. Thus men 
 take to different pursuits and employments, and 
 every part of knowledge is cultivated. 
 
 168. Of Sublimity. Things of great mag- 
 nitude, as a large building, a high mountain, a 
 broad river, a wide prospect, the ocean, the sky, 
 &c. fill the mind of the beholder with admiration 
 and pleasing astonishment, and with respect to this 
 sensation are called sublime. Great height and 
 depth, and great number too, as an army, a navy. 
 
 vol. 1. O
 
 98 ELEMENTS OF PART I. 
 
 a long succession of years, eternity, &c. are sub- 
 lime objects, because they fill our minds with the 
 same pleasing astonishment. In contemplating such 
 things, we are conscious of something like an ex- 
 pansion or elevation of our faculties, as if we were 
 exerting our whole capacity to comprehend the 
 vastness of the object. 
 
 169. Whatever it be that raises in us this plea- 
 surable astonishment, is accounted sublime, whe- 
 ther connected with quantity or number, or not. 
 Hence loud sounds, like those of thunder, cannon, 
 a full organ, a storm ; hence those fictions in 
 poetry, that produce an imaginary, and not pain- 
 ful terror ; hence any uncommon degree of vir- 
 tue, of genius, or even of bodily strength ; and 
 hence those affections which elevate the soul, as 
 fortitude, devotion, and universal benevolence, or 
 which are, in their objects, causes, or effects, 
 connected with great number or great quantity ; 
 are all denominated sublime, and fill our minds 
 with the same delightful astonishment and admir- 
 ation. 
 
 170. The Deity the source of happiness and 
 the standard of perfection ; who creates, preserves, 
 pervades, and governs all things ; whose power is 
 omnipotent, whose wisdom is perfect, whose good- 
 ness is unbounded, whose greatness is incompre- 
 hensible ; who was from all eternity, and of whose 
 dominion there can be no end : he is undoubtedly, 
 and, beyond all comparison, the most sublime ob-
 
 CHAP. I. IX. MORAL SCIENCE. 99 
 
 ject which it is possible to conceive or to contem- 
 plate : and of all created sublimity (if I may so 
 speak) his works exhibit the most perfect and most 
 astonishing examples. There are, no doubt, sub- 
 lime operations of human art, as ships of war, 
 cathedral churches, palaces, mounds for repelling 
 the sea, &c. But, in respect of greatness, these 
 are nothing, when we compare them with moun- 
 tains, volcanoes, the ocean, the expanse of heaven, 
 clouds and storms, thunder and lightning, the sun 
 and moon, the solar system, the universe. 
 
 171. Poetry, painting, and music, are called 
 fine arts ; because, though not necessary to life, 
 they are highly ornamental. Architecture is also 
 a fine art ; for it improves building to a degree far 
 beyond what is necessary. And by each of these 
 arts the sublime is attainable. That is sublime 
 music which inspires sublime affections, as courage 
 and devotion ; or which, by its sonorous harmonies, 
 overwhelms the mind with a pleasing astonishment. 
 Architecture is sublime, when it is large, lofty, 
 and durable ; and, at the same time, so simple and 
 well-proportioned as that the eye can take in all 
 its greatness at once. For a number of little parts 
 and ornaments take away from the sublimity of a 
 great building, though they may sometimes add to 
 its beauty. Painting is sublime, when it exhibits 
 men invested with great qualities, such as bodily 
 strength ; or actuated by sublime passions, as de- 
 votion or valour ; or when it successfully imitates 
 
 G2
 
 1(X) ELEMENTS OF PART f. 
 
 great visible objects, artificial or natural, as moun- 
 tains, precipices, palaces, storms, cataracts, volca- 
 noes, and the like. 
 
 172. Poetry is sublime ; first, when it elevates 
 the mind, and makes it, as it were, superior to the 
 cares and troubles of this world : secondly, when 
 it infuses any sublime affection, as devotion, valour, 
 universal benevolence, the love of virtue and of 
 our country : thirdly, when it affects the mind 
 with an awful and imaginary, but not unpleasing 
 horror : fourthly, when it describes the sentiments 
 or actions of those persons whose character is sub- 
 lime : and fifthly, when it conveys a lively idea of 
 any grand appearance, natural, artificial, or ima- 
 ginary. That style is sublime, which makes us 
 readily conceive any great object or sentiment in a 
 lively manner ; and this is often done when the 
 words are very plain and simple. 
 
 173. It is true, that poets and orators, when 
 they describe sublime objects, do often elevate 
 their style with tropes and figures, and high-sound- 
 ing expressions. And this is suitable to the nature 
 of human speech : for, when we speak of any 
 thing which we consider as great, it is natural for 
 us, even in common discourse, to raise our voice, 
 and pronounce with more than usual solemnity. 
 But in the use of bold figures and sonorous lan- 
 guage great caution is requisite : for, if they be 
 too frequent, or seem to be too much sought after, 
 or if they be not accompanied with a correspondent
 
 CHAP. I. ^ IX. MORAL SCIENCE. 101 
 
 elevation of thought, they become ridiculous, and 
 are called bombast, or false sublime. Even in 
 brutes there may be qualities which command our 
 admiration and astonishment : whence lions, horses, 
 and elephants, are sublime objects ; not so much 
 because their bodies are large, though this may 
 have some effect, as on account of their uncommon 
 strength, sagacity, or contempt of danger. 
 
 174. Though real greatness always raises ad- 
 miration, littleness does not always excite the con- 
 trary passion of contempt. That which is little 
 may be beautiful or useful, or ingeniously con- 
 trived, and so give pleasure in various ways, and 
 sometimes raise admiration too ; for who does not 
 admire the beauty of a rose, and the wonderful 
 instincts of the bee ? Littleness is then offensive, 
 and is called meanness, when we are disappointed 
 by it, and meet with it in a place, where we had 
 reason to expect something better. There is a 
 meanness in certain words and phrases, which for 
 that reason ought to be avoided on every solemn 
 occasion, and in all elegant writing. Important 
 sentiments expressed in mean words, raise indig- 
 nation or laughter. Think what effect a sermon 
 would have, if it were mixed with vulgar proverbs, 
 or broad Scotch words. Now those are mean 
 words, which are not used except by illiterate or 
 by affected persons, or on very familiar occasions. 
 Common proverbs, customary forms of compli- 
 ment, ungrammatical expressions, cant phrases 
 
 G 3
 
 102 ELEMENTS OF TART I. 
 
 and provincial barbarisms, have all more or less 
 of this meanness ; and, however they may pass on 
 common occasions, or when people mean to talk 
 ludicrously, will always give great offence in com- 
 positions that aim at sublimity or elegance. But 
 of this more hereafter. 
 
 175. The contemplation of the divine nature, 
 and of the works of creation and providence, will 
 no doubt constitute our supreme and final felicity. 
 To prepare us for such contemplation, and raise 
 our minds above the present world, the Deity has 
 been pleased to endow us with a capacity of re- 
 ceiving pleasure, even in this life, from the view 
 of what is good or eminently great. Our taste for 
 the sublime, cherished into a habit, and directed 
 to proper objects, may therefore promote our mo- 
 ral improvement, by leading us to contemplate the 
 Creator in his wonderful works ; by keeping us at 
 a distance from vice, which is the vilest of all 
 things ; and by recommending virtue for its in- 
 trinsic dignity and loveliness. 
 
 176. Of Beauty. This term is applied to 
 many sorts of agreeable things : we speak of beau- 
 tiful language, and of a beautiful song, as well as 
 of a beautiful face. At present I speak of visible 
 beauty chiefly ; which may belong, first to colour, 
 secondly to figure, thirdly to attitude or gesture, 
 and fourthly to motion. In general it may be ob- 
 served, that the pleasure we take in looking at 
 what is beautiful, a rose for example, is very dif-
 
 CHAP. I. IX. MORAL SCIENCE. 103 
 
 ferent in kind from the pleasure that attends the 
 contemplation of a sublime object, as a great ca- 
 taract, or a huge and craggy mountain. The lat- 
 ter sensation (if it may be so called) seems to 
 rouse and elevate the mind, the former to com- 
 pose it : the one is solemn and serious ; the other 
 has a mixture of gladness in it, which disposes 
 the face of the beholder to a smile. Beauty and 
 greatness may be united in the same object, in 
 which case they mutually adorn each other. The 
 rainbow in its colours and circular form is ex- 
 tremely beautiful, and at the same time very sub- 
 lime, on account of its apparent magnitude and 
 elevation. 
 
 177. Colours are beautiful, first, when they 
 convey to the mind a lively sensation, as white and 
 red ; secondly, when they cherish the organ of 
 sight, as green ; thirdly, when they have that cha- 
 racter which we term delicacy, and yield a sensa- 
 tion both lively and gentle, as pale red, and light 
 blue. But, fourthly, the beauty of a colour de- 
 pends chiefly on the agreeableness of the ideas it 
 conveys to the mind ; for the same colour which 
 in one thing is very beautiful, may in another be 
 very ugly. The verdure of the fields, for ex- 
 ample, is delightful, because it leads us to think 
 of f ruitfulness, fragrance, and many other pleasant 
 things ; but greenness in the human face would be 
 horrible, because it would suggest the notion of 
 pain, of disease, or of something unnatural.
 
 104 ELEMENTS OF PART I. 
 
 17S. Colours that look as if they were stained 
 or sullied, or which are so indefinite that one 
 knows not what name to give them, are not often 
 considered as beautiful. But those gradations of 
 colour, which we see in flowers, in the plumage 
 of some birds, in the rainbow, in the evening and 
 morning sky, and in many other natural appear- 
 ances, are beautiful in the highest degree ; when 
 the colours so melt away into one another, that, 
 though we discern the change, we cannot mark 
 where the one ends and the other begins. The 
 delicacy wherewith they are blended so far sur- 
 passes the ordinary efforts of human skill, that we 
 cannot behold it without admiration. In general, 
 every colour is beautiful, that brings along with it 
 the agreeable idea of perfection, of health, of con- 
 venience, of intellectual or moral virtue, or of any 
 other sort of excellence. Negroes love their own 
 colour for the same reason that we love ours ; be* 
 cause they always see it; because all the people 
 they love have it j and because none are without- 
 it but those who are thought to be strangers and 
 enemies. This, at least, must be the negro's way 
 of thinking, as long as he remains in his own 
 country, or till he have the singular good fortune 
 to find friends among white people. So much for 
 beauty of colour. 
 
 170. Perfection and skill are always agreeable ; 
 and whatever suggests them to the mind must be 
 -so too, and, if visible, is entitled to be called beau-
 
 CHAP. I. IX. MORAL SCIENCE. 105 
 
 tiful. For this reason it seems to be, that figures 
 so well proportioned and so complete, as circles, 
 squares, ellipses, hexagons, &c convey to us the 
 notion of beauty. Want of proportion in figures 
 is not agreeable, and therefore not beautiful, be- 
 cause it makes us think of inconvenience, unskil- 
 fulness, or imperfection. Figures, as they appear 
 in furniture, in architecture, or in any other work 
 of art, are more or less beautiful, according as 
 they convey to us, more or less, the idea of skill, 
 convenience, and usefulness. In fact, the beauty 
 of things depends very much, as Socrates rightly 
 thought, upon their utility : for if a thing be use- 
 less, we cannot like it j if we do not like it, it 
 will give us no pleasure ; and of all beauty it is 
 the character, to be pleasing. Were the horse as 
 slow as the snail, we should be more inclined to 
 dislike his unwieldy size, than to admire his fine 
 shape. 
 
 180. That form of the human body is ac- 
 counted beautiful, which conveys the idea of bo- 
 dily perfection. Now the human body is in its 
 most perfect state in youth ; and therefore, in re- 
 spect of shape, a youthful body is more elegant 
 than that of an infant or old man. Another rea- 
 son may be given for this, as follows : In all 
 beautiful animals, and in all the most beautiful 
 parts of animals, the figure is bounded rather by 
 curves, than by straight lines ; except where these 
 last may be necessary, as in the legs of animals.
 
 10G ELEMENTS OF PART I. 
 
 to strength and convenience.- If the back and the 
 breast of a fine horse were bounded by right lines, 
 instead of that flowing curve which winds so 
 gracefully about them, every one must be sensible, 
 that the beauty of the shape would be lost. Now, 
 in the outlines of the body of an infant, the curves 
 are rather too much bent, on account of the re- 
 dundancy of flesh compared with the smallness of 
 the size ; in the body of an old man they are too 
 little bent, and approach to right lines, on account 
 of the decay of moisture : in youth they are nei- 
 ther too much bent nor too little, but a middle 
 between both ; and then the shape of the body is 
 most perfect. 
 
 181. In the works of nature, the greatest use- 
 fulness is often united with perfect beauty of colour 
 and figure : and the more we study them, the 
 more beautiful they appear ; because we become 
 the more sensible of their utility, as well as better 
 acquainted with their form. In them too, that 
 which we call beauty is generally smooth, or 
 seems to be so ; and is rather small than great, 
 that is, rather below the usual proportion than 
 above it. A craggy mountain is a sublime object, 
 and its crags may add to its sublimity ; but a beau- 
 tiful hill is, or appears to be, smooth. The statue 
 of Minerva may be tall, dignity being her character; 
 but a gigantic Venus would be absurd. So much 
 for beauty of shape or Jigure. 
 
 182. Those gestures are graceful, which shew
 
 CHAP. t. IX. MORAL SCIENCE. 107 
 
 the body to advantage ; or which are assumed 
 with ease, and may continue a considerable time 
 without giving pain ; or which are suitable to the 
 nature of the person or animal, and to the passion 
 or sentiment that is supposed to be in the person's 
 mind, provided that passion or sentiment be such 
 as we approve. And no gesture is graceful, 
 which conveys any disagreeable idea of unwieldi- 
 ness, infirmity, constraint, affectation, or any evil 
 passion. 
 
 183. The same remarks may be made on beauty 
 of motion. Those motions in general are grace- 
 ful, which are performed with ease ; which imply 
 bodily perfection ; and which are naturally ex- 
 pressive of agreeable passions or sentiments in the 
 mind of the person who moves. The motion of 
 some inanimate things is very beautiful ; as that of 
 smoke ascending slowly in the sky, of unbroken 
 waves in the sea, and of flags and streamers flying 
 in the wind. The first pleases, as an emblem of 
 tranquillity ; the second, on account of the smooth- 
 ness, greatness, and uniformity ; and the last, by 
 the glare of colours, by the easy curvature, and 
 by suggesting agreeable ideas of busy life. The 
 characteristics of beauty, according to some au- 
 thors, are uniformity, variety, and proportion. 
 How far each of these may be necessary to form 
 beauty, and why each of them gives pleasure, will 
 perhaps appear from what has been said. 
 
 184-. That which in the smallest compass ex*
 
 108 ELEMENTS OF PART I* 
 
 hibits the greatest variety of beauty, is a fine human 
 face. The features are of various sizes and forms ; 
 the corresponding ones exactly uniform ; and each 
 has that shape, size, position, and proportion, 
 which is most convenient. Here too is the greatest 
 beauty of colours, which are blended, varied, and 
 disposed, with marvellous delicacy. But the chief 
 beauty of the countenance arises from its expre- 
 sion, of sagacity, good nature, cheerfulness, mo- 
 desty, and other moral and intellectual virtues. 
 Without such expression, no face can be truly 
 beautiful; and with it, none can be really ugly. 
 Human beauty, therefore, at least that of the face, 
 is not merely a corporeal quality ; but derives its 
 origin and essential characters from the soul : and 
 almost any person may, in some degree, acquire it, 
 who is at pains to improve his understanding, to 
 repress criminal thoughts, and to cherish good 
 affections ; as every one must lose it, whatever 
 features or complexion there may be to boast of, 
 who leaves the mind uncultivated, or a prey to 
 evil passions, or a slave to trifling pursuits. 
 
 185. Of Imitation. Man is of all animals 
 the most prone to imitation, and takes great de- 
 light in it. By imitating others, we learn to speak 
 and walk, and do many other things, long before 
 we could either attend to rules, or understand 
 them. Many of the sports of children are imita- 
 tions of the actions of men : and we find, that, 
 in most nations, dramatic performances, which are
 
 CHAP. I. IX. MORAL SCIENCI. 109 
 
 also imitations of what happens in real life, are 
 much attended to, and greatly esteemed as an 
 amusement. 
 
 186. We receive pleasure from seeing a good 
 imitation, though the original be indifferent, or, 
 perhaps, even disagreeable. A common plant we 
 view with indifference, and a dead man we could 
 not see without pain ; but a good picture of either 
 would give pleasure : and a picture, equally good, 
 of a beautiful object, would please still more. 
 And this pleasure arises chiefly from our admira- 
 tion of the skill displayed in the work : for ad- 
 miration is an agreeable emotion ; and it gratifies 
 a sound mind to see any thing perfect, or advancing 
 to perfection. 
 
 187. Poetry, painting, and music, are called 
 Jine arts, for a reason formerly given. They are 
 also called imitative arts ; because in them the ap- 
 pearances or operations of nature are, or are sup- 
 posed to be, imitated ; in painting, by colour ; in 
 poetry, by language; and in music, by sound. 
 The contemplation of nature is delightful to the 
 human soul ; and nothing that is unnatural, or 
 contrary to nature, can please a well-informed 
 mind. And, therefore, the fine arts, being all 
 intended to give pleasure, must exhibit either 
 what is according to nature, or what is similar to 
 it ; either what is real, or what is likely and pro- 
 bable. 
 
 188. That pictures are imitations of nature, is
 
 110 ELEMENTS OP PART I. 
 
 obvious ; and in them may be imitated almost 
 every thing visible, not only animals and inanimate 
 things, but also the passions and emotions of the 
 mind ; for these last produce visible appearances 
 in the look and gesture, by which they are known, 
 and which a painter may delineate. But, as no 
 more than the events of one instant can be seen 
 at one instant, and as the whole picture strikes the 
 eye at once, the subject of every painting must be 
 one event or appearance, or must at least be such 
 a combination of appearances, as may be supposed 
 to be contiguous in place, and to be seen at one 
 and the same time. The progress, therefore, of 
 action, or of thought, painting cannot imitate. 
 However, by exhibiting visible things in those at- 
 titudes, in which they are never seen except when 
 they move, it may give a very lively idea of cer- 
 tain kinds of motion ; as of rolling billows, as- 
 cending smoke, trees waving in the wind, fluttering 
 robes and streamers, and animal bodies running, 
 walking, swimming, or flying. Those thoughts 
 that produce no visible change in the appearance of 
 the body, cannot be expressed in a picture. 
 
 1 89. Language, the instrument of poetical imi- 
 tation, is applicable to all subjects, and may with 
 the greatest accuracy imitate and describe human 
 actions, passions, and sentiments, in each period 
 of their progress, as well as every appearance in 
 the animal or inanimate world. It has been doubt- 
 ed, whether poetry be an imitation, or a repre-
 
 CHAP. I. $IX. MORAL SCIENCE. Ill 
 
 sentation, of nature. The controversy is of little 
 moment, and may perhaps be thus determined. 
 If we consider it as an art, that exhibits, not what 
 is real, but only what is likely or probable, we 
 must call poetry imitative ; because there is some- 
 thing in it which is not in nature : for it is essential 
 to an imitation to be in some respect or other dif- 
 ferent from the original. Ideas conveyed to the 
 fancy by good poetical description would, if deli- 
 neated by the painter, and made visible by means 
 of colour, be found to resemble natural things 5 
 and if such a picture be an imitation, the descrip- 
 tion whence it is copied must be so to. Real 
 things may indeed be truly described in poetical 
 numbers; but this is not common; nor would this 
 be any thing else than history in verse : it being 
 the business of the poet (as will be shewn here- 
 after) to represent things not as they are, but ra- 
 ther as they might be. This reasoning refers 
 chiefly to narrative and descriptive poems. In 
 dramatic poetry, the imitation of human action is 
 obvious and unquestionable. Whether music be 
 imitative, will be seen by and by. Architecture is 
 an useful and noble art, but cannot be called imi- 
 tative. Only the pillars in old cathedral churches 
 are said to have been framed in imitation of rows 
 of trees, to which indeed they bear a great simili- 
 tude ; the people who invented this mode of build- 
 ing having, it seems, annexed some notion of 
 sanctity to that appearance ; probably because men
 
 *12 ELEMENTS OF PARTI. 
 
 had been accustomed, before the use of temples, 
 to perform the rites of their religion under the 
 shade of trees in a grove. 
 
 1QO. So great is the pleasure we receive from 
 seeing nature well imitated, that the representation 
 of human misfortunes upon the stage, or in poems, 
 gives delight, even while it infuses the painful pas- 
 sions of pity and sorrow. This is owing, partly 
 to the agitation produced in the mind of the reader 
 or spectator by the circumstances of the story ; 
 partly, to the art displayed in the representation 
 by the player, or by the poet in the narrative; 
 partly, to our being conscious, that what we read 
 or see is not real, but imaginary, distress (for to 
 those children who mistake it for real it is found 
 to give pain instead of amusement) ; and partly, 
 and perhaps chiefly, to the nature of pity, which, 
 though a painful passion, is in the exercise ac- 
 companied with several gratifications ; such as our 
 consciousness of its being praiseworthy in itself, 
 ornamental to our nature, useful in society, and 
 amiable in the eyes of our brethren of mankind. 
 
 191. Of Harmony. That the sense of har- 
 mony, commonly called a musical ear, is a distinct 
 faculty from the sense of hearing, appears from 
 this; that many men receive no pleasure from 
 music who hear very well, and that some who are 
 dull of hearing are very fond of music : and other 
 facts might be mentioned that prove the same 
 thing. Observe, that, in the language of art,
 
 vHAP.I^IX. MORAL SCIENCE. 115 
 
 harmony and melody are distinguished ; the latter 
 being the agreeable effect of a single series of mu- 
 sical tones ; and the former, the agreeable effect 
 produced by two or more series of musical tones 
 sounded at the same time. Observe farther, that 
 melody gives pleasure to all who have a musical 
 ear, our taste for it being natural, though very ca- 
 pable of improvement; whereas harmony is little re- 
 lished, except by those who have studied it, or have 
 been much accustomed to hear it. Yet harmony 
 is in some degree pleasing to most people ; its es- 
 sential laws being so well founded in nature, that 
 nobody who understands them questions their pro- 
 priety. 
 
 192. Music consists of sound and motion. The 
 peculiar motion of any piece of music is called its 
 rhythm or ilumber, or, in common language, its 
 time. When a tune is accompanied with the drum, 
 or with a dance, we hear the rhythm in the sound 
 of the feet, or of th:- drumsticks. Rhythm belongs 
 also to verse, and even to prose : for the pauses 
 and the continuity of pronunciarion, and the inter- 
 change of short and long, or of emphatic and non- 
 emphatic, syllables, may all be imitated by the drum, 
 or by the hand striking on a board. Do not con- 
 found rhythm with rhyme. Rhythm is a Greek 
 word, and means what has been just now said. 
 Rhyme is a modern word, and in English denotes 
 the similar sounds that terminate contiguous verges 
 in certain sorts of poetry. 
 
 vol, I. H
 
 114 ELEMENTS OP PARTI* 
 
 193. By its sounds music may imitate sounds ; 
 and by its motion, motions. But irregular motions, 
 or inharmonious sounds, it cannot imitate ; because 
 every thing in this art must be regular and harmo- 
 nious. Its imitative powers, therefore, are very 
 limited. And music may be strictly imitative, and 
 yet intolerably bad ; or not at all imitative, and yet 
 perfectly good. The imitation of nature is, there- 
 fore, not essential to this art, as it is to poetry and 
 painting. Consequently music pleases, not because 
 it imitates nature, but for some other reasons which 
 may be explained as follows. 
 
 194. First: some sounds, especially when con- 
 tinued, are pleasing in themselves, though they have 
 neither meaning nor modulation i such is the mur- 
 mur of groves, winds, and waters. Musical sounds, 
 even when heard separate, are all pleasing in them- 
 selves, or ought to be so ; and the more they re- 
 semble the tones of a good human voice, the more 
 pleasing they are, and the more perfect. Second- 
 ly : some tones, sounded at the same time, have an 
 agreeable, and others a disagreeable effect : the for- 
 mer are called concords, the latter discords. All 
 concords are not equally agreeable, nor all discords 
 equally harsh ; and the art of harmony lies in 
 blending the harsher with the sweeter concords, or 
 even with discords, in such a manner as most ef- 
 fectually to please the ear. The artful manage- 
 ment of this matter is anothel source of the plea- 
 sure we derive from music.
 
 CHAP. I. IX. MORAL SCIENCE. 115 
 
 1 95. Thirdly : In all regular music, variety and 
 proportion are united, and have a pleasing effect 
 upon the mind, similar to that which they have in 
 things visible ; that is, they gently exercise the fa- 
 culties, without bewildering or fatiguing them, and 
 they suggest the agreeable ideas of contrivance and 
 skill. But in what manner variety and proportion 
 enter into the composition of music, can be explain- 
 ed to those only, who know something both of the 
 practice and of the theory of the art. One artifice 
 however may be mentioned, which the most un- 
 skilful may understand. Some pieces of music are 
 contrived with the express purpose of introducing 
 apparent confusion ^ as fugues, in which different 
 instruments, or voices, take up the same air, but 
 not all at the same time, so that one is, as it were, the 
 echo of the other ; and yet the general result is not 
 confusion, which one would expect, but perfect 
 harmony : which gives an agreeable surprise, and 
 heightens our admiration of the author's skill, and 
 of the dexterity of the performers. 
 
 196. Fourthly : music is agreeable, which infuses 
 into the mind, or prepares it for being affected with, 
 agreeable passions. Now, as all the rules of the 
 art tend to give pleasure, all the passions it can 
 raise must be of the agreeable kind. It may dis- 
 pose the soul to devotion, gladness, courage, com- 
 passion, or benevolence ; but has no expression for 
 impiety, cowardice, anger, envy, or malice. The 
 meaning, however, or expression of music is not 
 
 II 2
 
 116 ELEMENTS OF PARTI. 
 
 determinate, unless it be united with poetry, or 
 language : so that the most perfect music is song ; 
 in which elegant words, distinctly pronounced, give 
 significancy to melody well modulated by the voice y 
 and enforced by suitable harmonies. And there- 
 fore, music merely instrumental is to a certain de- 
 gree imperfect ; unless we are led by custom, or 
 by some outward circumstance, to assign it a de- 
 finite meaning. 
 
 1 97. Fifthly : all music is agreeable, which con- 
 veys agreeable thoughts to the mind of the hearer. 
 We have heard it formerly in an agreeable place 
 perhaps, or performed by an agreeable person, or 
 accompanied with agreeable words, or some other 
 pleasing circumstance. Hence, when we hear it 
 again, we hear it with pleasure, because it suggests 
 some pleasing recollection, or some idea at least of 
 former happiness. From this principle, a great 
 deal of the pleasure may be accounted for, which 
 we derive from music, especially from that of our 
 own country. 
 
 198. That the sense of harmony is no unimpor- 
 tant part of the human constitution, will appear, 
 when we consider, that in all civilised, and many 
 unpolished nations, music has ever been accounted 
 agreeable as an amusement, and useful as a means 
 of inspiring courage, devotion, gladness, and other 
 good affections. Polybius, a grave and wise histo- 
 rian, ascribes the humanity of the ancient Arcadians 
 to their knowledge of this art, and the barbarity of
 
 CHAP. I. IX. MORAL SCIENCE. 117 
 
 their neighbours the Cynethians to their neglect of 
 it. And as he was a native of Arcadia, we can 
 hardly suppose that a man of his penetration could 
 be mistaken in a matter of this kind. 
 
 199. Of Laughter. To perceive an object, 
 and to laugh at it, are different things : brutes per- 
 ceive, but never laugh. Risibility is one of the dis- 
 tinguishing characters of man. Some things excite 
 laughter mixed with contempt or disapprobation ; 
 as the absurdities of a lying traveller, a boastful sol- 
 dier, or a great miser : such things are properly 
 termed ridiculous. Other things, which provoke 
 laughter merely, without contempt or disapproba- 
 tion may be called ludicrous. Such are the tricks 
 of monkies and young cats : and such, though in all 
 other respects totally different, are those examples 
 of wit and humour, which we laugh at in books or 
 persons whom we admire and esteem. Here we are 
 to consider ludicrous objects chiefly ; as laughter, 
 and not contempt, is the object of the present in- 
 quiry. 
 
 200. Laughter may be occasioned by tickling, 
 or in children by gladness. But I speak of that 
 laughter, which is the outward expression of a cer- 
 tain agreeable emotion raised in the mind by the 
 view, or by the conception, of something which we 
 call oddity, drollery, or by some such name This 
 feeling may be in the mind, when laughter, the out- 
 ward sign, does not appear ; for one may restrain 
 laughter, when one is much tempted to indulge it. 
 
 II 3
 
 118 ELEMENTS OF PARTI 
 
 In like manner, tears are an outward sign of sor- 
 row, but one may be very sorrowful who does not 
 weep. What, then, is this drollery, or oddity ? 
 what is that quality or character, which all ludi- 
 crous or laughable objects have in common ? 
 
 201. First : The object of ridicule in comedy is 
 very well denned by Aristotle ; who calls it, some 
 small fault or turpitude, not attended with pain, and 
 not destructive : for to laugh at distress, or at 
 great faults, is at once unnatural and wicked ; and 
 therefore a writer of comedy is highly blameable, 
 when he introduces misfortunes or crimes on the 
 stage, in order to make us laugh at them. But 
 Aristotle's definition does not hold true of laughter 
 in general, or even of all innocent laughter : for 
 men may laugh innocently at that in which they 
 perceive no turpitude. Fine turns of wit and hu- 
 mour may be ludicrous, even when they suggest to 
 fhe mind nothing which it is possible either to de- 
 spise or to disapprove. 
 
 202. Secondly : Mr. Hobbes is of opinion, and 
 he is rashly followed by the author of the forty- 
 seventh paper of the Spectator, that laughter is a 
 sudden exultation of mind, arising from the con- 
 ception of pre-eminence in ourselves, and of infe- 
 riority in that which we compare with ourselves as 
 we are at present. This resolves laughter into 
 pride. But nothing is more absurd. Proud men 
 are more remarkable for gravity than for laughter ; 
 and laughter is seldom taken for a sign of pride.
 
 CHAP. I. IX. MORAL SCIENCE. 119 
 
 And men laugh at things which they do not com- 
 pare with themselves at all ; and at the wit and 
 humour of authors, whom they believe to be their 
 superiors in every respect. 
 
 203. Thirdly : Hutcheson says, that a mixture 
 of dignity and meanness, appearing in the same ob- 
 ject, or suggested to the mind by one and the same 
 appearance, is the cause of laughter. And indeed 
 it often is, but not always. For such a mixture 
 appears in the people, and in the houses, of every 
 large town ; and yet a large town, or a great mul- 
 titude, is rather a sublime than a ludicrous object* 
 And laughter may be raised by some sorts of wit 
 and humour, in which it is impossible to discern 
 any mixture of dignity and meanness. And a mi- 
 mic may make us laugh, by imitating the manner 
 of a person who has no more dignity than the mi- 
 mic himself has. These theories, therefore, are 
 cither false, or not sufficiently comprehensive. 
 
 204. If a painter, says Horace, were to join to 
 the head of a man the neck of a horse, feathers of 
 different birds, limbs of difFerent animals, and the 
 tail of a fish, the whole would be ludicrous. This, 
 it seems, was true in Horace's time, and no doubt 
 is so still. It would appear then, that a ludicrous 
 object must be made up of several parts ; that the 
 parts whereof it is made up must be in some degree 
 inconsistent, unsuitable, or incongruous ; and that 
 they must be considered as united in one assem- 
 blage, or as acquiring a sort of mutual connection
 
 1-0 ELEMENTS OF 1'ART I. 
 
 from the peculiar manner in which the mind takes 
 notice of them. And therefore it may be inferred, 
 that laughter is occasioned by an incongruity or 
 unsuitableness of the parts that compose, or seem 
 to compose, any complex object or idea. Incon- 
 gruous objects may in several ways be united so as 
 to make the union ludicrous. 
 
 205. First : When they happen to be placed 
 together. Erasmus, in a dialogue called ahsurda, 
 endeavours to provoke mirth by a conference be- 
 tween two persons, who speak alternately, each 
 pursuing a subject of his own, without any regard 
 to what is said by the other. It looks like a dia- 
 logue between two deaf men : and the humour, 
 such as it is, if there be any, arises merely from the 
 juxtaposition of sentences, which have no other re- 
 lation but that of place. When Pope says of Prince 
 Eugene, that c he is a great taker of snuff as well 
 * as of towns,* the two things spoken of, which 
 are utterly incongruous, acquire an unexpected re- 
 lation by being placed together, and made equally 
 dependent on the word taker ; which of course be- 
 comes a pun, by being used at one and the same time 
 in two different senses. And it is this mixture, of 
 incongruity and "seeming relation, that makes the 
 passage ludicrous. 
 
 2Q6. Secondly : When things appearing in the 
 relation of cause and effect are very incongruous and 
 inadequate to each other, they sometimes provoke 
 a smile ; as when a man is thrown into a violent
 
 CHAP. I. IX. MORAL SCIENCE. 121 
 
 passion by a trifling cause ; as if we were to see a 
 person seriously attempt (like the child in Quarles's 
 emblems) to blow out the sun with a pair of bel- 
 lows, or four men take hold of the four corners 
 of a church with an intention to lift it from the 
 ground. 
 
 207. Thirdly : The unexpected discovery of re- 
 semblance between things supposed to be unlike, 
 when it is clearly expressed in few words, consti- 
 tutes what is commonly called wit ; and is a very 
 copious source of pleasantry. Such, to give one* 
 instance, is that comparison in Hudibras,of the dawn 
 of the morning to a boiled lobster; c like a lobster 
 ' boil'd the morn from black to red began to turn/ 
 At first, there seems to be no resemblance at all : 
 but, when we recollect, that the lobster's colour is 
 by boiling changed from dark to red, we recognise 
 a likeness to that change of colour in the sky which 
 happens at day-break. 
 
 208. Fourthly : Dignity and meanness unex- 
 pectedly united, or supposed to be united, in the 
 same assemblage, is a frequent cause of laughter. 
 As when a mean sentiment unexpectedly appears 
 in a solemn discourse, or a serious sentiment in a 
 trifling one : as when the phraseology of a solemn 
 passage in a well-known author is, by a little change 
 of words, made to express, in the way of parody, 
 something frivolous or very different : as when 
 mean ideas and images are expressed in pompous 
 language, as in the Dunciad and Splendid Shilling :
 
 122 ELEMENTS OF PART I. 
 
 as when important ideas are debased by mean 
 words or provincial barbarisms, whereof we hav 
 had some examples already. (See 174). But 
 observe, that mixtures of this sort, when they seem 
 to proceed from want of taste, or from any mental 
 depravity, are more apt to move indignation than 
 laughter. 
 
 209. In ludicrous writing two sorts of style are 
 used, and both imply a mixture of dignity and 
 meanness ; namely, the mock-heroic and the bur- 
 lesque. The former considers little things as great, 
 and describes them with pomp of language and of 
 harmony. The Dunciad, the Splendid Shilling, 
 the Battle of the frogs and mice, commonly, though 
 erroneously, ascribed to Homer, are masterpieces 
 in this way of writing ; as are also the Lutrin of 
 Boileau, and Pope's Rape of the Lock. The bur- 
 lesque author assumes the character of a buffoon, 
 and considers great things as little, and little things 
 as less than the reality ; and affects vulgar language, 
 and, if he write in verse, a peculiar levity in the 
 construction of his numbers. Hudibras, and the 
 History of John Bull, are in the burlesque style, 
 the one verse, the other prose, and both excellent in 
 their kind. 
 
 210. Some works of humour are written in a 
 grave style, without either meanness or elevation of 
 language. Many of the humorous papers in the 
 Tatler and Spectator, and many passages in Gulli- 
 ver's Travels, are of this sort. The author takes
 
 CHAP. I. $ IX. MORAL SCIENCE. 123 
 
 the character of a plain matt delivering a simple 
 and serious narrative of a matter which he seems 
 to think important and true ; and this, if the sub- 
 ject be trifling, or the narrative palpably fabulous, 
 'has the same pleasing effect, as when a person tells 
 a merry story with an unaffected gravity of coun- 
 tenance. See particularly the journal of the court 
 of honour in the Tatler. 
 
 211. Incongruity is not always ludicrous. It 
 ceases to be so, when it comes to be customary 
 and common ; and, therefore, ludicrous incongru* 
 Ity must have in it something uncommon, or, at 
 least, unexpected. New fashions of dress often 
 seem at their first appearance ridiculous ; but, 
 when generally adopted, are ridiculous no longer. 
 Besides, the inward emotion that prompts to laugh- 
 ter is not very powerful ; many other emotions 
 have naturally more strength, and have therefore 
 a natural right to suppress it. Consequently, those 
 incongruous associations, that give rise to pity, 
 disgust, fear, anger, hatred, or moral disapproba- 
 tion, are not laughable; because they call forth 
 passions of greater power, and more importance. 
 In these cases the weaker emotion gives place to 
 the stronger. 
 
 212. And every one is sensible that it ought to 
 be so. Were a man to laugh at distress, or at 
 any thing which his conscience tells him is criminal, 
 he would be severely censured ; for it would be 
 said, with respect to the first, that he ought to
 
 124 ELEMENTS OF PART I. 
 
 pity, and not to laugh ; and, with respect to the 
 second, that superior considerations ought to have 
 restrained his laughter ; for that they are fools 
 who laugh at sin. And most people must have 
 observed, that we are not apt to laugh at that 
 which disgusts us, or makes us very angry, or 
 seriously afraid. Had the writers of comedy paid 
 a proper regard to these things, and never at- 
 tempted to call forth either immoral or unnatural 
 laughter, the comic muse would, in respect both 
 of utility and of elegance, have been more worthy 
 of honour, than I am afraid she can be said to be 
 in any nation. 
 
 213. Laughter, notwithstanding what Lord 
 Chesterfield has said against it, is perfectly con- 
 sistent with elegant manners ; as might be proved 
 from the practice of some of the most distinguished 
 characters both of these and of former times. Good 
 breeding, however, lays some restraints upon it, 
 which may be thus explained. Good breeding is 
 the art, or rather the habit, of pleasing those with 
 whom we converse. Now we cannot please others, 
 if we either shew them what is unpleasing in our- 
 selves, or give them reason to think that we per- 
 ceive unpleasing qualities in them. All emotions, 
 therefore, which may betray our own bad quali- 
 ties, or might naturally arise from the view of bad 
 qualities in others ; and all those emotions or pas- 
 sions in general, which our company may think 
 too violent, and cannot sympathize with or par-
 
 CHAP. I. IX. MORAL SCIENCE, 125 
 
 take in, good breeding requires that we suppress. 
 Laughter that is too loud, or too frequent, is an 
 emotion of this kind. And, therefore, a well-bred 
 man will be careful not to laugh louder or longer 
 than others ; nor to laugh at all, when he has rea- 
 son to think, that the jest will not be equally re- 
 lished by the company. 
 
 214. This rule, a little extended, may be of 
 great use for the regulation of all those emotions 
 that display themselves in the outward behaviour. 
 Truth we should never violate, nor offer any out- 
 rage to virtue or decency. But, within the bounds 
 of innocence, it is both our duty and our interest, 
 to make ourselves agreeable to those with whom 
 we associate, especially to the wise and good. 
 This, however, we shall not be able to do, unless 
 we take pains to regulate all our passions, and 
 bring them down to that level, on which they will 
 be agreeable to the more intelligent part of man- 
 kind. The suppression of evil passions, even for 
 a short time, weakens their force, and will at last, 
 if persisted in, give us the victory over them. 
 And hence, in regular society, where the rules ot 
 good breeding are observed, and where inordinate 
 passions are not suffered to appear outwardly in 
 the behaviour, we live together on a more agree- 
 able footing, and in a way more favourable to vir- 
 tuous improvement, than in any of those states of 
 society, in which men are at no pains to conceal 
 or govern their passions. The savage is impetu-
 
 126 ELEMENTS OF PARTI. 
 
 ous, and a slave to sudden and violent passion ; in 
 the man of breeding we expect coolness, modera- 
 tion, and self-command. 
 
 215. The emotions connected with risibility are 
 a source of much amusement to persons of every 
 age and condition. Wit and humour, when inno- 
 cent, as they always may be and ought to be, en- 
 liven conversation, and endear human creatures 
 to one another ; and, when discreetly applied, may 
 be of singular advantage in discountenancing vice 
 and folly. 
 
 SECTION X, 
 Of Sympathy. 
 
 2 16. There is in our nature a tendency t 
 participate in the pains and pleasures of others ; 
 so that their good is in some degree our good, and 
 their evil our evil : the natural effect of which is, 
 to unite men more closely to one another, by 
 prompting them, even for their own sake, to re- 
 lieve distress and promote happiness. This parti- 
 cipation of the joys and sorrows of others may be 
 termed sympathy, or fellow-feeling. Sympathy 
 with distress is called compassion, or pity. Sym- 
 pathy with the happiness of another has no parti- 
 cular name ; but, when expressed in words to the 
 kappy person, is termed congratulation. Every
 
 CHAP. I. X. MORAL SCIENCE. J 27 
 
 good man knows, that it is natural for him to re- 
 joice with them who rejoice, and to weep with 
 those that weep. 
 
 217. Even for some inanimate tilings we have 
 a sort of tenderness, which, by a licentious figure 
 of speech, might be called sympathy. To lose a 
 staff which we have long walked with, or see in 
 ruins a house where we had long lived happily, 
 would give a slight concern, though the loss to us 
 were a trifle, or nothing at all. We feel some- 
 thing like pity for the dead bodies of our friends, 
 arising from the consideration of their being laid 
 in the solitary grave, a prey to worms and reptiles ; 
 and yet we are sure that from that circumstance 
 the dead can never suffer any thing. Towards 
 the brute creation, who have feeling as well as we, 
 though not in the same degree or kind, our sym- 
 pathy is more rational, and indeed ought to be 
 strong : { A righteous man regardeth the life,' and 
 is not insensible to the happiness, ' of his beast.' 
 
 213. But our sympathy operates most power- 
 fully towards our fellow-men ; and, other circum- 
 stances being equal, is for the most part more 'or 
 less powerful, according as they are more nearly, 
 or more remotely, connected with us by kindred, 
 by friendship, or by condition. With a friend, 
 with a relation, or with a person of our own con- 
 dition, we are more apt to sympathise, than with 
 people of different circumstances or connections. 
 7f we were to be tried for our life, we should wish
 
 128 ELEMENTS 01' PART li 
 
 to have a jury of our equals. He who has had 
 the toothach or the gout, is more inclined to pity 
 those who suffer from the same distempers, than 
 that person is who never felt them. 
 
 219. We sometimes sympathize with another per- 
 son in a case in which that person has little feeling 
 of either good or evil. We blush at the rudeness 
 of another man in company, even when he himself 
 does not know that he is rude. We tremble for a 
 mason standing on a high scaffold, though we have 
 reason to believe he is in no danger, because cus- 
 tom has made it familiar to him. On these occa- 
 sions, our fellow-feeling seems to arise, not from 
 our opinion of what the other person suffers, but 
 from our idea of what we ourselves should suffer 
 if we were in his situation, with the same habits 
 and powers of reflection which we have at present. 
 
 220. Our fellow-feeling is never thoroughly 
 roused, till we know something of the nature and 
 cause of that happiness or misery which is the oc- 
 casion of it : for till this be known, we cannot so 
 easily imagine ourselves in the condition of the 
 happy or unhappy person. When we meet with 
 one in distress, where the cause is not apparent, 
 w.e are uneasy indeed, but the pain is not so great, 
 or at least not so definite, as it comes to be when 
 he has answered this question, what is the matter 
 with you ? which is always the first question we 
 ask on such occasions. And then our sympathy 
 is in proportion to what we think he feels, or per-
 
 CHAP.I. X. MORAL SCIENCE. 12!) 
 
 haps to what we may think it reasonable that he 
 should feel. 
 
 221. Many of our passions may be communi- 
 cated or strengthened by sympathy. In a cheerful 
 company we become cheerful, and melancholy in 
 a sad one. The presence of a multitude employed 
 in devotion tends to make us devout ; the timorous 
 have acted valiantly in the socieiy of the valiant ; 
 and the cowardice of a few has struck a panic into 
 an army. In a historical or fabulous narrative, 
 we sympathise with our favourite personages in 
 those emotions of gratitude, joy, indignation, or 
 sorrow, which we suppose would naturally arise in 
 them from the circumstances of their fortune. 
 Passions, however, that are unnatural, as envy, 
 jealousy, avarice, malice ; or unreasonably violent, 
 as rage and revenge, we are not apt to sympathise 
 with ; we rather take part with the persons who 
 may seem to be in danger from them, because 
 we can more easily suppose ourselves in their 
 condition. 
 
 222. Nor do we readily sympathise with passions 
 which we disapprove, or have not experienced. 
 It is, therefore, a matter of prudence in poets, 
 and other writers of fiction, to contrive such cha- 
 racters and incidents, as the greater part of their 
 readers may be supposed to sympathise with, and 
 be interested in. And it is their duty to cherish, 
 by means of sympathy, in those who read them, 
 those affections only which invigorate the mind, 
 
 vol. i. I
 
 120 ELEMENTS OF FART I. 
 
 and are favourable to virtue ; as patriotism, valour, 
 benevolence, piety, and the conjugal, parental, and 
 filial charities. Scenes of exquisite distress, too 
 long continued, enervate and overwhelm the soul : 
 and those representations are still more blameable, 
 and cannot be too much blamed, which kindle li- 
 centious passion, or promote indolence, affectation, 
 or sensuality. Of the multitudes of novels now 
 published, it is astonishing and most provoking to 
 consider, how few are not chargeable with one or 
 other of these faults, or with them all in con- 
 junction. But immoral or extravagant novels 
 would not be brought to market, nor of course 
 written, if from the buyers of such things there 
 were not a demand for extravagance and immor- 
 ality. 
 
 223. Let us cherish sympathy. By attention 
 and exercise it may be improved in every man. 
 It prepares the mind for receiving the impressions 
 of virtue ; and without it there can be no true 
 politeness. Nothing is more odious, than that in- 
 sensibility, which wraps a man up in himself and 
 his own concerns, and prevents his being moved 
 with either the joys or the sorrows of another. 
 This inhuman temper, however common, seems 
 not to be natural to the soul of man, but to derive 
 its origin from evil habits of levity, selfishness, or 
 pride ; and will therefore be easily avoided by 
 those who cultivate the opposite habits of gene- 
 rosity, humility, and good-nature. Of these ami-
 
 CHAP. I. X. MORAL SCIENCE. 131 
 
 able affections, the forms of common civility, and 
 the language of polite conversation, are remarkably 
 expressive ; a proof that good-breeding is founded 
 in virtue and good sense, and that a kind and 
 honest heart is the first requisite to an engaging- 
 deportment. 
 
 224. The essential parts of good-breeding are, 
 to speak little and modestly of one's self, candidly 
 of the absent, and affectionately to those who are 
 present ; to shew, by our looks and behaviour, 
 that we respect our company, and that their hap- 
 piness or convenience is the chief thing we have in 
 view ; to sympathise readily and tenderly in their 
 joys and sorrows ; not to obtrude ourselves upon 
 the conversation, or seek to draw general notice -, 
 and, in all ordinary cases, when we differ in opinion 
 from others, to do it with that respect for them, 
 and that diffidence in ourselves, which become a 
 fallible creature who wishes to be better informed. 
 Such behaviour cannot be permanent or graceful, 
 where it is hypocritical ; and therefore they are 
 greatly mistaken, who ihink, with Lord Chester- 
 field, that good-breeding consists in disguise, or 
 that the malicious or the arrogant are at all sus- 
 ceptible of that accomplishment. 
 
 225. There are men, neither arrogant nor ma- 
 licious, who sometimes, without bad intention, give 
 offence, by saying or doing that which, if they had 
 entered more readily into the views and circum- 
 stances of the company, their own good-nature 
 
 1 2
 
 132 ELEMENTS OF TART' I. 
 
 would have determined them to avoid : while other9 
 apprehend so quickly the situation and sentiments 
 of every one present, that they give no offence to 
 any, but great satisfaction to all. Habitual inad- 
 vertence, or perhaps a disposition to be more at- 
 tentive to one's self than to one's company, may 
 have produced the unpoliteness of the former class 
 of men ; which will probably be found to arise 
 from one's not having been accustomed, in the 
 early part of life, to the society of well-bred people. 
 They, on the other hand, who have been much in 
 the world, and have found it necessary, from the 
 first, to accommodate themselves by obliging de- 
 portment to persons of various characters, acquire 
 a great facility of conceiving what modes of con- 
 versation and behaviour will be most agreeable to 
 those with whom they may happen to be associ- 
 ated. And thus it appears, that the sensibilities, 
 here comprehended under the general name of 
 sympathy, may, by education and habit, be greatly 
 improved ; or greatly weakened, if not destroyed, 
 by inattention and want of practice. 
 
 226. There is a third class of men that one has 
 sometimes the misfortune to meet with, who affect 
 what they call a bluntness of manners, and value 
 themselves on speaking their mind on all occasions 
 whether people take it well or ill. Now it is right 
 that people should speak their minds ; but the 
 mind that is fit to be spoken (if I may express my- 
 self so strangely) ought to be free from pride 5
 
 CHAP. I, X. MORAL SCIENCE. 133 
 
 ostentation, and ill-nature ; for from these hateful 
 passions the bluntness here alluded to may ge- 
 nerally be derived. JSuch people may have a sort 
 of negative honesty ; but of delicacy they are 
 destitute. In their company one sweats with the 
 apprehension of tneir committing some gross in- 
 decorum; for nobody knows what limits an in- 
 delicate mind may choose to prescribe to itself. 
 From injury, punishable by law, they may abstain ; 
 but they often give such offence as amounts not to 
 injury only, but to cruelty. The thief that picks 
 our pocket does not so much harm in society, 
 nor occasion so much pain, as they may be charged 
 with who shock the ear of piety with profaneness, 
 or tear open the wounds of the bleeding heart by 
 forcing upon it some painful recollection. 
 
 227. Sympathy with distress is thought so esr 
 sential to human nature, that the want of it has 
 been called inhumanity. Want of sympathy with 
 another's happiness is not stigmatised by so hard a 
 name ; but it is impossible to esteem the man who 
 takes no delight in the good of a fellow-creature j 
 we call him hard-hearted, selfish, unnatural -, 
 epithets expressive of high disapprobation. Habits 
 of reflection, with some experience of misfortune, 
 do greatly promote the amiable sensibility of which 
 we now speak. Non ignara mali miser is succur- 
 rere disco, says Dido, in Virgil. Inconsiderate 
 men are seldom tender-hearted, and mere want of 
 reflection leads children into acts of cruelty. 
 
 I 3
 
 134 ELEMENTS OF TART I. 
 
 SECTION XL 
 
 Of Taste. 
 
 228. That faculty, or those faculties, which 
 fit us for receiving pleasure from what is beautiful, 
 elegant, or excellent, in the works of nature and 
 art, has in modern times been called taste. He 
 who derives no pleasure from such elegance, ex- 
 cellence, or beauty, is said to be a man of no taste: 
 he who is gratified with that which is faulty in 
 works of art, is a man of bad taste : and he who 
 is pleased, or displeased, according to the degree 
 of excellence or faultiness, is a man of good taste. 
 This way of expressing critical sagacity by an al- 
 lusion to the sensations received by the tongue and 
 palate, though it be now found in most of the 
 languages of Europe, is of no great antiquity. 
 Petronius, indeed, uses Sapor in this sense : from 
 which, as well as from many other circumstances, 
 I suspect, that the trifling book which bears that 
 name is partly modern. 
 
 229. Good taste implies several talents, or fa- 
 culties. The first is a lively imagination. This 
 qualifies a man for readily apprehending the mean- 
 ing of an author or artist, tracing out the connec- 
 tion of his thoughts, and forming the same views 
 of things which he had formed. Without this
 
 CHAP. I. XI. MORAL SCIENCE. 135 
 
 talent, it is impossible to form a right judgment of 
 an author's work. Delicacy of connection, and 
 such contrivances in a fable or story as tend to 
 produce surprise, are among the chief beauties of 
 poetry ; but these a man of dull imagination is apt 
 to overlook, or not to understand. This liveliness 
 of fancy must be corrected and regulated by the 
 knowledge of nature both external and internal, 
 that is, both of the visible universe, and of the 
 human mind. For he who is unacquainted with 
 nature can never be a man of taste ; because he 
 cannot know whether the productions of art re- 
 semble nature or not : and, if he know not this, 
 he cannot receive from the imitative arts any real 
 satisfaction. 
 
 230. The second thing necessary to good taste 
 is, a clear and distinct apprehension of things. 
 Some men think accurately on all subjects : the 
 thoughts of other men are almost always indefinite 
 and obscure. The former easily make you com- 
 prehend their meaning ; the latter can never speak 
 intelligibly except upon familiar topics. He who 
 is master of his subject, says Horace, will not be 
 at a loss either for expression or for method : 
 whence we may learn, that accurate knowledge is 
 the best, and indeed the only solid, foundation of 
 true eloquence. Lord Chesterfield seems to think 
 otherwise ; but the eloquence he recommends is, 
 like his favourite system of manners, not solid, 
 but showy and superficial. It is plain, that they
 
 136 ELEMENTS OF PART I. 
 
 who are accustomed to think with precision, must 
 be the only competent judges of what they study, 
 because they alone can thoroughly understand it. 
 Habits of accuracy and method will gradually im- 
 prove the mind in this respect : and indeed study 
 is good for little when it is not methodical and 
 accurate. 
 
 231. The third thing necessary to good taste is, 
 a quick perception of, or a capacity of being easily 
 and pleasurably affected with, those objects that 
 gratify the secondary senses, particularly sublimity, 
 beauty, harmony, and imitation. In this respect 
 different minds are differently constituted. Many 
 have little or no taste for harmony either in lan- 
 guage or in musical sound. Some have great 
 talents in wit and humour, with hardly any relish 
 for the sublime and beautiful : Swift is an instance. 
 Others, like Milton, have an exquisite invention 
 in regard to sublimity and beauty of description, 
 and harmony of language, without any talents for 
 wit or delicate humour. And some have excelled 
 both in sublimity and in wit j as Shakespeare did 
 in a high degree, and Pope in a very considerable 
 degree. Homer, too, is said by Aristotle to have 
 excelled in ludicrous as well as sublime compos'- 
 tion, and to have written a comic poem, called 
 Margites, which is lost. The only way of im- 
 proving the secondary senses, is by studying na- 
 ture and the best performances in art ; by culti- 
 vating habits of virtue ; and by keeping at a dis-
 
 CHAP. I. ^ XI. MORAL SCIENCE. 137 
 
 tance from every thing gross and indelicate, in 
 books and conversation, in manners and in lan- 
 guage. 
 
 232. The fourth thing necessary to good taste 
 is, that sympathy, or sensibility, above described ; 
 by which, supposing ourselves in the condition of 
 other men, we readily adopt their sentiments and 
 feelings, and make them as it were our own ; and 
 so receive from them some degree of that pain or 
 pleasure which they would bring along with them 
 if they were really our own. Without this moral 
 sensibility, our minds would not be open to receive 
 those emotions of pity, joy, admiration, sorrow, 
 and imaginary terror, which the best performances 
 in the fine arts, particularly in poetry, are intended 
 to raise within us ; nor, by consequence, could 
 we form a right estimate of the abilities of the 
 author, or of the tendency and importance of his 
 work. 
 
 233. The last thing requisite to form good taste 
 is judgment, or good sense ; which is indeed the 
 principal thing, and may, without much impro- 
 priety, be said to comprehend all the rest. With- 
 out this, we could not compare the imitations of 
 nature with nature itself, so as to perceive how far 
 they agree or differ ; nor could we judge of the 
 probability of events in a fable, or of the truth of 
 sentiments ; nor whether the plan of a work be 
 according to rule, or otherwise. For in every art 
 certain rules are established j some resulting from
 
 138 ELEMENTS OF PART I. 
 
 the very nature of the thing, and the end pro- 
 posed by the artist, and these are essential and in- 
 dispensable rules ; and others that may be called 
 mechanical or ornamental, which depend rather 
 upon custom than upon nature, and claim no 
 higher origin, than the practice of some great 
 performer, whom it has become the fashion to 
 imitate. 
 
 234. The violation of an essential rule discovers 
 want of sense in an author, and consequently want 
 of taste ; for where good sense is not, taste cannot 
 be. To depart from a mechanical rule may be 
 consistent with the soundest judgment, and is 
 sometimes a proof both of good taste and of great 
 genius. Take an example or two : to divide a 
 tragedy or comedy into five acts, and rigidly to 
 observe, in dramatic fable, the unities (as they are 
 called) of time and place, are rules, which, though 
 many poets have observed, and many critics en- 
 joined them, are not essential. But, to make po- 
 etical persons speak and act suitably to their cha- 
 racters ; to adhere, in history and philosophy, to 
 truth, and in poetry to probability ; and to give 
 to every work, whether prose or verse, a moral 
 tendency, with simplicity of contrivance and of 
 style, and unity of design are essential rules, 
 which no writer is at liberty to violate. 
 
 235. All men, and even children, have some- 
 thing of taste, as appears from the pleasure they 
 take in songs, tales, wit and humour, pictures,
 
 CHAP. I. XI. MORAL SCIENCE. 139 
 
 and other imitations. But education and study are 
 necessary to the improvement of taste ; and it may 
 be improved by various methods, some of which 
 have been mentioned already. Whatever tends to 
 enlarge, correct, or methodize, our knowledge, 
 either of men or of things, is to be considered as 
 a means of improving judgment, and consequently 
 taste. History and geometry, and those parts of 
 philosophy which convey clear ideas, and are at- 
 tended with satisfactory evidence, are peculiarly 
 useful in this respect ; to which must be added 
 such an acquaintance with life and manners, as fits 
 a man for business and conversation. 
 
 236. Taste is further improved, as already 
 hinted, by studying nature, and the best perform- 
 ances in art. Among these are to be reckoned 
 the Creek and Latin classics ; the most valuable 
 of which are Homer, Xenophon, Demosthenes, 
 Thucydides, Sophocles, Plutarch's lives ; Terence, 
 Caesar, Cicero, Sallust, Virgil, Horace, and Livy. 
 He who has read these few authors with due at- 
 tention, may be truly said to be a man of learning, 
 and can hardly fail to be a man of taste. I need 
 not add, that bad books, and bad company, not 
 only deprave the taste, but also pervert the un- 
 derstanding, and poison the heart ; and that the 
 practice of reading even good books superficially, 
 breeds a habit of inattention alike unfriendly to 
 intellectual and to moral improvement. It was 
 formerly said, that we should read none but ap-
 
 140 ELEMENTS OF PART I. 
 
 proved authors, and never leave a good one till 
 we understand every point of his doctrine and 
 every word of his language. To prepare us for 
 study so rigidly accurate, an exact, and even a 
 minute knowledge of grammar is necessary : in- 
 deed it is not easy to say, to what degree, and in 
 how many different ways, both memory and judg- 
 ment may be improved by an intimate acquaintance 
 with grammar ; which is therefore, with good rea- 
 son, made the first and fundamental part of literary 
 education. The greatest orators, the most elegant 
 scholars, and the most accomplished men of busi- 
 ness, that have appeared in the world, of whom I 
 need only mention Csesar and Cicero, were not 
 only studious of grammar, but most learned 
 grammarians ; and Horace and Virgil, and most 
 of the great authors above mentioned, appear, from 
 the wonderful correctness of their style, to have 
 been the same. 
 
 237. Taste is also improved by reading the best 
 books of criticism ; particularly, the critical works 
 of Horace, Quintilian, Longinus, Dionysius of 
 Halicarnassus, and the poetics and rhetoric of 
 Aristotle. In Pope's notes on his translation of 
 Homer ; in Dryden's prefaces ; in Addison's pa- 
 pers on Paradise Lost in the fourth and fifth vol- 
 umes of the Spectator ; in Hurd's commentary 
 on Horace's art of poetry and epistle to Augustus ; 
 in Pope's and Johnson's prefaces to Shakespeare, 
 and in Mrs. Montagu's Essay on his writings and
 
 MORAL SCIENCE. 141 
 
 genius ; in Rollin's method of studying and teach- 
 ing the Belles Lettres, and in the Abbe Du' Boss 
 reflections on poetry and painting ; you will find 
 a great deal of good criticism perspicuously and 
 elegantly expressed. My last remark on this sub- 
 ject is, that taste is greatly improved by cultivating 
 all the generous, benevolent, and pious affections, 
 and repressing pride, malice,, envy, and every other 
 selfish and wicked passion. Virtue is the perfec- 
 tion of beauty ; and the love of virtue might have 
 been, and perhaps ought to have been, mentioned 
 as essential to true taste. 
 
 238. It cannot be denied, that some unskilful 
 writers have obtained considerable reputation, and 
 that inelegant modes of writing have frequently 
 been fashionable. There have been men, who 
 could prefer Pliny to Cicero, Lucan to VirgiL, 
 Waller to Spenser, and Cowley and Blackmore 
 to Milton. But from this we must not infer, as 
 some have done, that taste is a variable thing. 
 Its principles are real and permanent, though men 
 may occasionally be ignorant of them. Very dif- 
 ferent systems of philosophy have appeared -, yet 
 nature and truth are always the same. Fashions 
 in dress and furniture are perpetually changing; 
 and yet, in both, that is often allowed to be ele- 
 gant which is not fashionable : which could not be, 
 if there were not, in both, certain principles of 
 elegance, which derive their charm, neither from
 
 142 ELEMENTS OF PART J. 
 
 caprice, nor from custom, but from the very nature 
 of the thing. 
 
 239. In the fine arts, the standard of excel- 
 lence may be presumed to be still more per- 
 manent. There are now extant, statues, carvings, 
 and remains of ancient buildings, which were the 
 admiration of antiquity, and are as much ad- 
 mired now as ever. And there are authors, 
 Homer and Virgil for example, whom, for these 
 two thousand years, all who understood them 
 have considered as the greatest of poets. When 
 an author, or when a work of art, has been long 
 in possession of the public esteem, and has been 
 admired by the most candid and enlightened minds, 
 it must be taken as a proof of extraordinary- 
 merit ; and the dissatisfaction of a few cavillers 
 may not unreasonably be imputed to ignorance or 
 affectation. 
 
 240. To be pleased with novelty and imitation, 
 to prefer good pictures to bad, harmony to harsh- 
 ness, and regular shape to distortion ; to be grati- 
 fied with accurate representations of human man- 
 ners ; to be interested in a detail of human ad- 
 ventures, and more or less, according to the de- 
 gree of probability : to look with delight on the 
 sun, moon, and stars ; the expanse of heaven ; 
 grand and regular buildings ; human features ex- 
 pressive of health, sagacity, cheerfulness, and good 
 nature ; colours, and shapes, and sizes, of plants
 
 CHAP. I. ^XI. MORAL SCIENCE. 143 
 
 and animals, that betoken perfection and useful- 
 ness ; the scenery of groves and rivers, of moun- 
 tains and the ocean ; the verdure of spring, the 
 flowers of summer, and even the pure splendour 
 of winter snow ; is surely natural to every ra- 
 tional being, who has leisure to attend to such 
 things, and is in any degree enlightened by con- 
 templation. 
 
 241. If this be denied, I would ask, whence 
 it comes, that the poetry of all nations, which was 
 certainly intended to give pleasure to those for 
 whom it was made, should abound in descriptions 
 of these and the like objects ; and why the fine 
 arts should have been a matter of general attention 
 in all civilized countries ? And if this is not de- 
 nied, a standard of taste is acknowledged ; and it 
 must be admitted further, that, whatever tempo- 
 rary infatuations may take place in the world of 
 letters, simplicity and nature sooner or later gain 
 the ascendant, and prove their rectitude by their 
 permanency. Opinionum commenta delet dies ; 
 naturce judicia confirmat.
 
 24-4* ELEMENTS OF PART I. 
 
 CHAPTER IL 
 
 of man's active powers. 
 
 section r. 
 
 Of Free Agency. 
 
 242. Action implies motion ; but there may 
 be motion, as in a clock, where, properly speak- 
 ing, there is no agent. Many motions necessary 
 to life are continually going on in the human 
 body ; as those of the heart, lungs, and arteries : 
 but these are not human actions, because man is 
 not the cause of them. For the same reason, 
 breathing, and the motion of the eye-lids, are not 
 actions ; because, though we may net for a little 
 time in suspending them, for the purpose of see- 
 ing or hearing more accurately, they commonly 
 go on without any care of ours ; and, while they 
 do so, we are, in regard to them, not active, but 
 passive. 
 
 243. In like manner, the casual train of thought, 
 which passes through the mind in a reverie (see 
 140) is not action j but when we interrupt it, in 
 
 2
 
 CHAP. II. I. MORAL SCIENCE. 14J 
 
 order to fix our view upon a particular object, that 
 interruption, and the attention consequent upon it, 
 are mental actions. Recollection is another, and 
 investigation a third ; but a remembrance occurring 
 to us, without any exertion on our part, is not ac- 
 tion, and our minds in receiving it, or becoming 
 conscious of it, are as really passive, as the eye is 
 in receiving the images of those visible things that 
 pass before it when it is open. Nor is the mere 
 perception of truth or falsehood a mental action, 
 any more than the mere perception of hardness : 
 the stone, which we feel, we must feel while it 
 presses upon us ; and the proposition, which our 
 judgment declares to be true, we must, while we 
 attend to it and its evidence, perceive to be true. 
 But to exert our reason in endeavouring to find out 
 the truth, or to be wilfully inattentive to evidence, 
 are actions of the mind ; the one laudable, and be- 
 coming our rational nature, the other unmanly and 
 immoral. 
 
 244. All action is the work of an agent, that is., 
 of a being who acts ; and every being who acts is 
 the beginner of that motion which constitutes the 
 action. The bullet that kills a man, the explosion 
 that makes it fly, the sparkles from the flint which 
 produce the explosion, and the collision of the flint 
 and steel whereby the sparkles are struck out, are 
 none of them agents, all being passive and equally 
 so ; nor is it the finger operating upon the triger 
 that begins the motion, for that is in like manner a 
 
 vol. i. K
 
 146 ELEMENTS OF PART I, 
 
 passive instrument : it is the mind, giving to the 
 . finger direction and energy, which is the first mover 
 in this business, and therefore is, properly speak- 
 ing, the agent. And if we were to be supernatur- 
 ally informed, that the mind thus exerted was made 
 to do so by the secret but irresistible impulse of a 
 superior being, we should instantly declare that be- 
 ing the agent, and the mind as really a passive in- 
 strument, as the finger or the gunpowder. 
 
 245. To ask therefore, and the question is almost 
 as old as philosophy itself, whether man in any of 
 his actions be a free agent, seems to be the same 
 thing as to ask, whether or not man be capable of 
 action. To every action, using the word in its pro- 
 per sense, it is essential to be free: necessary agency 
 (unless we take the word in a figurative sense, as 
 when we say, the agency of the pendulum regulates 
 the clock) is as real a contradiction in terms zsfree 
 slave. If every motion in our mind and body is 
 necessary, then we never move ourselves ; and those 
 motions, which are commonly called human ac- 
 tions, are not the actions of men, but of something 
 else, which, according to the language of this the- 
 ory, we must term necessity. To be an active be- 
 ing, is to have a power of beginning motion ; to 
 act, or to be an agent, is to exert that power. Brutes 
 have a power of beginning motion ; which, being 
 in them not accompanied with any sense of right 
 and wrong, has been called Spontaneity ; to distin- 
 guish it from that power which rational beings pos-
 
 CHAP. II. I. MORAL SCIENCE. 147 
 
 sess of beginning motion, and which, being accom- 
 panied with a consciousness of moral good and evil, 
 is denominated liberty. 
 
 246. Mental actions were mentioned ; and them 
 the mind performs without any dependance, that 
 we can explain, on any bodily part. Bodily exer- 
 tions do also take their rise in the mind, which has 
 the power of beginning motion in the body, as well 
 as in itself. But the human body, like every other 
 piece of matter, possesses not in itself the power of 
 beginning motion ; and therefore bodily motions 
 proceeding from the mind are not properly actions 
 of the body ; because, in regard to them, the body 
 is only the passive instrument of the soul. The 
 power of beginning motion, exerted of choice by 
 a rational and intelligent being, may be called voli- 
 tion or will. It is in man the immediate cause of 
 action. We will to exert ourselves in recollection 
 or attention ; and at the same instant the act of re* 
 collecting or attending is begun : we will to move 
 our arm, or leg, or any particular finger, and in- 
 stantly it is moved ; and we feel, that this energy- 
 of mind, which we call will, is the cause of the mo. 
 fion. But in what way, or by what means, the 
 mind operates upon itself so as to produce attention 
 or recollection, or upon the muscles that move 
 the several parts of our body so as to give motion 
 to those muscles, we can neither explain nor con- 
 ceive. 
 
 247. Some things we can, and others we cannot 
 
 K 2
 
 14S ELEMENTS OF PART f, 
 
 do : we can walk, but we cannot fly. Those things 
 it is in our power to do, which depend upon our 
 will ; and from them proceeds whatever may be 
 called moral or immoral,* virtuous or vicious, praise- 
 worthy or blameable, in our conduct. For no man 
 is seriously blamed or praised for that in the per- 
 formance of which he is not considered as a free 
 agent ; that is, as one who had it in his power ei- 
 ther to do or not to do. This, according to the 
 sense of the words agent and action, as already ex- 
 plained, is saying nothing more, than that no man 
 is seriously blamed or praised, except for actions 
 done by himself, and hot by another. 
 
 248. Our mind and body are put in motion by 
 the will ; and philosophers have said, that the will 
 is determined by motives, purposes, intentions, or 
 reasons* Granting this to be true, I cannot admit, 
 that by such motives or purposes the will is neces- 
 sarily determined. It is the will it3elf, or the self- 
 determining power of the mind, that gives a motive 
 that weight and influence whereby the will is deter- 
 mined : in other words, it depends on ourselves^ 
 whether we are to act from one motive or from 
 another. A man, for example, is tempted to steal. 
 His motive to commit the crime is the love of mo- 
 ney ; his motive to abstain is a regard to duty. If 
 he suffer himself to be determined by the former 
 motive, he is a thief, and deserves punishment ; if 
 he comply with the latter, he has done well. Now 
 all the world knows and believes, and the laws- of-
 
 -IIAI. II." $ I. MORAL SCIENCE. 149 
 
 every country suppose, that he had it In his power 
 to act according to the impulse of either the one 
 motive or the other ; that is; that he had it in his 
 power to give to either of them that influence which 
 would determine his conduct. 
 
 249. To set this matter in another light. Action 
 implies motion ; and where there is not a power 
 to begin motion, there cannot be action, there must 
 always be rest. Now, though motion, when be- 
 gun, may be communicated from one body to ano- 
 ther, nothing, so far as we know, can begin motion, 
 but mind. If therefore motives or purposes have 
 in themselves a power to determine necessarily the 
 mind to act, they must also in themselves possess 
 the power of beginning or communicating motion ^ 
 that is, they must be either minds or bodies. But 
 a motive, such as the love of money, or a sense of 
 duty, is neither a mind, nor a body, and therefore 
 cannot begin motion, nor consequently be of itself 
 the immediate and necessary cause of action. 
 
 250. A motive may indeed raise within us a cer- 
 tain desire or aversion, or may itself be that desire 
 or aversion when raised : but desire and aversion 
 are so far from being understood to be actions, that 
 in all the languages we know they are called by a 
 name corresponding to the English word passions, 
 and signifying, not acting, but suffering, or being 
 acted upon. We may indeed act according to the 
 impulse of aversion or desire ; but still it is ice that 
 3t ; and it depends upon our will, upon our pow,- 
 
 K3 '
 
 150 ELEMENTS OF . PART I. 
 
 er. of self-determination, whether we are to act ac- 
 cording to that impulse, or not. A hungry man 
 has a great desire to eat ; but within his reach there 
 may be victuals, which, though he knows to be 
 good, he may refrain from eating ; though at the 
 same time he is conscious it is in his power to eat, 
 notwithstanding any motive, a regard to health for 
 example, that may urge him to abstain. Every 
 man has an aversion to pain and death ; but whe- 
 ther a soldier shall flee from both, or bravely in his 
 country's cause set both at defiance, depends en- 
 tirely upon himself; as long at least as he re- 
 tains the use of reason, and the power of managing 
 his limbs ; that is, as long as he is an accountable 
 being. 
 
 2.5 1 . There are writers, who maintain, that the 
 human frame is wholly corporeal, and that there is 
 no good reason for distinguishing between the soul 
 and the body of man. This doctrine has been call- 
 ed Materialism. If I could acquiesce in it, I should 
 perhaps grant, that all human actions are necessa- 
 ry ; because, being produced by one bodily part 
 operating upon another, they must as really be the 
 effects of mechanism, as the motions of a clock. 
 But if this be true ; and if motives, that is, thoughts 
 and abstract ideas, have the power of producing 
 human action ; those motives or ideas must have 
 the power of putting that great machine, the hu- 
 man body, or part of it at least, in motion, and 
 must therefore themselves be either bodies, which
 
 CHAP..II. I. MORAL SCIENCE. 151 
 
 is inconceivable and impossible, or spirit, which the 
 materialist denies to be in human nature. Here 
 is a difficulty, which it seems impossible to get over, 
 without renouncing both materialism and necessi- 
 ty ; that is, without admitting, that there is in man 
 something which is not matter, and which has the 
 power of beginning motion both in itself, and in the 
 human body. 
 
 252. I do not here mean to enter minutely into 
 the question concerning liberty and necessity : first, 
 because I have explained myself at some length on 
 that subject in another place ; secondly, because to 
 give even a summary of all that has been written 
 about it would take up too much time ; and, third- 
 ly, because in these moral inquiries I think it my 
 duty to avoid controversy and unprofitable specula- 
 tion, and confine myself to plain, practical, and use- 
 ful truth. I therefore only add a few miscellane- 
 ous remarks. The first is, that the freedom of the 
 human will is a matter of fact and experience, where- 
 of the human mind is conscious, and which the lan- 
 guage and behaviour of mankind in all ages prove 
 that they did, and do, and must acknowledge. In 
 all cases of conduct, in which lconsider myself as an 
 accountable being, I feel that I have it in my pow- 
 er to do or not to do, to speak or be silent, to speak 
 truth or falsehood, to do my duty or neglect it. 
 And were I to speak and act as if such things did 
 not seem to me to be in my power, the world wouL 
 charge me with affectation or insanity.
 
 152 ELEMENTS OF PART L 
 
 253. Even those few speculative men, and they 
 are but few, who in words deny the freedom of the 
 will, do yet in the ordinary affairs of life speak and 
 act like other people ; making promises, giving ad- 
 vice, laying down rules and precepts, blaming cer- 
 tain actions as what ought not to have been done, 
 and praising others as right and what ought to be 
 done : the propriety of which conduct it is not easy 
 to reconcile, in a satisfactory manner, to the tenets 
 of those who teach, as the advocates for necessity 
 do, that no past action of our lives could have been 
 different from what it is, and that no future action 
 can be contingent, or such as it is in our power to 
 do or not to do. The condition of these theorists 
 is similar to that of those who argue against the ex- 
 istence of matter. Both affirm what contradicts 
 the opinion and experience, not of the vulgar only, 
 but of the most acute philosophers, and of man- 
 kind in general': both say, they believe that, which 
 is inconsistent with what common sense taught them 
 to believe, and with what they would still have 
 believed, if they had kept to their natural sense of 
 things, and not perplexed themselves with meta- 
 physical arguments : and both assert to be true 
 what they cannot reduce to practice, and what is 
 not warranted by Christianity, or by the morality 
 and politics of any enlightened nation. 
 
 254. With respect to the Christian religion, as 
 concerned in this matter ; it may be observed, 
 than one strenuous fatalist urges the doctrine a
 
 JtHAP. II. 1. MORAL SCIENCE. 153 
 
 necessity, as an argument, either in favour of a* 
 theism, or against the turpitude of vice ; and that 
 another zealous necessarian, who avows his belief 
 both in God and in Christ, seems to admit, that 
 the testimony of the sacred writers is rather against 
 necessity than for it. Judging, then, either from 
 the affirmation of the one, or from the concession 
 of the other, we must infer, that the Christian re- 
 ligion and the doctrine of necessity are not friendly 
 to each other ; which is indeed what the asserters 
 of liberty have generally maintained. If necessity 
 lead to atheism, or if it confound the distinctions of 
 vice and virtue, (and I not only agree with Mr. 
 Hume, that it does either the one or the other, but 
 am satisfied that it does both), it is surely subversive 
 of all religion. And if the sacred writers seem to 
 declare in favour of liberty, (which I agree with 
 Dr. Priestley that they do); and if it is from them, 
 and from them only, that I learn what Christianity 
 is j I must either question their infallibility as teach- 
 ers, or I must with them declare in favour of liber- 
 ty. But, though the belief of necessity would, if 
 I were capable of it, be fatal to my religious and 
 moral principles, I am far from thinking, that it 
 must have the same effect on every other person : 
 different minds may no doubt conceive of it differ- 
 ently. Yet it is remarkable, that some of its most 
 distinguished advocates, of whom I shall only men- 
 tion Spinosa, Hobbes, Collins, Hume, and Voltaire, 
 were enemies to our faith; whereas of the modern
 
 154 ELEMENTS OF PART I> 
 
 defenders of liberty I do not recollect one who was 
 not a Christian. The opinion of necessity, says 
 bishop Butler, seems to be the very basis upon which 
 infidelity grounds itself. 
 
 255. We are permitted, and commanded, to 
 pray : we consider it as a high privilege, and most 
 reasonable service : we feel that it produces good 
 effects on the mind ; and our religion promises par- 
 ticular blessings to those who piously perform it. 
 But if every change in our minds for the better or 
 for the worse, if all the blessings we can receive, 
 and if our praying, or not praying, are all things 
 necessary, and the unalterable result of a long se- 
 ries of causes, that began to operate before we were 
 born, and still continue to operate independently 
 on us, why is prayer, or indeed any thing else, en- 
 joined as a duty ? and how are we to blame for 
 neglecting, or how can we be rewarded for doing, 
 that which it is not possible for n.s either to do or 
 to neglect ? In like manner, if no past action of our 
 lives could have been different from what it is, why 
 do we blame ourselves for any action of our past 
 life ? we may as reasonably blame ourselves for not 
 having learned to fly, or for not coming into the 
 world before the present century. And yet, if we 
 do not blame any part of our past conduct, we can- 
 not repent of it ; and if we do not repent, we can- 
 not be saved. Here seems to be another strange 
 and striking opposition between the doctrine of the 
 New Testament, and that of the fatalist. In short,
 
 CHAP. II. I. MORAL SCIENCE. ] 5 5 
 
 ail the precepts of morality and religion, all pur- 
 poses of reformation, and all those sentiments of 
 regret, self-condemnation, and sorrow, which ac- 
 company repentance, proceed on a supposition, 
 that certain actions are so far in our power, that 
 we may either do them or not do them. And 
 most of the words we make use of in speaking of 
 the morality of actions are, on the principles of 
 those who deny free agency, unintelligible. Such 
 are the words, ought, ought not, moral, immoral, 
 merit, demerit, ravard, punishment, and many 
 others. 
 
 256. By a very zealous asserter of necessity 
 some concessions have lately been made, which 
 seem to convey notions of this doctrine, that are 
 not much in its favour. He says, that nothing 
 can be plainer than the doctrine of necessity ; that 
 it is as certain as that two and two are four : and 
 yet he admits, that nine tenths of the generality 
 of mankind will always disbelieve it. What can 
 this mean but that nine tenths of mankind are 
 irrational ; or that necessity is an incredible thing, 
 notwithstanding its being as certain as that two and 
 two are four ; or that the teachers of this doctrine 
 are unable to explain it ? Were it self-evident, I 
 should grant, that argument could not make it 
 plainer. But that cannot be self-evident, which 
 nine tenths of mankind deny, and which many of 
 the acutest philosophers that ever lived have to the 
 satisfaction of thousands proved to be absurd.
 
 156 ELEMENTS OF TART I. 
 
 257. He admits, that, according to his doctrine 
 of necessity, the Deity is the cause of all the evil, 
 as well as of all the good actions of his creatures, 
 "What can this mean, but either that there is no 
 difference between moral good and moral evil, be- 
 tween harm and injury, between crimes and ca- 
 lamities ; or that the divine character is as far from 
 being in a moral view perfect, as that of any of 
 his creatures ? The same writer affirms, that the 
 doctrine of philosophical necessity is a modern 
 discovery, not older than Hobbes, or, perhaps he 
 might mean, than Spinosa. Strange, that a thing, 
 in which all mankind are so much interested, and 
 of which every man, who thinks, is a competent 
 judge, and has occasion to think and speak, every 
 day of his life ; should not have been found out 
 till about two hundred years ago, and should still, 
 in spite of all that can be said for it, although as 
 certain as that two and two are four, be disbelieved 
 by all mankind, a few individuals excepted. I 
 shall only add, that, if the Deity be, as this au- 
 thor affirms, the cause of all the evil, as well as 
 of all the good actions of his creatures, resent- 
 ment and gratitude towards our fellow-men are 
 as unreasonable as towards the knife that wounds, 
 or the salve that heals us ; and that to repent of 
 the evil I am conscious of having committed 
 would be not only absurd but impious, because 
 it would imply a dissatisfaction with the will of 
 Him, who was the almighty cause of that evi^
 
 CHAP. II. 1. MORAL SCIENCS. 157 
 
 -and was pleased to make me his instrument in 
 doing it. 
 
 258. I deny not, that the opposite doctrine of 
 liberty may be thought to involve in it some diffi- 
 culties which our limited understanding cannot dis- 
 entangle, particularly with respect to the divine 
 prescience and decrees. But in most things we 
 find difficulties which we cannot solve ; nor can 
 any man, without extreme presumption, affirm, 
 that he distinctly knows, in what manner the di- 
 vine prescience exerts itself, or how the freedom 
 of man's will may be affected by the decrees of 
 God. Such knowledge is too wonderful for us ; 
 but of our own free agency we are competent 
 judges, because it is a matter of fact and experi- 
 ence ; and because all our moral and religious no- 
 tions, that is, all our most important knowledge, 
 may Tze said to be either founded on it, or inti- 
 mately connected with it. 
 
 259. As omnipotence can do whatever is pos- 
 sible, so omniscience must know whatever can be 
 known. Every thing which God has determined 
 to bring certainly to pass, he must foresee as cer- 
 tain: and can it be thought impossible, that he 
 should foresee, not as certain but as contingent^ 
 that which he has determined to be contingent and 
 riot certain ? Or will it be said, that it is not pos- 
 sible for the Almighty to decree contingencies, as 
 well as certainties ; to leave it in my power, in 
 certain cases, to act according to the free deter-
 
 15S ELEMENTS OF PART I 
 
 mination of my own mind ? Our bodily strength, 
 and our freedom of choice in regard to good and 
 evil, are matters of great moment to us ; but the 
 latter can no more interfere with the purposes of 
 divine providence, than the former can retard or 
 accelerate the motion of the earth. It would not 
 be very difficult for a prudent man, who should 
 have the entire command of a few children, to 
 make them, in certain cases, promote his views, 
 without laying any restraint on their will. In- 
 finitely more easy must it be, for the almighty and 
 omniscient Governor of the universe, so to over- 
 rule all the actions of his moral creatures, as to 
 make them promote, even while they are acting 
 freely, his own wise and good purposes. 
 
 SECTION II. 
 
 Further Remarks on the Will* 
 
 260. It was said, that the power of beginning 
 motion, exerted of choice by a rational and intel- 
 ligent being, may be called volition, or will. The 
 word will has other significations ; but I wish, at 
 present, to use it in this sense. I call it a power 
 of beginning motion ; meaning by the term motion 
 every change in the human mind or body which 
 
 * See Dr. Reid's Essays on the active powers of man,
 
 CHAP. II. II. MORAL SCIENCE. 15$ 
 
 is usually denominated action. When we will to 
 do a thing, we believe that thing to be in our 
 power; and when we will we always will some- 
 thing, (and this something may be termed the ob- 
 ject of volition) ; even as when we remember we 
 always remember soi jthing, which may be called 
 the object of remembrance. Things, therefore, 
 done voluntarily, are to be distinguished from 
 things done, like a new-born infant's sucking, by 
 instinct, as well as from things done by habit, like 
 the constant motion of the eye-lids. 
 
 261. Will and desire are not the same. What 
 we will is an action, and our own action : but we 
 may desire what is not action, as that our friends 
 may be happy, or what is no action of ours, as 
 that our friends may behave well. Nay, we may 
 desire what we do not will, as when we are thirsty 
 and abstain from drink on account of health ; and 
 we may will what we have an aversion to, as 
 when, on the same account, we force ourselves to 
 swallow a nauseous medicine. Let us also distin- 
 guish between will and command; although, in 
 common language, what a man commands is often 
 called his will. We will to do some action of our 
 own ; we command an action to be done by an- 
 other. Desires and commands are also, in popular 
 language, confounded : but here too we must 
 distinguish. ' O if such a thing were given me,* 
 is not the same with ' Give me such a thing :' and 
 if a tyrant, to get a pretence for punishing, were
 
 160 Elements of a&t u 
 
 to command what he knew could not be done, it 
 might be a command without desire. 
 
 262. I said, that when we will to do a thing, 
 we believe that thing to be in our power, or to 
 depend upon our will. In exerting myself to raise 
 a weight from the ground, I believe either that I 
 can raise it, or that it is in my power to try whe- 
 ther I can raise it or not. A very great weight, 
 which I know to be far above my strength, I never 
 attempt to raise. I never exert myself for the 
 purpose of flying ; I never ivill to speak a language 
 I have not learned ; because I know it to be out 
 of my power. Our will may, however, be ex- 
 erted in attempting to do what we know to be at 
 the first trial impracticable ; as when one begins to 
 learn to perform on a musical instrument : but in 
 this case we believe, that frequent attempts, pro- 
 perly directed, will make the thing possible, and 
 at last easy. And we know, that the first prin- 
 ciples of musical performance, as well as of other 
 arts, are adapted to the ability of a beginner, and 
 consequently in his power. 
 
 263. Some acts of the will are transient, others 
 more lasting. When I will to stretch out my 
 hand and snuff the candle, the energy of the will 
 is at an end as soon as the action is over. When 
 I will to read a book, or write a letter, from be- 
 ginning to end, without stopping, the will is ex- 
 erted till the reading or the writing be finished . 
 We may will to persist for a course of years in a
 
 CHAP. II. 11. MORAL SCIENCE. 161 
 
 certain conduct ; to read, for example, so much 
 Greek every day, till we learn to read it with ease : 
 this sort of will is commonly called a resolution. 
 We may will or resolve to do our duty on all oc- 
 casions as long as we live ; and he who so resolves, 
 and perseveres in the resolution, is a good mam 
 A single act of virtue is a good thing, but dees 
 not make a man of virtue : he only is so, who re- 
 solves to be virtuous, and adheres to his purpose. 
 Aristotle rightly thought, that virtue consists not 
 in transient acts, but in a settled habit or disposi- 
 sition ; agreeable to which is the old definition of 
 justice, Constans et perpetua voluntas suum cuique 
 tribuendi. So of the other virtues. He is not a 
 temperate or valiant man, who is so now and then 
 only, or merely by chance ; but he who is inten- 
 tionally and habitually temperate or valiant. Him, 
 in like manner, we judge to be a vicious character, 
 not who through the weakness of human nature 
 has fallen into transgression, but who persists in 
 transgression, or intends to transgress, or is indif- 
 ferent whether he transgress or not, or resolves 
 that he will not take the trouble to guard against 
 it. 
 
 2G4. For actions wherein the will has no con- 
 cern, a man, as observed already, is not accounted 
 cither virtuous or vicious, and can deserve neither 
 reward nor punishment, neither praise nor blame. 
 This is the universal belief of rational nature, and 
 on this the laws of all enlightened nations are 
 
 vol. i. L
 
 162 ELEMENTS OF PART I. 
 
 founded. It is true, that laws have entailed in- 
 convenience upon the guiltless offspring of the 
 guilty. But such laws either were unjust, or were 
 made with a political view, to restrain fathers the 
 more effectually from certain great crimes, high 
 treason for example : in which last case they may, 
 as many human laws are, be good upon the whole, 
 because profitable to the community, though a 
 grievous hardship to individuals. Inequalities of 
 this kind are unavoidable. At my return from a 
 long voyage my health may require the refresh- 
 ments of the land j and yet, if there be a suspicion 
 of plague in the ship, I may, without having any 
 reason to charge the government with cruelty, be 
 forced to remain on board many days, even though 
 my death should be the consequence. With his 
 parents a man is indeed so closely connected, that, 
 even where the law does not interpose at all, he 
 may, and often must, derive good from their vir- 
 tue, or evil from their misconduct ; competence, 
 for example, from their industry, or poverty from 
 their sloth ; a sound constitution from their tem- 
 perance, or hereditary disease from their sensu- 
 ality ; honour from their merit, or dishonour from 
 their infamy. This may suggest an obvious and 
 important lesson both to parents and to children.
 
 CHAP. II. * III. MORAL SCIENCE. lf>3 
 
 SECTION III. 
 
 Principles of Action. 
 
 265. In strict propriety of speech, and in all 
 rational inquiry concerning the imputableness of 
 actions, every thing that is called human action is 
 supposed to depend on the human will. But, in 
 common language, the word action is used with 
 more latitude, and animals are often said to act, 
 or do, what they do not will, and even what they 
 do not think of. An infant is said to act, while it 
 sucks ; a bee, while it gathers honey ; and a man, 
 while he takes snuff without knowing that he takes 
 it, as I have been told that snuff-takers often do. 
 In speaking of the principles of action, I must 
 now use the word in this inaccurate and popular 
 sense. A principle of human action is, that which 
 incites a man to act.* Our principles of action 
 are many and various ; I will not undertake to 
 give a complete enumeration : it may be sufficient 
 to specify a few of the most remarkable ; which 
 I arrange under the following heads. 1. Instinct. 
 2. Habit. 3. Appetite. 4. Passions and Affec- 
 tions. 5. Moral Principles ; deferring these last 
 
 * See Dr. Reid on the Active powers of man. 
 
 L2
 
 1G4 ELEMENTS OF PART I. 
 
 at present, as they will find a place hereafter in 
 moral philosophy. 
 
 OF INSTINCT. 
 
 26(5. Instinct is a natural impulse to certain ac- 
 tions which the animal performs without delibera--' 
 tion, without having any end in view, and fre- 
 quently without knowing what it does. It is thus 
 the new-born infant sucks, and swallows, and 
 breathes ; operations, which in their mechanism are 
 very complex, though attended with no labour or 
 thought to the infant : thus, when hungry, it has 
 recourse to the mother's milk, before it knows 
 that milk will relieve it : thus it cries while in pain 
 or in fear ; and thus it is soothed by the simple 
 song and soft accents of the nurse. Similar in- 
 stincts are found in the young of other animals : 
 and, as they advance in life, the same unerring 
 principle, derived not from experience, or art, or 
 habit, but from the all-wise author and preserver 
 of their being, makes them provide for themselves 
 and their young, and utter those voices, betake 
 themselves to that course of life, and use those 
 means of self-defence, which are suitable to their 
 circumstances and nature. 
 
 267. The arts of man are all of human inven- 
 tion, and advance to perfection gradually ; and 
 long practice is necessary to make us perform in 
 them with ease. But the arts of inferior animals.,
 
 CHAP. II. III. MORAL SCIENCE. 165 
 
 and their manufactures (if we may use so strong 
 a catachresis) ; the nest of the bird, for example, 
 the honey and honeycomb of the bee, the web of 
 the spider, the threads of the silkworm, the holes 
 or houses of the beaver, &c. are not invented or 
 taught, are uniform in all the individuals of a 
 species, are not more exquisite now than they were 
 four thousand years ago, and, except where out- 
 ward circumstances are unfavourable, are all per- 
 fect in their kind. Those things, however, which 
 the more sagacious animals may be taught to do, 
 are more or less perfectly done, according to their 
 degree of sagacity, and the skill and pains em- 
 ployed in their education. 
 
 268. Instinct, being partly intended to make up 
 for the weakness or the want of understanding in 
 animals, is more or less necessary to their pre- 
 servation and comfort, according as the under- 
 standing is more or less defective. In the begin- 
 ning of life we do much by instinct, and little by 
 understanding : when we have got the use of rea- 
 son, the case is in some measure reversed. Yet, 
 even when arrived at maturity, there are occasions 
 innumerable on which, because reason cannot guide 
 us, we must be guided by instinct. Reason in- 
 forms us, that we must do a certain action, swal- 
 low our food, for example, stretch out our arm, 
 move our limbs, &c. : but how the action is done 
 we know not ; we only know that it follows or 
 accompanies an energy of our will. We will 
 
 L 3
 
 166 ELEMENTS OF PART I. 
 
 to swallow, to walk, &c. and the very com- 
 plex machinery of nerves and muscles necessary 
 to those actions is set agoing by instinct, and 
 instantly produces them. There are actions too, 
 as the motion of our eye-lids, which must be done 
 so frequently, that, if we were obliged to intend 
 and will them every time they are done, we could 
 do nothing else : these, therefore, are generally 
 instinctive. And sometimes, for our preservation, 
 we must act so suddenly, that there is no time for 
 determination and willing ; as when we pull away 
 our hand from any thing that burns it, shut our 
 eyes against a stroke that seems to be aimed at 
 them, or throw out our arm to recover the balance 
 of our body when in danger of failing. Such 
 motions may also be ascribed to instinct ; as well 
 as those efforts which animals, in immediate danger 
 of death by drowning, strangling, &c. make to 
 preserve themselves. 
 
 269. Our pronencss to imitation is also, in some 
 degree, instinctive. In the arts indeed, as paint- 
 ing and poetry, imitation is the effect of will and 
 design. But a child who lives in society learns of 
 himself to speak, though no particular pains be 
 taken to teach him ; and acquires at the same time 
 the accent, and frequently the sound of voice, of 
 those viith whom he lives, as well as their modes 
 of thinking and acting. What a happiness, then, 
 is it for a young person to be brought up in the 
 company of the wise and the good ! Wild men,
 
 CHAP. II. % III. MORAL SCIENCE. 167 
 
 who in their younger years lived savage, solitary, 
 and dumb, and were afterwards brought into ci- 
 vilized society (a few instances there have been of 
 .such), were found incapable of acquiring either 
 speech or a right use of reason, though pains were 
 taken to teach them both. In many cases children, 
 and In some cases grown men, may be said to be- 
 lieve by instinct. Thus an infant believes what a 
 man seriously tells him is true ; and that what has 
 once or twice happened in certain circumstances, 
 will, in the same circumstances, happen again as 
 in the case of his finger having been burned by 
 the candle. And thus we all believe, that things 
 are as they appear to our senses, and that things 
 were what we remember them to have been. 
 
 OF HABIT. 
 
 270. The word habit is used in two different 
 significations, which frequently are, and may with- 
 out inconvenience be, confounded in common lan- 
 guage. It denotes a facility of doing a thing ac- 
 quired by having frequently done it ; in this sense 
 of the word, habit can hardly be called a principle 
 of action. See 265. Habit is a principle of 
 action, when, in consequence of having frequently 
 done a thing, we acquire an inclination to do it. 
 A man, who is accustomed to walk every day at a 
 certain hour, is uneasy if he be kept from walk- 
 ing : and they who read much are never happy at
 
 l6S ELEMENTS OF PARTI, 
 
 a distance from books. Choose the best course 
 of life, said an ancient moralist, and custom will 
 make it the most pleasant. If frequency of per- 
 formance did not produce facility, art would be 
 impossible ; but why the one should produce the 
 other we cannot explain ; we can only say that 
 such is the law of our nature. And if doing a 
 thing frequently did not breed an inclination to do 
 it, the improvement of our nature would be im- 
 possible, and we could hardly be said to be moral 
 beings. Without instinct an infant could not live 
 to be a man, and without habit a man would al- 
 ways continue as helpless as an infant. 
 
 271. Habit, in both senses of the word, is ob- 
 servable in the more sagacious brutes, and in none 
 more than in dogs trained to hunting, and horses 
 inured to the discipline of war. The war-horse 
 not only learns to obey command, but is impetuous 
 to obey it j and the beagle seems to take as much 
 delight as his master in the sports of the field. 
 The power of habit in forming rational beings to 
 vice or virtue, to elegant or rustic manners, to at- 
 tention or inattention, to industry or idleness, to 
 temperance or sensuality, to passionateness or for- 
 bearance, to manual dexterity or the want of it, 
 is universally acknowledged : something, no doubt, 
 depends on the peculiar constitution of different 
 minds ; and something too, perhaps, on the struc- 
 ture and temperament of different bodies : but in 
 fashioning the character, and in giving impulse and
 
 CHAP. II. III. MORAL SCIENCE. J 6,') 
 
 direction to genius, the influence of habit is cer- 
 tainly very great. 
 
 272. As in early life our powers of imitation. 
 are strongest, our minds most docile, and our bo- 
 dily organs most flexible, so good or bad habits, 
 both mental and corporeal, are then most easily 
 acquired. flence the necessity of early discipline, 
 the unspeakable advantages of a good education, 
 and the innumerable evils consequent upon a bad 
 one. It amazes one to consider what prcgress, in 
 the most difficult arts, may be made, when our 
 faculties of mind and body are properly directed 
 in the beginning of life ; and how easy an action, 
 which at first seemed impracticable^ comes to be 
 when it has grown habitual. Performances in mu- 
 sic and painting, and many other sorts of manual 
 dexterity, might be mentioned as examples : to 
 say nothing of those barbarous arts cf balancing, 
 tumbling, and legerdemain, which in all ages have 
 been deemed so wonderful, that the clown is in- 
 clined to impute them to magic, and even the more 
 considerate spectator, when he first sees them, can 
 hardly believe his own eyes. 
 
 273. But nothing in a more astonishing manner 
 displays the power of habit, or rather cf habit and 
 genius united, in facilitating the performance of 
 the most complex and most difficult exertions of 
 the human mind, than the eloquent and unstudied 
 harangue of a graceful speaker, in a great political 
 assembly. It is long before we learn to articulate
 
 IJO ELEMENTS OF TART I. 
 
 words ; long before we can deliver them with exact 
 propriety ; and longer still before we can recollect 
 a sufficient variety of them, and, out of many that 
 may occur at once, select instantly the most proper. 
 Then, the rules of grammar, of logic, of rhetoric, 
 and of good breeding, which can on no account 
 be dispensed with, are so numerous, that volumes 
 might be filled with them, and years employed in 
 acquiring the ready use of them. Yet, to the ac- 
 complished orator all this is so familiar, in conse- 
 quence of being habitual, that, without thinking 
 of his rules, or violating any one of them, he ap- 
 plies them all ; and has, at the same time, present 
 to his mind whatever he may have heard of im- 
 portance in the course of the debate, and whatever 
 in the laws or customs of his country may relate 
 to the business in hand : which, as a very acute 
 and ingenious author observes, if it were not 
 4 more common, would appear more wonderful, 
 ' than that a man should dance blindfold, with- 
 4 out being burned, amidst a thousand red-hot, 
 * plowshares.'* 
 
 OF APPETITE. 
 
 274. The word appetite in common language 
 often means hunger, and sometimes, figuratively, 
 any strong desire. It is here used to signify a par- 
 
 * See Reid on the Active powers of man. Essay III.
 
 CHAV. II. 111. MORAL SCIENCE. 171 
 
 ticular sort of uneasy feeling in animals, returning 
 at certain intervals, and demanding such gratifica- 
 tion as is necessary to support the life of the indi- 
 vidual, or to continue the species. The gratifica- 
 tion being obtained, the appetite ceases for a while, 
 and is afterwards renewed. Hunger and thirst arc 
 two of our natural appetites ; their importance to 
 our preservation is obvious ; brutes have them as 
 well as we ; and the same remarks that are here 
 made on the one, may, with a little variation, be 
 jnade on the other. Hunger is a complex sensa- 
 tion, and implies two things quite different from 
 each other, an uneasy feeling, and a desire of food. 
 In very young infants it is at first only an uneasy 
 feeling ; which, however, prompts the little animal 
 instinctively to suck and swallow such nourishment 
 as comes in his way, and without which he must 
 inevitably perish. Afterwards, when experience 
 has taught him that the uneasy feeling is to be re- 
 moved by food, the one suggests the other to his 
 mind, and hunger becomes in him the same com- 
 plex feeling as in us. In the choice of food, the 
 several species of irrational animals are guided, by 
 instinct chiefly, to that which is most suitable to 
 their nature : and in this respect their instinct is 
 sometimes less fallible than human reason. The 
 mariner in a desert island is shy of eating those 
 unknown fruits, however delectable to sight and 
 smell, which are not marked with the pecking of 
 birds.
 
 172 ELEMENTS OF PART T. 
 
 275. Before we cease to be infants, our reason 
 informs us that food is indispensable ; but through 
 the whole of life appetite continues to be necessary, 
 to remind us of our natural wants, and the proper 
 time of supplying them : for as nourishment be- 
 comes more needful, appetite grows more clamor- 
 ous ; till at last it calls olf our attention from every 
 thing else, whether business or amusement ; and, 
 if the gratification be still with-held, terminates in 
 delirium and death. Hunger and thirst are the 
 strongest of all our appetites, being the most es- 
 sential to our preservation : it is generally owing 
 to criminal indulgence, when any other appetite 
 acquires unreasonable strength. In obeying the 
 natural call of appetite, in eating when hungry or 
 drinking when thirsty, ihere is neither virtue nor 
 vice ; unless by so doing we intentionally promote 
 some good purpose, or violate some duty. But 
 rightly to manage our appetites, so as to keep them 
 in due subordination to reason, is a chief part of 
 virtue ; as the unlimited or licentious indulgence 
 of them degrades cur nature, and perverts all our 
 rational faculties. 
 
 276. Rest after motion is essential to life, as 
 well as food after fasting ; and, when rest becomes 
 necessary, nature gives the sensation of weariness ; 
 which, like hunger and thirst, comes at last to be 
 irresistible, is made up of an uneasy feeling and a 
 desire of a certain object, goes off on being grati- 
 fied, and after a certain interval returns. But we
 
 CHAP. II. III. MORAL SCIENCE. 273 
 
 must not call weariness an appetite, nor is it com- 
 monly called so. Appetite prompts to action, 
 weariness to rest ; appetite rises though no action 
 have preceded, weariness follows action as the ef- 
 fect follows the cause. We have a sort of appetite 
 for action in general : it may be called activity ; 
 and, when excessive or troublesome to others, is 
 termed restlessness : for, as action is necessary to 
 our welfare both in mind and body, our constitu- 
 tion would be defective, if we had not something 
 to stimulate to action, independently on the dictates 
 of reason. This activity is very conspicuous in 
 children ; who, as soon as they have got the fa- 
 culty and habit of moving their limbs, and long 
 before they can be said to have the use of reason, 
 are, when in health and awake, almost continually 
 in motion. It is, however, through the whole of 
 life, so necessary, that without it there can be no 
 happiness. To a person of a sound constitution, 
 idleness is misery : if long continued, it impairs, 
 and at last destroys, the vigour of both the soul 
 and the body. 
 
 277. It were well for man, if he had no appe- 
 tites but those that nature gave him ; for they are 
 but few ; and they are all beneficial, not only by 
 ministering to his preservation and comfort, but 
 also by rousing him to industry and other laudable 
 exertions. But of unnatural or artificial appetites, 
 if they may be called appetites, which man creates 
 for himself, there is no end ; and the more ho ac-
 
 174 ELEMENTS OB* PART I. 
 
 quires of these, the more he is dependent, and the 
 more liable to want and wretchedness. It behoves 
 us, therefore^ as we value our own peace, and the 
 dignity of our nature, to guard against them. 
 Some of the propensities now alluded to may, no 
 doubt, have been occasioned in part by disease of 
 body, or distress of mind ; but they are, in ge- 
 neral, owing to idleness and affectation, or to a 
 foolish desire of imitating fashionable absurdity. 
 They are not all criminal, but they all have a 
 tendency to debase us ; and by some of them men 
 have made themselves disagreeable, useless, con- 
 temptible, and even a nuisance in society. When 
 I mention tobacco, strong liquors, opiates, glut- 
 tony, and gaming, it will be known what I mean 
 by unnatural appetite, and acknowledged that I 
 have not characterised it too severely. 
 
 SECTION IV. 
 
 THE SUBJECT CONTINUED. 
 
 Passions and Affections* 
 
 278. The word passion properly means suffer- 
 ing ; but is seldom used in that sense, except when 
 we speak of onr Saviour's passion, as in the begin- 
 ning of Acts of the Apostles. By passion the com- 
 mon people mean little more than anger ; and
 
 CHAP. II. $ IV. MORAL SCIENCE. 17^ 
 
 anger is a passion, but it is only one of many. 
 Some philosophers have used the word to signify 
 whatever moves us to action ; but this use of it is 
 too extensive. The sense in which I here under- 
 stand it will appear by and by. When we act vo- 
 luntarily, it is in order to obtain what is, or ap- 
 pears to be, good, or to avoid what is, or appears 
 to be, evil. Good, real or apparent, excites de- 
 sire ; evil, real or apparent, excites aversion : but 
 in this acceptation, the words desire and aversion 
 are used with great latitude. Desires and aversions 
 are two copious classes of passions ; and assume 
 different forms, and are called by different names, 
 according to the nature of the good or evil that 
 draws them forth, and its situation with respect to* 
 us. For example ; present good gives rise to joy, 
 probable good to hope, present evil to sorrow, pro- 
 bable evil to fear ; good qualities in another person* 
 raise our love, or liking, evil qualities in another 
 our dislike, he, 
 
 279. Each variety of desire and aversion, as 
 well as every other passion, is agreeable in the 
 feeling, or is disagreeable ; and, it in any degree 
 violent, is attended with some commotion in the 
 body as well as in the mind : for, by varying the. 
 human countenance and attitude, painters may ex- 
 press almost every passion ; which could not be r 
 if the passions did not make perceptible changes 
 in the outward appearance of the body. A pas- 
 sion, therefore, may be said to be ' a commotion
 
 176 ELEMENTS OF PART I. 
 
 ' of the soul, attended with pleasure or pain, af- 
 6 fecting both the mind and the body, and arising 
 ' from the view of something which is, or appears 
 ' to be, good or evil.' If we rank admiration 
 among the passion?, which I think is commonly 
 done, we must vary the last clause thus : c and 
 6 arising from the view of something which is, or 
 ' appears to be, good, or evil, or uncommon.' 
 In treating of the passions, I shall, first, make 
 some general remarks upon them ; secondly, I 
 shall endeavour to arrange them in classes, and 
 describe the more remarkable ones ; and I shall 
 conclude with some rules for the right manage- 
 ment of this part of our moral nature. I do not 
 promise, I will not even attempt, a complete enu- 
 meration. Some passions may, probably, occur 
 to me, which yet I shall forbear to mention, be- 
 cause 1 would not put my hearers in mind of 
 them. 
 
 280. These emotions have got the name of 
 passions, probably, because in receiving the first 
 impressions of them our mind is passive, being 
 acted upon, or influenced, by the body, by exter- 
 nal things, or by the imagination. We may dis- 
 tinguish between the cause of a passion and its ob-> 
 ject. The cause is that which raises it ; the object 
 is that towards which it prompts us to act, or on 
 which it inclines us to fix our attention. The 
 cause and the object of a passion are often, but 
 Hot always, one and the same thing. Thus pre-
 
 CHAP. II. IV. MORAL. SCIENCE. 177 
 
 sent good is both the cause and the object of joy ; 
 we rejoice in it, and we rejoice on account of it. 
 But of love or esteem, the cause is some agreeable 
 quality, and the object is some person supposed to 
 possess that agreeable quality : of resentment, in 
 like manner, injury is the cause, and the injurious 
 person the object. 
 
 281. That may be well enough understood 
 which it is not easy to describe philosophically. 
 This part of human nature is, in general, so wejl 
 understood, that most people know what will draw 
 forth the passions of men, and in what manner 
 those passions operate ; yet a complete analysis of 
 them is still, if I mistake not, a desideratum in 
 moral science. The following sketch (for the out- 
 line of which I am indebted to Dr. Watts) may 
 have its use, but is very susceptible of improve- 
 ment. The difficulties attending this subject arise 
 from several causes : from the insufficiency of hu- 
 man language, which does not supply a name for 
 each form and variety of human affection, and of 
 course makes it necessary to express different af- 
 fections by the same name ; from the complex na- 
 ture of the passions themselves, as they vary their 
 appearance in men of different characters, and in 
 the same man at differem times and in different 
 circumstances; and perhaps too from that parti- 
 ality, which inclines us to think and speak too 
 favourably of those passions that most easily beset 
 
 ror. i. M
 
 173 ELEMENTS OF TART I. 
 
 ourselves, and with too little favour of such as 
 may seem to predominate in other men. 
 
 282. The passions have been variously arranged, 
 according to the various views which have been taken 
 of them. They may be divided into pleasant and 
 painful. Criminal passions bring pain ; virtuous af- 
 fections pleasure. And, therefore, to cherish good 
 affections makes a man happy, and to indulge evil 
 passions makes him wretched : happiness being 
 rather a habit of the mind, than a thing that de- 
 pends on outward circumstances for, amidst the 
 greatest worldly prosperity, the state of a man's 
 mind, who is haunted with the horrors of a 
 guilty conscience, or with envy, jealousy, malice, 
 and other evil passions, may make him completely 
 miserable ; and disease and poverty united will not 
 make that person unhappy, who has a good con- 
 science, and is piously resigned to the divine will. 
 It may be objected, that some evil passions, as 
 revenge, give pleasure ; and that some good ones, 
 pity for example, are painful. But the answer is 
 easy. Of pity, as both a painful and a pleasurable 
 emotion, I have spoken already ( 190): and, 
 with respect to revenge, I shall only observe at 
 present, that though it may to an indelicate and 
 inconsiderate mind give a momentary gratification, 
 even as gluttony and excessive drinking may to a 
 depraved appetite, it can never bring happiness 
 along with it ; because it is accompanied with 
 many tormenting thoughts j because the promiscuous
 
 CHAP. II. IV. MORAL SCIENCE. 17$ 
 
 perpetration of it would unhinge society, and, in 
 time, exterminate the human race ; and, because 
 the opposite virtue of forgivcaess is one of the most 
 amiable and most delightful (I had almost said, most 
 godlike) affections whereof rational nature is capable. 
 283. Though the passions are justly reckoned 
 principles of action, (indeed if we had no passions 
 we should never act voluntarily, at least we should 
 never act with alacrity or vigour), they may, how- 
 ever, be divided into such as do not prompt to ac- 
 tion, and such as do. Of the former class, which 
 incline rather to rest, by fixing the attention upon 
 their causes or objects, are admiration, joy, and 
 sorrow. Of the latter, which are properly active 
 principles, are hope, fear, desire, aversion, benevo- 
 lence, gratitude, anger, &c. If joy in the posses- 
 sion of good be blended with the fear of losing it, 
 this will produce an active propensity, disposing 
 us to exert ourselves in the preservation of it. In 
 like manner, if sorrow be mixed with hope, as in 
 the case of one whose friend is dangerously ill ; or 
 with fear, or with curiosity, as in the case of one 
 who hears he has lost a friend, but is not informed 
 of the person : in these cases, sorrow will become 
 active, and make a man exert himself in procuring 
 relief for his friend in the one case, and in ob- 
 taining full information in the other. In all our 
 active passions there is a certain degree of anxiety, 
 restlessness, or desire ; which, however, is not al- 
 ways painful. Benevolence is anxious to promote 
 
 M 2
 
 180 ELEMENTS OF PARTI. 
 
 another's good, and gratitude, to make acknow- 
 ledgments and requite the favour ; but these are 
 delightful emotions notwithstanding. 
 
 284. The passions may be divided into selfish 
 and benevolent : the former aim at our own good, 
 the latter at the good of others. A rational desire 
 of our own happiness, which may be called self- 
 love, is a powerful and useful propensity, and when 
 rightly managed tends to happiness universal. In 
 this respect, ' true self-love and social are the 
 s same.' For that must be beneficial to the species, 
 which, without injury to any, promotes the good 
 of the individual ; even as that which removes 
 disease from one of the limbs contributes to the 
 health of the whole body. Self-love, when ex- 
 cessive, or when injurious to others, may be called 
 selfishness, and is a hateful disposition. 
 
 285. With rational self-love we must not con- 
 found those desires which men take to particular 
 worldly things, as power, pleasure, and riches : 
 for so far are these from making a man happy, 
 that they often make him miserable. And it is not 
 so much with a view to happiness, that ambitious, 
 covetous, and sensual men pursue their favourite 
 schemes, as in order to obtain power, wealth, and 
 pleasure ; to the possession of which they must 
 know, if they know any thing, that happiness is 
 not annexed. But without power, pleasure, wealth, 
 say they, we cannot be happy, and therefore we 
 pursue them. Sots, in like manner, say, they can-
 
 CHAP. II. IV. MORAL SCIENCE. 1 3 J 
 
 not be happy without the means of intoxication. 
 But surely no man in his senses can believe that 
 self-love is gratified by excessive drinking ; or that 
 brandy and tobacco* have any thing to do with 
 rational felicity, except, perhaps, by their tendency 
 to destroy it. There have been drunkards, who 
 could persevere in their vile habits, even while 
 they knew that ruin and death would be the con- 
 sequence. Such men being really their own ene- 
 mies, it would be a strange abuse of words to say, 
 that they were actuated by self-love : and the same 
 thing may be affirmed of all who are enslaved to 
 ambition, covetousness, or sensuality. 
 
 286. It has been questioned, whether there be 
 in man any principle of pure benevolence, which 
 aims at the good of others only, without any view 
 to the gratification of one's self? By doing good 
 to others we do indeed most effectually gratify our- 
 selves ; for what can give a man more pleasure, 
 than to reflect thai he has been instrumental in pro- 
 moting a fellow-creature's happiness ! Yet every 
 good man may be sensible, that he often does 
 good, and wishes well, to others, without any im- 
 mediate view to his own gratification, nay, without 
 thinking of himself at all. In fact, if we had not 
 principles purely benevolent, we could not gratify 
 ourselves by doing others good. Children have 
 been known to sacrifice their inclinations to the 
 
 * I speak of them not as medicines but as luxuries. 
 
 Ms
 
 182 ELEMENTS OF ?ART I. 
 
 happiness of those they loved, when they them- 
 selves believed that their own interest would, in 
 every respect, suffer by doing so. It is not my 
 meaning, that all children, or all men, are so dis- 
 interested ; I only say, that pure benevolence is 
 to be found in human nature : a doctrine, which, 
 though to many it may appear self-evident, has 
 been much controverted ; and which there are men 
 in the world, who, judging of all others by them- 
 selves, will never heartily acquiesce in. 
 
 287. It has also been made a question, whether 
 there be in man a principle of universal benevo- 
 lence ? But does not every good man wish well to 
 all mankind ? and is not this universal benevolence r 
 He who wishes harm to those who never offended 
 him, or who cares not whether a fellow-creature 
 be happy or unhappy, is a monster, and deserves 
 Oiot the name of a man. It is true, that every man, 
 even in civilized society, is not capable of forming 
 extensive views of things, or of considering the 
 whole human race, or the whole system of per- 
 cipient beings, as the objects of his benevolence. 
 But in every good man there is a benevolent prin- 
 ciple, which makes him wish well, and do good, 
 to every one to whom he has it in his power to be 
 serviceable ; and this sort of benevolence will do 
 as much real good in the world, as benevolence 
 universal. Accordingly our religion, which is 
 suited to our general nature, and enjoins nothing 
 as incumbent on all men, but what every man, of
 
 CHAP. II. ^ IV. MORAL SCIENCE. 183 
 
 extensive or narrow views, of much or little know- 
 ledge, may perform ; our religion, I say, instead 
 of recommending universal benevolence in the ab- 
 stract, requires, that we do good to all men, as 
 we have opportunity ; and commands us to love 
 our neighbour as ourselves ; declaring every man 
 to be our neighbour who needs our aid, and to 
 whom we have the means of giving it. 
 
 288. Concerning universal benevolence some 
 have argued in this manner. c Benevolence arises 
 
 * from love ; and love from the view of agreeable 
 ' qualities in another. Now the good qualities of 
 
 * others can be known to us in two ways only ; 
 ' from personal acquaintance, or from information. 
 
 * Of one whom we never saw or heard of, we 
 ' cannot know either the good qualities, or the 
 ' bad : him, therefore, we cannot love ; but be- 
 ' nevolence is founded in love : therefore towards 
 ' such a person we cannot be benevolent. It fol- 
 ' lows, that there can be no such affection as uni- 
 
 * vcrsal benevolence in human nature.* This rea- 
 soning is good for nothing. Whether the prin- 
 ciple in question be a part of our frame, is a query 
 that relates to a matter of fact, and is therefore to 
 be determined, not by argument, but by observa- 
 tion and experience. He who is conscious that he 
 wishes well to all his fellow-creatures, is a man of 
 universal benevolence ; and 1 have no scruple to 
 affirm, that every good man does so, and that to 
 do so is in the power of every man.
 
 184 ELEMENTS OF PART 1. 
 
 289. Though one were to grant the premises of 
 the foregoing argument, the conclusion would not 
 follow : for, though we are not personally ac- 
 quainted with every man upon earth, we know 
 that all men possess certain agreeable qualities, for 
 which we may and ought to love them. We 
 know, that all men are percipient beings, are en- 
 dowed with reason and speech, are animated with 
 souls intelligent and immortal, are descended from 
 our first parents, and are dependent on the same 
 Great Being on whom we depend. On these ac- 
 counts, a good man loves all mankind ; and may, 
 therefore, if benevolence arise from love, be be- 
 nevolent towards all mankind. The very circum- 
 stance of our all inhabiting the same planet, and 
 of being all liable to the same wants and infirmities, 
 will naturally serve as a bond of endearment j for 
 similarity of fortune never fails to attach men to 
 one another. 
 
 290. Some passions are called unnatural, as 
 envy, malevolence, and pride. The reason is, be- 
 cause they are destructive of good affections that 
 are natural. We naturally love excellence where- 
 ever we see it j but the envious man hates it, and 
 wishes to be superior to others, not by raising him- 
 self by honest means, but by injuriously pulling 
 them down. It is natural to rejoice in the good of 
 others ; but the malevolent heart triumphs in their 
 misery. It is natural for us to regard mankind as 
 our companions and brethren j but the proud man
 
 CHAP. II. $ IV. MORAL SCIENCE. 185 
 
 regards himself only, despising others as if they 
 were beneath him. These unnatural passions are 
 always evil ; they make a man odious to his fel- 
 low-creatures, and unhappy in himself ; and they 
 tend to the utter depravation of the human soul. 
 Anger and resentment may lead to mischief ; but, 
 if kept within the due bounds, are useful for self- 
 defence, and therefore not to be altogether sup- 
 pressed. We may be angry without sin ; and not 
 to resent injury is rhe same thing as not to perceive 
 it, which would be insensibility. Nay, on some 
 occasions resentment and auger are further useful, 
 by cherishing in us an abhorrence of injustice, and 
 fortifying our minds against it. But pride, ma- 
 levolence, and envy, can never be useful or inno- 
 cent ; to indulge them, even for a moment, is 
 criminal. 
 
 291. The passions have long ago been divided 
 into calm and violent. Of the former sort, com*- 
 monly termed affections, are benevolence, pity, 
 gratitude, and, in general, all virtuous and inno- 
 cent emotions. Of the latter, are anger, hatred, 
 avarice, ambition, revenge, excessive joy or sor- 
 row, and, in general, all criminal and all immo- 
 derate emotions \ which, in imitation of the 
 Greeks, we may call passions, using the word in 
 a strict sense. The former are salutary to the 
 soul, the latter dangerous. Those resemble serene 
 weather, accompanied with such gales and refresh- 
 ing showers, as prevent stagnation, and cheer by
 
 186 ELEMENTS OF PART I. 
 
 their variety : these may be likened to storms and 
 other elemental commotions that terrify and de- 
 stroy. Violent passions, very properly expressed 
 by the Latin word perturb a tioncs, alvrays discom- 
 pose the mind, and impair reason to a certain 
 degree ; and have been known to rise even to 
 phrensy, and hurry men on to perpetrations, that 
 have shortened their days, and made life miserable, 
 and death infamous. Many of them are attended 
 with feverish symptoms ; some give an unaccount- 
 able addition of bodily strength, which, however, 
 soon ends in languor ; and some have brought on 
 fainting, apoplexy, and instant death. Nothing 
 more needs be said to show the dreadful effects of 
 violent passion, the indispensable duty of guarding 
 against it, and the inexcusable temerity of speaking 
 and acting under its influence. 
 
 2Q2. The peripatetics, or followers of Aristotle, 
 rightly thought, that the passions, dangerous as 
 they are, ought not to be extinguished, even though 
 that were possible ; for that, being natural, they 
 must be useful ; but that they are to be regulated 
 by reason, and kept within the bounds of modera- 
 tion. All those violent emotions, that urge us on 
 to pleasure, or to the avoidance of pain, by a blind 
 impulse, were by the schoolmen, who professed 
 to derive their tenets from the same source, refer- 
 red to what they called the sensitive appetite, be- 
 cause they seemed to partake more of the senses 
 than of reason : and those calmer affections, that
 
 CHAP. II. ^ IV. MORAL SCIENCE. 187 
 
 prompt us to pursue good rationally and with 
 tranquillity, they referred to the rational appetite, 
 because more nearly allied to reason than to the 
 senses. 
 
 293. Pythagoras and Plato ascribe to the soul 
 two natures, or, to give it in the words of Cicero, 
 animum in daas paries dividunt, divide the soul 
 into two parts, the one rational, the other irrati- 
 onal. In the rational nature they placed what they 
 called tranquillity, that is, as Cicero explains the 
 word, placida et quieta constantia, an easy and 
 quiet consistency or uniformity. To the irrational 
 part they referred what the Greeks called 7ra3-^, or 
 passions, and the Latins, more properly, perturba- 
 tiones, or discomposures, those turbulent emotions 
 both of anger and of desire, which are contrary 
 and unfriendly to reason. There is, in Cicero's 
 fourth book of Tusculan Inquiries, a particular 
 enumeration of the several sorts of perturb ationes 
 and constantia, according to the stoical system. 
 The passage deserves attention ; not so much for 
 the philosophy contained in it, as because it ascer- 
 tains the signification of some Latin words, which 
 are not, for the most part, exactly understood. 
 
 294. Indeed, it is not very easy to comprehend 
 what the stoics say on this subject. Sometimes 
 they would seem to require the extinction of all 
 our passions, of all, at least, that are influenced 
 by external things j for they hold, that nothing 
 external is either good or evil, virtue being, ac-
 
 188 ELEMENTS OF PART I 
 
 cording to them, not only the greatest, but the 
 only good. At other times they are not so un- 
 favourable to the passions ; but grant indulgence 
 to those that interrupt not that calm constancy and 
 steady uniformity, which they supposed to consti- 
 tute the glory of the human character. Thus they 
 allow, that gaudium, or rational and tranquil joy, 
 may be permitted to have a place in the human 
 breast ; but they proscribe Icetitia, which it seems 
 is a more tumultuous sort of gladness, as unworthy 
 of a wise man. They are indeed licentious, and 
 frequently whimsical, in their use of words j so 
 that it is difficult to understand them in their own 
 tongues, the Greek and Latin, and still more so 
 to translate their doctrines into any modern lan- 
 guage. Mrs. Carter has, however, been singularly 
 successful in her version of the discourses of Epic- 
 tetus ; to which she has prefixed an elegant intro- 
 duction, of more value than all the rest of the 
 book. To that introduction I would refer those 
 who wish to form a just idea of the spirit and ge- 
 nius of the stoical philosophy. 
 
 295. It cannot be doubted, that pure and cre- 
 ated spirits may be susceptible of emotions some- 
 what similar to human passions, as joy, gratitude, 
 admiration, esteem, love, and the like. Hence 
 some authors, in treating of the passions, have 
 divided them into spiritual and human. The 
 former we are supposed to be capable of in com- 
 mon with angels and other created spirits ; the
 
 CHAP. II. $ IV. MORAL SCIENCE. 189 
 
 latter are peculiar to our present constitution as 
 composed of soul and body. I need not take fur- 
 ther notice of this division. Through the whole 
 of the following arrangement I must be understood 
 to speak of the passions, as they affect human 
 creatures in the present state. Of the emotions 
 of pure spirits we may form conjectures ; but we 
 can speak with certainty, and scientifically, of thoso 
 only which are known to us by experience. 
 
 SECTION V. 
 
 THE SUBJECT CONTINUED. 
 
 Passions and Affections. 
 
 296. The first class of passions that I shall take 
 notice of comprehends admiration, and some other 
 emotions allied to it. What is either uncommon in 
 itself, or endowed with uncommon qualities, raises 
 admiration or wonder. The sun is seen every day, 
 and therefore is, in one respect, not uncommon ; 
 yet who does not admire his extraordinary mag- 
 nitude and splendour, and beneficial influences ! 
 When, as in this example, the object we contem- 
 plate is transcendentiy excellent or great, admira- 
 tion becomes astonishment ; and an uncommon or 
 unexpected object appearing on a sudden, raises 
 within us an emotion called surprise. The passions
 
 190 ELEMENTS OF PART I. 
 
 of this class, when under no restraint, naturally 
 express themselves by opening the mouth and eyes, 
 raising the eyebrows, lifting up the hands and 
 spreading the fingers : surprise, when violent, oc- 
 casions starting and other nervous symptoms. 
 These are all kindred emotions, and yet they are 
 not the same. 
 
 297. Admiration and wonder may be distin- 
 guished. The former is generally a pleasurable 
 passion, its object being for the most part good, or 
 great, or both ; the latter may be agreeable, or 
 otherwise, according to circumstances. We won- 
 der at the folly and wickedness of some people, 
 but can hardly be said to admire it. We wonder 
 at the ingenuity displayed in harnessing a flea to a 
 microscopic chariot ; but the genius of the artist 
 we do not admire, because it exerts itself in no- 
 thing that can be called either great or good ; and 
 because, though at first view it may yield a slight 
 gratification, one is rather vexed than pleased to 
 think that so much skill and time should be thrown 
 away upon such a trifle. We may also distinguish 
 between admiration and surprise. The sudden ap- 
 pearance of a person in a place where we did not 
 expect him, may surprise us without being matter 
 of admiration. And admiration, as already ob- 
 served, is generally, if not always, pleasing ; but 
 it is not so with surprise. 
 
 298. We speak of disagreeable as well as agree- 
 able surprises, and of astonishment that confounds,
 
 CHAP. II. ^ V. MORAL SCIENCE. 292 
 
 as well as of astonishment that delights ; but of 
 disagreeable or painful admiration I think we sel- 
 dom or never speak. It would be an agreeable 
 surprise, if, on going to visit a friend whom w r e 
 believed to be dangerously ill, we should find him 
 in perfect health ; and, in contrary circumstances, 
 our surprise would be painful in the extreme. 
 Delightful astonishment we receive from the con- 
 templation of pure sublimity (see 168) ; but the 
 astonishment that seizes the young warrior, when 
 the thunder of the battle begins, confounds at first 
 and stupifies, though valour and a sense of duty 
 soon get the better of it. This extreme and pain- 
 ful astonishment is sometimes, both in English and 
 Latin, called consternation, as if it had a tendency 
 to throw a man down. It is to be observed here, 
 and while we treat of the passions it must not be 
 forgotten, that as two or more passions really dif- 
 ferent may, in some respects, be similar, it is not 
 strange, that the name of one should often be put 
 figuratively for another. Instances might be given 
 of the words admiration, surprise, astonishment, 
 and wonder, used indiscriminately ; but the phi- 
 losopher must endeavour to distinguish as well as 
 he can. From this licentious or indefinite use of 
 language, disputes frequently arise where there is 
 no real difference of opinion. 
 
 299. Admiration, says Plato, is the mother of 
 wisdom ; but, when excessive or misplaced, be- 
 comes folly. The young and inexperienced are
 
 192 ELEMENTS OF PART I. 
 
 most liable to it, and to them it is, unless directed 
 to mean or improper objects, peculiarly beneficial : 
 for curiosity prompts them to search for what is 
 new, and admiration fixes their view upon it till it 
 be imprinted on the memory. Our admiration of 
 things great or good heightens the pleasure we 
 take in them ; and the astonishment that arises 
 when any thing uncommonly evil attracts our no- 
 tice, serves to quicken disgust and preserve us from 
 contagion. Horace considers what the Greeks 
 called otSocvjuxvicc, nil admirari, an exemption from 
 admiration, as a security against those turbulent 
 emotions that interrupt the happiness of life : but 
 he is there speaking of that admiration which is 
 bestowed upon unworthy objects. And in this 
 view his doctrine is right : for whatever raises this 
 passion is apt to kindle others of equal or superior 
 violence, as love, hatred, or desire ; and where 
 these are improperly directed, the mind must be 
 subject to perturbations incompatible with virtue, 
 and consequently with happiness. So much for 
 the first order of passions, whereof the object is, 
 in general, uncommonness. See 279. 
 
 300. A much more copious class are those of 
 the second order ; which take their rise from the 
 view of what is, or appears to be, good or evil. 
 That which is, or appears to be, good or agree- 
 able, raises some modification of love : that which 
 is, or appears to be, evil or disagreeable, excites 
 - one form or other of hatred. Now a thing may
 
 CHAP. II. V. MORAL SCIENCE. 193 
 
 seem to be good, either in itself simply, or both 
 in itself and also with a reference to us : and that 
 which, with respect to us as well as in itself, ap- 
 pears to be good, may seem fit, or in a condition, 
 either to do us good, or to receive good from us. 
 In like manner, a thing may seem to be evil, in 
 itself simply, or both in itself and also with a re- 
 ference to us : and that which, with respect to us 
 as well as in itself, appears to be evil, may seem 
 fit, either to do us evil, or to receive evil from us. 
 From good and evil things thus arranged, rise 
 three forms of love and of its opposite hatred : I 
 -shall call them esteem and contempt ; benevolence 
 and malevolence ; complacency and dislike. Esteem, 
 benevolence, and complacency, may be so blended 
 as that one and the same being shall be the object 
 of all the three ; and this happens when that being 
 appears good in itself, fit to do us good, and fit to 
 receive good from us. In like manner, contempt, 
 malevolence, and dislike, may unite so as to form 
 one complex passion ; as when one and the same 
 object appears at once evil in itself, fit to do us 
 evil, and fit to receive evil from us. Thus the 
 passions in question may coalesce ; but it is proper 
 to analyse, and consider them separately. 
 
 :$01. That love, which we bear to a person 
 whom we consider as a good character merely, 
 without taking into the account his fitness either to 
 do us good or to receive good from us, may be 
 called esteem. We esteem strangers the moment 
 
 vol.. i. N
 
 194s ELEMENTS OK PART I. 
 
 we form a favourable opinion of their merit ; and 
 those good men, whom we never saw or can see, 
 and of whom we know nothing but by report : 
 and this emotion (for passion it can hardly be 
 called) inclines us to speak of them with affection 
 and praise, and endeavour to make others think 
 of them as we do. If there be any thing great or 
 uncommonly good in such persons, admiration will 
 heighten our esteem into respect and reverence. 
 Things, as well as persons, are sometimes said to 
 be the objects of esteem ; we say, of a good book 
 or a good picture, that it is ivell esteemed: but 
 this use of the word is figurative. To esteem, and 
 to value, are different things. However much 
 we may value a good horse, a convenient house, 
 or a fine garden, we can hardly be said to esteem 
 them. 
 
 302. Mind, therefore, and rationality seem ne- 
 cessary to draw forth the affection we speak of. 
 Nor are these alone sufficient. An acute under- 
 standing employed in sophistry, a great genius ex- 
 erting itself in pursuits either criminal or trifling, 
 may raise our wonder, perhaps our astonishment , 
 but has no more claim to our esteem than the jug- 
 gler, rope-dancer, or dexterous player at cards. 
 In short, esteem implies moral approbation ; and 
 probity, industry, and other moral virtues, are the 
 objects of it. This being the case, it follows, that 
 we ourselves, as moral beings, may either rise or 
 sink in our own esteem. Self- esteem, kept within
 
 CHAP. II. V. MORAL SCIENCE. 195 
 
 due bounds, and warranted by the approbation of 
 conscience, would be a rational as well as delight- 
 ful emotion. But to keep it within due bounds is 
 difficult and rare ; for where is the man, who has 
 a just sense, neither too high nor too low, of his 
 own merit ? 
 
 303. "When we think too highly of ourselves, 
 which we are very apt to do, self-esteem degene- 
 rates into the evil passions of vanity, pride, arro- 
 gance, and insolence. These, though nearly allied, 
 are not the same. Pride and vanity may be dis-. 
 tinguished. The proud man is sufficiently happy 
 in the consciousness of his own supposed dignity ; 
 the vain man is not happy unless he believe that 
 others admire him. Hence the former is reserved 
 and sullen, the latter ostentatious and affable. 
 Pride implies something, and generally not a little, 
 of ill-nature ; vanity is often officiously obliging. 
 The vain man laughs, and is himself a ludicrous 
 animal ; the proud man is a hateful being, and 
 unwilling even to smile ; ' or if he smile, it is in 
 ' such a sort, as if he scorn'd to smile at any 
 * thing.' It is generally true, that, in proportion 
 as a man behaves proudly towards those whom he 
 thinks beneath him, he is fawning and servile 
 with respect to those whose superiority he feels 
 himself constrained to acknowledge : Swift ob- 
 serves, that the posture of climbing is pretty much 
 the same with that of crawling. Pride and vanity, 
 though in some things inconsistent, have been 
 
 N2
 
 196 ELEMENTS OF 1'AK.T I. 
 
 known to meet in the same character ; but he 
 may be vain who is not proud ; and some men 
 are too proud to be vain. The language of the 
 former would be, admire me, and I will love 
 you dearly ; that of the latter, we value not your 
 good opinion, and will give ourselves no trouble 
 to obtain it. 
 
 304. Pride, arrogance, and insolence, may per- 
 haps be thus distinguished. Pride, though no de- 
 gree of it is excusable, may be so restrained by 
 good-breeding, as not to do injury, or give great 
 offence to others : arrogance is always offensive* 
 because in demanding more than its due (for this 
 meaning appears in the etymology of the word)* 
 it manifests a petulant and injurious disposition, 
 that disdains to be controuled by good-breeding or 
 any other restraint. Insolence is pride co-operating 
 with arrogance and ill-nature in gratifying itself 
 by insulting others : a temper utterly detestable, 
 and such as no elevation of rank, of wealth, or 
 of genius, can render pardonable in any person : 
 nay, let a man's superiority be what you please, 
 this alone is sufficient to cancel all his merit. And 
 true it is, that they who are really distinguished 
 by rank or by genius are not apt to be either in- 
 solent or arrogant ; and, if not wholly exempt 
 from pride, will however be careful to conceal it ; 
 which it is very much their interest to do. Of all 
 writers the petty verbal critic is, I think, the. 
 most addicted to* these enormities : Newton's meek-
 
 CHAP. II. hV' MORAL SCIENCE. 19/ 
 
 ness and modesty were as exemplary, as his genius 
 was transcendant. 
 
 305. Pride is an artificial passion : in early life, 
 unless enjoined by precept, or recommended by 
 example, it seldom appears. The Psalmist, speak- 
 ing of his exemption from haughtinesss, compares 
 himself to a young child ; and the humble docility 
 of little children is, in the New Testament, repre- 
 sented as a necessary preparative to the reception 
 of Christian faith. But there is a sort of pride, 
 from which a weak and inexperienced mind may 
 be in danger, which refuses advice and instruction 
 
 -from an opinion that they are unnecessary : it is 
 sometimes called self-conceit. This mental disease, 
 at first infused by the fondness and flattery of 
 parents perhaps, or of inferiors, gives rise to in- 
 numerable disappointments and ridiculous under- 
 takings ; and, if years and experience do not 
 speedily remove it, hardens into incurable folly. 
 
 306. Contempt seems to stand in opposition to 
 esteem, and arises from our considering an object 
 as insignificant, or destitute of merit. But it is 
 not every sort of insignificance that draws forth 
 contempt : things of no value we are apt to over- 
 look, or attend to with indifference ; and indiffer- 
 ence and neglect are no passions. When a thing 
 is of such a nature as gives us reason to expect to 
 find good in it, we despise it if we find none. An 
 insignificant man, for example, is always the object 
 of contempt, unless he be known to labour under 
 
 N3
 
 198 ELEMENTS OP PART I. 
 
 some infirmity which prevents his exerting himself 
 to any good purpose. In those who pretend to 
 knowledge, or have had the means of acquiring 
 it, ignorance is contemptible ; but ignorance in a 
 child, in a savage, or in any person who neither 
 pretends to knowledge, nor has ever had the means 
 of it in his power, is not contemptible at all, but 
 pitiable. 
 
 307. In like manner, a child's first attempts in 
 drawing or writing, however rude, are not to be 
 contemned : but were a fond father to display such 
 things as wonderfully ingenious, we should despise 
 both the work and him who praises it : yet the 
 child who made it we should not despise, unless 
 he partook of his father's vanity ; because from a 
 child nothing better is to be expected. In short, 
 what we despise we always in some degree disap- 
 prove ; and the object of disapprobation, as of es- 
 teem (see 302), is a rational being. For I 
 think we cannot be properly said to disapprove of 
 an inconvenient house, or untractable horse, nor 
 consequently to despise either, even as we cannot 
 be said to esteem their opposites ; but the conceit- 
 ed architect 'who built the one, and the knavish 
 jockey who would cheat us in the other, we 
 may have good reason both to disapprove and to 
 despise. 
 
 308. A man habitually contemptuous is an un- 
 amiable character, because he is generally both 
 malevolent and proud : but it is does not follow,
 
 #HAP. UL. V. MORAL SCIENCE. 1()C) 
 
 that contempt is an evil or useless passion, or a 
 blemish in the human constitution. For the fear 
 of incurring it, (and who would not be afraid of 
 being despised ?) proves a good preservative from 
 pride, vanity, rashness, and other follies, as well 
 as a powerful incentive to the acquisition of those 
 talents and virtues which the world has reason to 
 expect from us, and for which, if we acquire them, 
 it will esteem us. It is scarce necessary to add, 
 that esteem and contempt are more or less to be 
 regarded, according to the wisdom and goodness 
 of him who esteems and contemns. To have the 
 esteem of fools, can gratify none but fools ; to be 
 despised by such, can never dishearten a man of 
 spirit. To be praised for good qualities winch we 
 are conscious that we do not possess, is, to a ge- 
 nerous mind, not pleasing but mortifying ; to be 
 despised or blamed by an incompetent or uncandid 
 judge, may give a momentary pain, but ought not 
 to make us unhappy. The lady who paints her 
 face to make us admire her complexion* and the 
 fop who tells lies to raise our opinion of his wit or 
 valour, are among the most despicable characters 
 in human shape. Disdain and scorn arc terms 
 denoting different forms or degrees of contempt. 
 To distinguish them with precision, and unex- 
 ceptionably, would perhaps be difficult, and is not. 
 
 * Face-painting, where it is fashionable and avowed, de- 
 ceives nobody.
 
 200 ELEMENTS OF TART I. 
 
 necessary ; those words being, in general, well 
 enough understood. 
 
 309. The opposite of pride is humility ; which 
 consists in a just sense of our own imperfections, 
 inclining us to bear with and pity those of others : 
 a most amiable disposition in the sight of both God 
 and man ; but which, as it settles and soothes the 
 mind, and occasions little or no commotion in the 
 bodily frame, is to be called, not a passion, but a 
 virtue. And a virtue it is of the most essential 
 importance to happiness ; indeed, without it, there 
 can be no virtue, in the Christian sense of the 
 word. Proud men are continually beset with af- 
 fronts real or imaginary, and harassed with anger, 
 indignation, revenge, and other pernicious and 
 painful emotions, from which the humble are en- 
 tirely free. The lowly mind is considerate and re- 
 collected, benevolent and pious, at peace with it- 
 self and with all the world ; and is generally ac- 
 companied with a simplicity of manners, a serenity 
 of countenance, a gentleness of speech, and a 
 sweetness of voice, which recommend one to the 
 love of good men, and to respect even from the 
 thoughtless. Good-breeding, which all men who 
 understand their own interest are ambitious to 
 acquire, always assumes the look and the language 
 of humility : a proof, that it is universally pleas- 
 ing ; as ostentation and pride are to the same ex- 
 tent and in the same degree offensive. 
 
 310. There is in some minds a timorous diffi-
 
 CHAP- II. V. MORAL SCIENCE. 20l 
 
 dence, which, making them judge too harshly or 
 too meanly of themselves, depresses them with 
 melancholy thoughts that disqualify them equally 
 for happiness and for the business of life. This 
 cannot be called a fault, but it is a dangerous in- 
 firmity ; and for the most part owing to disorder 
 of body as well as discomposure of mind. Of 
 our virtue, as it must appear to a being of infinite 
 perfection, we cannot think too meanly ; and of 
 our abilities, as compared with those of other men, 
 we should always speak and think modestly. But 
 we shall do well to guard against unreasonable de- 
 jection. And this in all ordinary cases we may do, 
 by entertaining right notions of the divine good- 
 ness and mercy; judging with candour of ourselves 
 as well as of others ; cultivating habits of activity, 
 cheerfulness, and social intercourse ; improving 
 our talents and faculties to the utmost of our 
 power ; and never engaging in enterprises above 
 our strength, or in schemes that seem likely to 
 expose us to the tyranny of unruly passion. 
 
 311. So much for esteem and contempt, and 
 the passions allied to them. They are all different 
 modifications of love and hatred ; and all, or most 
 of them, seem to arise from our considering things 
 or persons as simply, and in themselves, good or 
 evil. The next class of passions are those which 
 arise in us when we consider objects as good or 
 evil not only in themselves, but also with a pecu- 
 liar reference to us. If a thing, or rather a per-
 
 t02 ELEMENTS OF PART I. 
 
 son, seem fit to receive good from us, we regard 
 It with that sort of love which is termed benevo- 
 lence ; if fit to receive evil from us, our hatred to 
 it we may call, till we get a more proper name, 
 malevolence : if a thing or a person give us plea- 
 sure, or seem fit to do us good, we regard it with 
 complacency or delight ; if fit to do us evil, or de- 
 prive us of pleasure, with displacency^ or, to use 
 -a more common word, with dislike. 
 
 312. Benevolence and esteem, though often 
 united, are not the same. A man is benevolent 
 to his new-born infant, whom he cannot be said to 
 esteem ; and to a poor profligate, whom it may be 
 impossible for him not to despise. Nor are male- 
 volence and contempt the same, though they also 
 go often together : our hatred of a powerful ad- 
 versary, though blended with malevolence, may 
 be without the least mixture of contempt ; nay, 
 if he have great abilities, may be consistent with 
 admiration. Esteem and complacency must, in 
 like manner, be distinguished ; though frequently, 
 as when we converse with a friend, they have one 
 and the same person for their object : for we have 
 complacency in, that is we receive pleasure from, 
 things inanimate, as a house, a garden, a book, a 
 picture, none of which is, properly speaking, the 
 object of our esteem. Contempt and dislike must 
 also be distinguished ; for that which we do not 
 despise may be fit to do us evil, as a highwayman, 
 a serpent, a storm, &c.
 
 CHAP. II. V. MORAL SCIENCE. 203 
 
 313. As benevolence prompts us to promote, 
 or at least to wish, the happiness of others, its ob- 
 ject must be, not only a percipient being, but a 
 being who is capable of deriving happiness or com- 
 fort from us : complacency, as already observed, 
 may have for its object, not only percipient, but 
 even inanimate beings. These two passions must, 
 therefore, be yet further distinguished. Good 
 men delight, or have complacency, nay, may be 
 said even to rejoice, in God : indeed the contem- 
 plation of his adorable nature yields the highest 
 and most lasting felicity whereof rational minds are 
 capable. But we cannot be said to be benevolent 
 towards God ; because our goodness extends not 
 to him, he being, in and of himself, eternally and 
 infinitely happy. Further still : the object of our 
 complacency must always be, or seem to be, agree- 
 able j but the object of our benevolence may be 
 neither agreeable nor good ; it is enough if it have 
 a capacity of being made so. A good man takes 
 no delight in the wicked ; but he wishes them 
 well, and endeavours, if he can, to reform them. 
 
 314. The passion that rises within us towards 
 those percipient beings who seem fit to receive evil 
 from us, I called malevolence, as being, according 
 to etymology at least, the opposite of benevolence. 
 But the term is not proper. An undutiful child 
 may to the most affectionate parent seem a very 
 proper object of correction ; but it would be an 
 abuse of words to say, that such a parent is ma-
 
 204 ILEMENTS OF ?ART I. 
 
 levolent towards his child. To a good magistrate 
 malefactors may seem fit to receive, from the laws 
 of their country, as administered by him, even 
 capital punishment ; but there is no malevolence in 
 a good magistrate, nor is the law capable of it : 
 and sanguinary laws are enacted from a principle, 
 not of ill-will to individuals, but of love to the 
 community. To be indifferent to the welfare of 
 those who are fit to receive good from us, would 
 manifest a savage disposition which might be con- 
 sidered as the opposite of benevolence ; but indif- 
 ference is not a passion. The passions that coun- 
 teract this amiable affection, by disposing men to 
 do no good, but positive evil to others, will be 
 hereafter taken notice of, under the names of re- 
 sentment, anger, revenge, &c. 
 
 315. Dr. Watts seems to think, that benevo- 
 lence to our equals may be called friendship, and 
 to our inferiors mercy. And it is true, that we 
 are always the friends of those towards whom we 
 are benevolent ; and that in popular language a 
 good man may be said to be merciful to his beast. 
 But, in order to constitute what is commonly called, 
 friendship, acquaintance, esteem, and complacency 
 are necessary, as well as benevolence j whereas we 
 may, and indeed ought to exercise benevolence to- 
 wards strangers, criminals, and even enemies ; that 
 is, towards those in whom we take no delight and 
 repose no trust, and with whom we have but a 
 slight acquaintance, or none at all. And the ob-
 
 CHAP. II. ^V. MORAL SCIENCE. 203 
 
 ject of, what is properly called mercy, is a person- 
 liable to punishment : mercy is what we all pray 
 for from God ; and it is mercy which a condemned 
 malefactor implores from his sovereign. It may 
 be added, with respect to friendship, that, though 
 the proverb says it either finds men equal or makes 
 them so, equality of condition, or of talents, is by 
 no means essential to it. For a master and his 
 servant, a peer and a commoner, a sovereign and 
 his subject, an unlettered man and a philosopher, 
 may be affectionate and faithful friends to each 
 other : and if a man were to forsake hie friends on 
 being promoted to a rank above them, the world 
 would censure his conduct as equally ungenerous 
 and unnatural. 
 
 316. Benevolence towards the brute creation 
 has, I think, no other name than humanity, or 
 tender-heartedness, nor needs any other ; for he 
 who is cruel to his beast, would be so to his 
 servant or neighbour, if he durst. Useful and 
 inoffensive animals have a claim to our tenderness, 
 and it is honourable to our nature to befriend 
 them ; by exposing them to no unnecessary hard- 
 ship, making their lives as comfortable as we can, 
 and, if we must destroy them, putting an end to 
 their pain in an instant. But more of this here- 
 after. Some people contract a fondness for certain 
 animals, as horses and dogs, which are indeed 
 furnished by nature with the means of recom- 
 mending themselves to us in various ways ; some,
 
 206 ELEMENTS OF PART I. 
 
 less excusably, for cats, parrots, monkeys, &c. 
 When this sort of fondness becomes immoderate, 
 it is something worse than folly, and seldom fails 
 to withdraw our affections from our brethren of 
 mankind, as well as to reconcile us to habits of 
 idleness and nastiness. Low company, of what- 
 ever kind, debases our nature in proportion as we 
 become attached to it. 
 
 317. Fondness is founded in complacency. It 
 partakes also of benevolence, but often counteracts 
 it : as when it imprisons for life that playful, beau- 
 tiful, and harmless creature, a singing bird j man- 
 gles the ears of a dog, or the tail of a horse ; 
 pampers a lapdog, so as to make him more help- 
 less and useless than nature made him ; and, which 
 is infinitely more cruel, corrupts a child by in- 
 dulgence and flattery. These are melancholy 
 proofs of the weakness of human reason. But 
 there is, in some of our best affections, a tender- 
 ness of love, which has also obtained the name of 
 fondness, and which, so far from being an in- 
 firmity, may be justly accounted a virtue, being 
 highly natural, amiable, and beneficial. Such is 
 that fondness, which unites itself with the several 
 forms of natural affection, whereby parents and 
 children, brothers and sisters, and other near re- 
 lations, are mutually attached to, and delighted 
 with, one another. These parental, co-.;jucal, fi- 
 lial, and fraternal charities, not only humanize 
 the heart of man, and give a peculiar and exqui-
 
 CHAP. U. V. MORAL SCIENCE. 207 
 
 site relish to all the comforts of domestic life, but 
 also cherish that elevating principle, a sense of 
 honour, which heightens the gracefulness, and 
 adds to the stability, even of virtue itself. 
 
 318. The passion opposite to complacency is 
 displacency, or dislike. It has for its object that 
 which seems fit to do evil, or take away good ; 
 that, in a word, which is disagreeable ; and, ac- 
 cording to the degree of violence wherewith it 
 operates, assumes different names, as disgust, loath- 
 ing, abhorrence? abomination, detestation. We 
 dislike an ill-natured countenance ; we are dis- 
 gusted with the conversation of a vain-glorious 
 fool ; we loathe or ?uiuseate food when we are 
 sick ; we abhor an unjust or ungenerous action ; 
 we abominate the impious rites of pagan super- 
 stition ; we detest such characters as Tiberius, 
 Herod, Caligula, Nero. By these examples I do 
 not mean to ascertain the exact signification of the 
 words ; which, perhaps, could not be easily done ; 
 as people in the choice of such words may be de- 
 termined by their present feelings, or merely by 
 the habit of using one word more than another : 
 but I give these examples, to shew that the words 
 above mentioned mean, not different passions, but 
 rather different degrees of the same passion. 
 \\ ords expressive of very keen dislike ought not 
 to be employed on ordinary occasions. In gene- 
 ral, the frequent use of hyperbolical expressions,
 
 208 ELEMENTS OF PAR? I. 
 
 though some people affect them, is a sign of levity 
 or intemperance of mind. 
 
 319. We are sometimes conscious of strong 
 dislike which we can hardly account for, and 
 which to others, and to ourselves too perhaps, 
 may appear capricious or even ridiculous. This 
 has been called antipathy* Most people feel it on 
 seeing a crawling toad or serpent ; and such an- 
 tipathy is useful, and therefore reasonable, because 
 it contributes to our safety : but whether it be 
 owing to constitution or to acquired habit, I can- 
 not say ; as I know not whether a child, previ- 
 ously to advice or example, would be conscious of 
 it. To certain kinds of food, as pork and cheese, 
 some people have an antipathy ; which may be the 
 effect of unpleasing associations; or, perhaps, it 
 may be constitutional ; for I have heard of those 
 who would grow sick if cheese were in the room, 
 though they did not see it. I know men both 
 healthy and strong, who are uneasy when they 
 touch velvet, or see another handling a piece of 
 cork. And I remember that, in my younger 
 years, if my hands happened to be cold, I could 
 not, without uneasiness, handle paper, or hear it 
 rustle, or even hear its name mentioned. What 
 could give rise to this, I know not ; but I am sure 
 there was no affectation in the case. 
 
 320. Of this papyrophohia I need not inform 
 the reader that I was cured long ago. And I
 
 CHAP. II. V. M0KAL SCIENCE, 209 
 
 doubt not, that such unaccountable infirmities 
 might be in many, perhaps in most, cases got the 
 better of: which, when it can be done, ought not 
 to be neglected ; as every thing is a source of in- 
 convenience, which gives one the appearance of 
 singularity, or makes one unnecessarily dependent 
 on outward circumstances. Persons, however, 
 there are, who, from an affectation of extreme de- 
 licacy, are at pains to multiply their antipathies and 
 other singularities, to the no small molestation of 
 themselves as well as /others. Such people will 
 scream at the sight of a spider, a caterpillar, a 
 mouse, or even a frog : and if, at table, you be 
 conveying salt to your plate with a careless or 
 trembling hand, will sweat with apprehension lest 
 you let it fall, and so bring mischief, as they are 
 willing to believe, upon one or other of the com- 
 pany. But this last example savours more of su- 
 perstition than of false delicacy. All such fool- 
 eries are quite inconsistent with that manly sim- 
 plicity of manners, which is so honourable to the 
 rational character. 
 
 321. From the different forms of love and 
 hatred, complacency and dislike, which I have 
 been endeavouring to analyze, a third class of pas- 
 sions derive their origin, which vary in their feel- 
 ings and names, according as their objects vary 
 with respect to us. If that which seems fit to do 
 us good be so far in our power that we may con- 
 sider it as attainable, it excites desire ; if probably 
 
 vol. r. ()
 
 210 ELEMENTS or PARTI. 
 
 attainable, hope ; if actually obtained, joy ; and the 
 person who helps us to obtain it is the object of 
 our gratitude. If that which seems fit to do us 
 harm may possibly come upon us, it excites what . 
 may be called aversion ; if it may probably come 
 upon us, fear ; if it be actually come upon us, 
 sorroiV) or grief: and if any of our fellow-men 
 has been instrumental in bringing it upon us, that 
 person is the object of our anger. On these pairs 
 of opposite passions, desire and aversion, hope and 
 fear, joy and sorrow, gratitude and anger, I shall 
 make a few remarks, and so conclude this part of 
 the subject. 
 
 322. Desire and aversion. Things may seem 
 desirable, in the popular sense of that epithet, 
 which are not attainable : such is an affluent for- 
 tune, to those who are sure they can never have it ; 
 and such is health, to him who knows that he is 
 dying of a consumption. But in general, it is true 
 of those things which draw forth the active passion 
 of desire, that they seem to be within the reach of 
 the person who wishes to have them. Few people 
 can be said to desire to fly, or to desire to be the 
 governors of kingdoms ; and to those who have 
 aspired to crowns and sceptres, the attainment of 
 such things must have appeared at least possible. 
 Desire is a restless passion ; and if every sort of 
 excellence, whether attainable or unattainable, 
 were to raise it, there would be no end of disap- 
 pointments, and human life would be completely
 
 HAP. II. V. MORAL SCIENCE. 211 
 
 wretched. This passion, as it arises from the view 
 of something agreeable, is partly a pleasurable 
 feeling ; and it is also painful, and sometimes in- 
 tensely so, because it implies a consciousness of 
 our wanting something, without which we think 
 we are not so happy as we should be if we had 
 it. 
 
 323. Nothing more discomposes the mind than 
 inordinate desire, or more effectually disqualifies 
 it for prudent exertion. It is a torment in itself, 
 and it exposes to disappointment ; and the anguish 
 of disappointment is in proportion to the violence 
 of desire. And, therefore, it is of the utmost im- 
 portance to our virtue and happiness, and indeed 
 to our reputation as men of prudence, that we 
 inure ourselves to habits of moderation in all our 
 desires, in all those at least that are liable to be- 
 come extravagant, that is, in all that regard this 
 world. To effect this, we shall do well to medi- 
 tate frequently on the shortness of life, the uncer- 
 tainty of present things, and their insufficiency to 
 yield those gratifications which are expected from 
 them. If we are anxious to be wealthy, eminent, 
 or great, let us attend to the fates and fortunes of 
 those who have acquired renown, riches, or power, 
 and consider how much happier they were than 
 other men ; what proportion of their happiness 
 arose from such things, and whether a reasonable 
 share of felicity might not be attained without 
 them : continually bearing in mind, that, though 
 
 02
 
 212 ELEMENTS OP PART I. 
 
 happiness is not always in our power, contentment 
 is j and that contentment is enough. 
 
 324. A slight degree of desire has been called 
 propensity^ or inclination ; when it becomes x&ry 
 importunate, it is termed longing ; and longing 
 iiiay grow stronger and stronger, till it overwhelm 
 the mind and destroy the body. This may happen, 
 not only in regard to food and drink, and other 
 things necessary, but also when the object of de- 
 sire may seem to many to be essential neither to 
 life nor to happiness. Men have lived long and 
 comfortably at a great distance from the place of 
 their birth, the neighbourhood of which is surely 
 no necessary of life : yet there have been men who 
 sickened and died of an excessive longing to re- 
 visit their native land. To this malady the Swiss 
 were formerly so subject, that they gave it a name 
 signifying the disease of the country : the Scots 
 too have suffered from it ; and Homer makes 
 Minerva say, of the wandering Ulysses, that, to 
 enjoy the happiness of again seeing the smoke 
 ascend from his native Ithaca, he would willingly 
 die. 
 
 325. Some of our desires take different names, 
 according as their objects differ. To desire the 
 good that others possess may be termed covetous- 
 ness ; as in the tenth law of the decalogue, where 
 it is very emphatically prohibited : as in the New 
 Testament it is not only prohibited, but branded 
 with the name of idolatry, and declared to be a
 
 CHAP. II. V. MORAL SCIENCE. 213 
 
 sin that excludes from heaven. Desire of riches 
 has also been called covetousness. But this desire, 
 if moderate, and if it pursue its object without in- 
 jury to any person, cannot be called criminal > 
 nay, if it engage in the pursuit in order to obtain 
 the means of doing good, it is very commendable, 
 and gives rise to industry, temperance, and other 
 virtues equally beneficial to individuals and to so- 
 ciety. Desire of the pleasures of sense is termed 
 sensuality ; especially when it becomes habitual, 
 and excludes or weakens the more generous prin- 
 ciples of action : and then it is a disease of the 
 most debasing nature, and reduces man to the con- 
 dition of a beast. Temperance, a hardy way of 
 life, and a superiority to the fascinations of luxury, 
 are by all moralists recommended, as friendly to 
 our moral improvement, and highly honourable to 
 man as a rational being. 
 
 326. The desire of honour and power has ob- 
 tained the name of ambition. It is very apt, as 
 Cicero observes, to spring up in noble minds ; and 
 it may, if properly regulated, produce good j but 
 when in any degree immoderate (as it seldom fails 
 to be when it has been in any great degree suc- 
 cessful), it is almost impossible to restrain it within 
 the proper limits. Dreadful are the miseries which 
 unbridled ambition has introduced into the world j 
 as may be seen in the histories of all nations : 
 history, indeed, contains little more than the acts 
 of ambitious men, and their consequences ; and th$ 
 
 ()3
 
 2l4 ELEMENTS OF FART I. 
 
 very word ambition conveys to us some idea of 
 evil. And yet the love of power, or a desire of 
 superiority, is natural to man, and so far from being 
 in itself censurable, that a total want of it is blamed 
 or pitied as mean-spiritedness. The only principles 
 that can controul ambition, so as to render it at 
 once innocent and beneficial, are benevolence and 
 the love of justice ; principles so nearly allied, 
 that the one cannot exist without the other. 
 Cicero has some good remarks on this subject in 
 the eighth chapter of his first book De Officiis. 
 
 327. To desire money for its own sake, and in 
 order to hoard it up, is avarice ; an unnatural pas- 
 sion, that disgraces and entirely debases the soul, 
 from which it seldom fails to eradicate every ge- 
 nerous principle and kind affection. It impairs the 
 understanding also, and contracts the genius. To 
 this vile passion Horace scruples not to ascribe the 
 inferiority of the Roman literature to the Greek ; 
 and Longinus imputes the decay of eloquence in 
 his time to the same cause. Against avarice the 
 ridicule of the comic muse has been pointed, and 
 the scourge of satire brandished, in every age ; 
 and by no writer more succssfully than by Horace. 
 Indeed we should be tempted to think, that he re- 
 curs rather too frequently to this topic, if we did 
 not recollect, that, in the decline of the republic, 
 the Romans, and some of the most splendid cha- 
 racters among them too, were beyond measure ad- 
 dicted to the hoarding up of money.
 
 -CHAP. II. V. MORAL SCIENCE. 215 
 
 328. Many vices bring their punishment along 
 with them, and none more conspicuously than 
 avarice. The more it is indulged, and the more 
 it has been successful, the more miserable it makes 
 the poor wretch that is enslaved to it ; to whom, 
 in our language, with an allusion no doubt to this 
 circumstance, the appellation of miser has long 
 been appropriated. Even when misers, at the 
 close of life, have applied their accumulations to 
 a charitable purpose, the erection of hospitals, for 
 example, they have not been able to rescue their 
 memory from contempt and detestation. For the 
 world knows well, that there is no liberality in 
 giving away what one can no longer keep ; no 
 virtue in rearing monuments to one's own vanity ; 
 and neither good nature nor common honesty in 
 robbing society of the benefits that arise from 
 commercial intercourse and a free circulation of 
 wealth, or in adopting a plan of life which one 
 cannot persist in without hardening one's heart 
 against the deserving and the poor. 
 
 329. The desire of having that which others 
 also desire gives rise to rivahhip ; and a desire to 
 be equal or superior to others is emulation. Be- 
 tween rival candidates for the same object there 
 ought to be no enmity ; and between those who 
 are ambitious to equal or excel one another there 
 ought to be no envy. Enmity and envy, in cases 
 of this nature, are marks of a little mind : and 
 nothing gives a more favourable opinion of a man's
 
 216 ELEMENTS OF PART I, 
 
 candour and temper, than to live on good terms 
 with those whom he considers as his antagonists in 
 the career of honour, or in the pursuit of that, 
 which, if he obtain, his rivals must lose. We are 
 to consider those as our enemies (says Tully, 
 adopting a sentiment of Plato) who carry arms 
 against us, not those who aspire to the same posts 
 of honour which we wish to gain : imitating the 
 moderation of Africanus and Metellus, between 
 whom there was rivalship, but no bitterness. 
 
 330. Emulation, when without any mixture of 
 malice or envy, is a noble principle of action, and 
 a powerful incitement to the acquisition of excel- 
 lence. Prudent parents and teachers are at pains 
 to cherish it in young persons, and find that, when 
 properly directed, it has better effects than the fear 
 of punishment, or the hope of reward. There are 
 writers, who, viewing human nature in an unfa- 
 vourable light, have thought fit to affirm, that 
 emulation cannot be without envy, and that there- 
 fore it is dangerous to encourage it in schools or 
 families. But this is a mistake. These two pas- 
 sions differ as widely as candour differs from cun- 
 ning, or a reasonable regard to ourselves from ill- 
 will to our neighbour. Emulation wishes to raise 
 itself without pulling others down, that is, with- 
 out doing or wishing them any injury ; and no 
 principle of action is in itself more commendable, 
 or more useful to others as an example to rouse 
 them to honest industry : there is great generosity
 
 CHAP. II. hr. MORAL SCIENCE. 217 
 
 in such emulation ; and the man who exerts him- 
 self in it is making continual advances in virtue, 
 because he is every moment acquiring more and 
 more the command of his own spirit. 
 
 331. Envy is the reverse, of all this. The en- 
 vious man wishes to be superior, not by raising 
 himself, but, as already observed, by pulling others 
 down ; and their prosperity, nay even their genius 
 and their virtue, are to him matter not of joy, but 
 of anguish : which is part of the character we as- 
 cribe to the devil. The envious man sets an ex- 
 ample of selfishness, rancour, pride, and almost 
 every other perversity incident to a despicable 
 mind. Envy is a proof, not only of malignity, 
 but of incapacity also. Hence it is, that no man 
 is willing to acknowledge himself liable to this de- 
 testable passion ; for that would be to provoke and 
 acquiesce in his own disgrace. One exception to 
 this remark I have indeed met with, and one only. 
 I formerly knew a person, who would own that he 
 was envious, and that it tormented him to hear 
 even his best friends praised, or to see them treated 
 with any uncommon degree of complaisance. But 
 this was not the only foolish singularity which that 
 person affected in order to make himself remark? 
 able. 
 
 332. The exertions of generous emulation are 
 highly delightful j for they rouse the soul, they 
 amuse it, and they improve it. But Horace well 
 pbserves, that the most cruel tyrants have never
 
 218 ELEMENTS OF PART U 
 
 devised a torment greater than envy. Surely, it 
 must be of infinite importance that we guard 
 against a passion so productive of folly, wicked- 
 ness, and misery. And caution is the more ne- 
 cessary here, because, emulation, though, as we 
 have seen, entirely different from envy, is very apt, 
 through the weakness of our nature, to degenerate 
 into it. Let then the man, who thinks he is actu- 
 ated by generous emulation only, and wishes to 
 know whether there be any thing of envy in the 
 case, examine his own heart, and ask himself, 
 "Whether his friends, on becoming, though in an 
 honourable way, his competitors, have less of his 
 affection than they had before ? whether he be gra- 
 ti6ed with hearing them depreciated ? whether he 
 would wish their merit less, that he might the 
 more easily equal or excel them ? and whether he 
 would have a more sincere regard for them, if the 
 world were to acknowledge him their superior? 
 If his heart answer all or any of these questions in 
 the affirmative, it is time to leok out for a cure ; 
 for the symptoms of that vile distemper, envy, are 
 but too apparent, 
 
 333. If that which seems fit to do us evil may 
 possibly come upon us, it raises what may be called 
 aversion ; a term which, in its etymology, implies 
 turning away from : dislike is a word of similar 
 import, though perhaps not so emphatical. On 
 dislike, as opposed to complacency, I made a re- 
 mark or two already, and have little- more to say
 
 CHAP. II. ^V. MORAL SCIENCE. 21* 
 
 about it. Aversion, or active dislike, exerts itself 
 with more or less energy, according to the mag- 
 nitude of the evil, or rather according as we seem 
 to be more or less in danger from it. We dislike, 
 nay we may detest, the character of a person who 
 died two thousand years ago, Nero, for example ; 
 but, because we have no reason to apprehend 
 evil from it, I know not whether it would be 
 strictly proper to say, that we have an aversion to 
 Nero's character. Yet, if I were desired to write 
 the history of Nero, I might say with propriety 
 that I have an aversion to the subject : for, though 
 Nero himself can do me no harm, it might seri- 
 ously hurt me to employ much time in thinking of 
 matters so disagreeable. Aversion, in short, seems 
 to point at some evil which may come upon us ; 
 even as its opposite, desire, has for its object a good 
 that is not altogether beyond our reach. 
 
 334. Hope and fear. These two passions are 
 more restless and active than the preceding pair ; 
 as they view good and evil in a nearer situation. 
 If the absent good is not only possible to be at- 
 tained, but also probably attainable, it quickens 
 desire into hope : if the absent evil not only may 
 come upon us, but probably will, it changes sim- 
 ple aversion into fear. In this country, whatever 
 aversion we may have to a plague of locusts, we 
 can hardly be said to fear it, because, if we may 
 judge of the future by the past, there is no pro- 
 bability of our being exposed to such a visitation :
 
 220 1LEMENTS OF PART I. 
 
 and, in like manner, we cannot hope that our 
 fields will yield a hundred times the grain we sow 
 in them ; because, though such a thing may be 
 possible elsewhere, we have no reason to think it 
 ever happened here, or will happen. The pur- 
 chaser of a lottery-ticket wishes, no doubt, to 
 gain the first prize ; but he is a fool if he hope 
 for it, the probabilities against him being so very 
 great. 
 
 335. Things in our power cannot properly be 
 called the objects of hope and fear. For if the 
 good which we desire be within our reach, we pos- 
 sess ourselves of it, and so hope is extinguished ; 
 and of the evils, from which we have it in our 
 power at any time to escape, it is our own fault 
 if we be afraid. Yet in the possession of good 
 there may be, and generally is, the fear of losing 
 it, and the hope of preserving it j and, while we 
 suffer evil, we may hope its removal, and fear its 
 continuance. In fact, in every circumstance of 
 life, hope and fear may be said to be present with 
 us, as long, at least, as we are intelligent and ac- 
 tive beings : for these passions are the great springs 
 to action, and without them the mind would be in 
 a state of torpor hardly consistent with rationality. 
 Even in the hour of death, man's hopes and fears 
 do not forsake him ; the approbation of his own 
 mind cherishes the most transporting hope of di- 
 vine favour ; as an evil conscience would awaken 
 fear so intensely tormenting that nothing short of
 
 CHAP. II. ^ V. MORAL SCIENCE. 221 
 
 hell could exceed it. These passions are in other 
 respects beneficial. In prosperity we ought to fear, 
 lest we should become high-minded ; and in ad- 
 versity hope is a good defence against trouble. 
 Hope in adversity is favourable to happiness : fear 
 in prosperity is friendly to virtue. 
 
 336. Hope with little or no fear has been called 
 confidence, or security : a temper of mind, which 
 it is unsafe to indulge, as it embitters disappoint- 
 ment, to which, in a world so changeable as this, 
 we are always more or less liable. Sometimes, 
 however, in cases of great difficulty and danger, 
 this passion has animated men to extraordinary ef- 
 forts, and proved successful, where timidity, or 
 even prudent circumspection, would have had no- 
 thing to expect but disaster. But these are cases 
 which in common life rarely occur. Even in war 
 this sort of enthusiasm is at best but a desperate 
 expedient : it may have gained victories, but it has 
 also been productive of defeat. How much more 
 respectable was Fabius Maximus in that caution 
 which broke the power of Hannibal, than Pompey 
 in that ostentatious confidence which preceded and 
 partly occasioned his ignominious overthrow at 
 Pharsalia ! 
 
 337. Fear without any mixture of hope is 
 despair ; a passion, which it is misery to feel, and 
 impiety to entertain. Despair implies inattention 
 tq the vicissitude of human aflairs, which often, 
 and sometimes rapidly, make a transition from ad-
 
 22 ILEMENTS OF PART I. 
 
 verse to prosperous ; and which, at any rate, are 
 of so mixed a nature, that in the deepest gloom 
 they are seldom without rays of comfort, and in 
 the greatest brightness not entirely free from clouds 
 of apprehension. It implies further, an audacious 
 and most unwarrantable distrust of both the wis- 
 dom and the goodness of God ; who never chas- 
 tises but in order to reform, and who, if it is not 
 our own fault, will undoubtedly make present evil 
 terminate in future good. A meek and humble 
 spirit is not in danger from this hideous passion. 
 Despair arises from pride and hardness of heart, 
 is generally preceded by long perseverance in evil 
 habits, and frequently ends in phrensy and self- 
 destruction. 
 
 338. How much then is it our interest, as well 
 as duty, to cultivate benevolence and piety, hu- 
 mility and cheerfulness, temperance and patience ! 
 These are the sunshine of the mind ; and as effec- 
 tually exclude the demons of despair, as the radi- 
 ance of the morning drives the birds of night to 
 their abodes of darkness. Little hope, with a 
 great mixture of fear, is termed despondence ; 
 which, as it enervates the soul, ought to be avoid- 
 ed ; and may be, if we are moderate in our ex- 
 pectations and desires j not hasty to engage in 
 what is likely to be very interesting ; and always 
 prepared to submit, without a murmur, to the will 
 of Providence. Let hope be encouraged, but not 
 to excess. When rational and moderate, it is an
 
 CHAP. II. V. MORAL SCIENCE. 223 
 
 excellent auxiliary in surmounting the difficulties 
 of life ; when in any degree extravagant, it leads 
 to folly and misery. 
 
 33!). Fear should not rise higher than to make 
 us attentive and cautious : when it gains an as- 
 cendency in the mind, it becomes an insupportable 
 tyranny, and renders life a burden. The object 
 of fear is evil ; and to be exempt from fear, or at 
 least not enslaved to it, gives dignity to our na- 
 ture, and invigorates all our faculties. Yet there 
 are evils which we ought to fear. Those that arise 
 from ourselves, or which it is in our power to pre- 
 vent, it would be madness to despise, and audacity 
 not to guard against. External evils, which we 
 cannot prevent, or could not avoid without a 
 breach of duty, it is manly and honourable to bear 
 with fortitude. Insensibility to danger is not forti- 
 tude, no more than the incapacity of feeling pain 
 can be called patience ; and to expose ourselves 
 unnecessarily to evil, is worse than folly, and very 
 blameable presumption : it is commonly called 
 fool-hardiness, that is, such a degree of hardiness 
 or boldness as none but fools are capable of. 
 
 340. Courage and fortitude, though confounded 
 in common language, are however distinguishable. 
 Courage may be a virtue or a vice, according to 
 circumstances ; fortitude is always a virtue : we 
 speak of desperate courage, but not of desperate 
 fortitude. A contempt or neglect of danger with- 
 out regard to consequences may be called courage ;
 
 224f ILIMENTS OF TART I. 
 
 and this some brutes have as well as we : in them 
 it is the effect of natural instinct chiefly ; in man 
 it depends partly on habit, partly: on strength of 
 nerves, and partly on want of consideration. But 
 fortitude is the virtue of a rational and considerate 
 mind ; it is indeed a virtue rather than a passion : 
 and it is founded in a sense of honour and a regard 
 to duty. There may be courage in fighting a duel, 
 though that folly is more frequently the effect of 
 cowardice ; there may be courage in an act of 
 piracy or robbery ; but there can be no fortitude 
 in perpetrating a crime. Fortitude implies a love 
 of equity and of public good : for, as Plato and 
 Cicero observe, courage exerted for a selfish pur- 
 pose, or without a regard to justice, ought to be 
 called audacity rather than fortitude. 
 
 341. This virtue takes different names, accord- 
 ing as it acts in opposition to different sorts of evil : 
 but some of those names are applied with consi- 
 derable latitude. With respect to danger in ge- 
 neral, fortitude may be termed intrepidity ; with 
 respect to the dangers of war, valour ; with respect 
 to pain of body or distress of mind, patience; with 
 respect to labour, activity ; with respect to injury, 
 forbearance ; with respect to our condition in ge- 
 neral, magnanimity. Fear in war, or fear that 
 hinders a man from doing what he ought to do, is 
 cowardice ; sudden fear without cause is panic ; 
 habitual fear is pusillanimity ; fear of the labour 
 that one ought to undergo is laziness. Fear with
 
 CHAP. II. V. MORAL 8CZENCJE. 225 
 
 surprise is terror ; and violent fear with extreme 
 detestation it hvror. Those unaccountable fears 
 too are called honors, which sometimes arise in the 
 imagination in sleep, or in certain diseases, and 
 produce trembling, sweating, shivering, and other 
 nervous symptoms. 
 
 342. Fortitude is very becoming in both sexes ; 
 but courage is not so suita^ le to the female charac- 
 ter : for, in women, on ordinary occasions of dan- 
 ger, a certain degree of timidity is not unseemly, 
 because it betokens gentleness of disposition. Yet 
 from those of very high rank, from a queen or an 
 empress, courage in emergencies of great public 
 danger would be expected, and the want of it 
 blamed. We should overlook the sex, and con- 
 sider the duties of the station. In general, how- 
 ever, masculine boldness in a woman is disagree- 
 able ; the term virago .conveys an offensive idea. 
 The female warriors of antiquity, whether real or 
 fabulous, Camilla, Thalestris, and the whole com- 
 munity of amazons, were unamiable personages. 
 But female courage exerted in defence of a child, 
 a husband, or a near relation, would be true for- 
 titude, and deserve the highest encomiums. 
 
 343. The motives to fortitude are many and 
 powerful. This virtue tends greatly to the happi- 
 ness of the individual, by giving composure and 
 presence of mind, and keeping the other passions 
 in due subordination. To public good it is essen- 
 tial ; for, without it, the independence and liberty 
 
 vol. i. P
 
 f 226 ELEMENTS OF PART t. 
 
 of nations would be impossible. It gives to a cha- 
 racter that elevation, which poets, orators, and 
 historians have in all ages vied with one another to 
 celebrate. Nothing so effectually inspires it as ra- 
 tional piety. The fear of God is the best security 
 against every other fear. A true estimate of hu- 
 man life; its shortness and uncertainty; the num- 
 berless evils and temptations, to which by a long 
 continuance in this world we must unavoidably be 
 exposed, ought by no means to discourage, or to 
 throw any gloom on our future prospects; but 
 should teach us, that many things are more' for- 
 midablc than death ; and that nothing is lost, but 
 much gained, when, by the appointment of 
 Providence, a well-spent life is brought to a con- 
 clusion. 
 
 344. Let it be considered, too, that pusillani- 
 mity and fearfulness can never a.vail us any thing : 
 on the contrary, they debase our nature, poison all 
 our comforts, and make us despicable in the eyes 
 of others ; they darken our reason, disconcert our 
 schemes, enfeeble our efforts, extinguish our hopes, 
 and add tenfold poignancy to all the evils of life. 
 In battle, the brave soldier is in less danger than 
 the coward ; in less danger even of death and 
 wounds, because better prepared to defend himself ; 
 in far less danger of infelicity ; arid n as before him 
 the animating hope of victory and honour : so, in 
 life, the man of true fortitude is in less danger c 
 disappointment than others arc, because #fs under-
 
 CHAP. II. $ V. MORAL SCILNC. 227 
 
 standing is clear, and his mind disencumbered ; he 
 is prepared to meet calamity, without the fear of 
 sinking under it ; and he has before him the near 
 prospect of another life, in which they, who pious- 
 ly bear the evils of this, will obtain a glorious re- 
 ward. 
 
 345. When our minds are greatly moved with 
 the apprehension of approaching, but not certain, 
 evil, the emotion is called anxiety, or solicitude, 
 and generally gives more pain than the evil itself 
 would give, if present and real. It is, therefore, 
 very imprudent to give way to this passion, which 
 will certainly do us harm, and probably can do us 
 no good. Our Saviour himself prohibits it j ' Take 
 6 no thought for to-morrow ;' that is, (according 
 to the sense in which the translators of the Bible, 
 and other writers of their time, often used the 
 word thought), be not anxious, or very solicitous, 
 about to-morrow, ' sufficient to the clay is the evil 
 ' thereof.' There is great benignity in this, as in 
 all the other precepts of our Divine Lawgiver : 
 do not afflict yourselves with evil which is only 
 imaginary, and, perhaps, may never be realised : it 
 is enough that you have evils to bear when they 
 are actually come upon you. Excessive anxiety, 
 long indulged, becomes a disease worse than death. 
 To guard against it, we have nothing to do, but to 
 obey this short command: Trust in God, and hope 
 4hc best. 
 
 V 2
 
 228 ELEMENTS Of PART I. 
 
 346. Suspicion is a painful passion, nearly allied 
 both to fear and to anxiety, yet different from both. 
 We may fear, and may be anxious, without being 
 suspicious of any body ; because, the evil we ap- 
 prehend may be such as our fellow-creatures can 
 neither prevent nor bring upon us. Such is the 
 anxiety and the fear occasioned by the illness of a 
 friend. But, if we think the physician, from in- 
 terested motives, unwilling to cure the disorder, 
 suspicion arises in us, with respect to him. This 
 passion, therefore, seems to have, for its object, 
 some person who, we think, is likely to prevent our 
 attaining, or possessing, good, or to bring upon us 
 some dreaded evil. Suspicion, like fear^ may have 
 its use on many occasions, when it serves merely to 
 put us on our guard, but, to be habitually inclined 
 to it, makes a man malevolent, timorous, and odi- 
 ous. How different is Christian charity, which 
 * is not easily provoked, and thinketh no evil !' 
 
 347. The word jealous is sometimes used in a 
 good sense ; as when we say of a man, that he is 
 jealous of his honour ; which means, that he is so- 
 licitously cautious against dishonour. ' I am jea- 
 ' lous over you with a godly jealousy,' says 
 S'. Paul to the Corinthians ; that is, I am very vi- 
 gilant to secure your spiritual welfare. In this ac- 
 ceptation, jealous is of similar import with zealous. 
 Jealousy, taking the word in another sense, is the 
 same nearly with suspicion, but is somewhat more 
 limited in its use. The suspicion which one man
 
 CHAP. II. V. MORAL SCIENCE. 229 
 
 may entertain of another's honesty, or credit, can 
 hardly be called jealousy, this term being more 
 commonly used to denote suspicion in love j as 
 when a husband suspects his wife's fidelity, or a 
 wife her husband's. This is a tormenting and fu- 
 rious passion, and has driven even generous minds 
 into deeds of the most fatal extravagance. Often 
 has it formed the subject of tragedy ; but no other 
 poet describes it so forcibly as Shakespeare, in his 
 Othello. 
 
 348. Joy and sorrow. I mentioned these as a 
 third pair of opposite passions derived from love 
 and hatred. When the good we desired is actually 
 obtained, our fear and hope, with respect to it, 
 cease, and joy takes possession of the heart. When 
 that evil, which was the object of our aversion, is 
 really come upon us, the hopes and fears, to which 
 it formerly gave rise, disappear, or are swallowed 
 up, in sorrow* But, if there be danger of our los- 
 ing the good we possess, or if there be a chance of 
 our escape from the present evil, hope and fear will 
 continue to unite themselves with joy in the one 
 case, and with sorrow in the other. And, as all 
 worldly enjoyment is uncertain, and unexpected 
 deliverances from evil sometimes happen, a consi- 
 derate mind, even when joy is predominant, will 
 not be wholly exempt from fear; and, in the deep- 
 est affliction, a pious mind will not be without hope 
 of deliverance, or at least of consolation. Joy and 
 sorrow belong proper) v to the mind, pleasure and 
 
 PS
 
 30 ILEMENTS OF PART T. 
 
 pain to the body. There may be bodily pain with- 
 out sorrow, as when a valiant soldier is wounded 
 in gaining a victory for his country : there may be 
 bodily pleasure where there is no joy, as in the case 
 of a thirsty man drinking while he is in great an- 
 guish of mind : and every one knows, that there 
 may be sorrow without pain of body, and joy with- 
 out any positive bodily pleasure. 
 
 349. Moderate joy, in Latin gaadium, we may 
 term gladness. The stoics allowed it, as already 
 observed, to be not unworthy of a wise man, al- 
 though, in general, they affected to be very un- 
 friendly to the passions. Great joy, in Latin Lf- 
 titia, the same philosophers condemned. Exulta- 
 tion, or extravagant joy, is, no doubt, unseemly, 
 at least on ordinary occasions ; for it betrays such 
 levity and want of consideration as, though excus- 
 able in a child, we should not easily pardon in a 
 man, especially in one who has any dignity of cha- 
 racter to support. The appearance of excessive 
 joy in a king or commander, on occasion of a vic- 
 tory, would be unbecoming, and seem to foretel 
 an equal degree of unmanly dejection, in the event 
 of a defeat. 
 
 350. I cannot however go so far, as the stoics 
 did, in blaming every sort of violent discomposure, 
 whether expressive of happiness or of affliction; for 
 I think, that the strongest emotions are neither un- 
 graceful, nor likely to give offence, when they dis- 
 cover an exquisite degree of moral sensibilitv. A
 
 CHAP. II. ^ V. MORAL SCIENCE. 23J. 
 
 child, after long absence, springing to the embrace 
 of a parent ; a wife meeting her husband aiive and 
 well whom the moment before she believed to 
 have perished by shipwreck ; the man, who had 
 been lame from his birth, entering the temple, on 
 being miraculously cured by Peter, ( walking and 
 ' leaping, and praising God.' These, with a thou- 
 sand other instances of agreeable surprise that 
 might easily be imagined, would give delight to the 
 beholder, however extravagantly the passion might 
 express itself. And in surprises of an opposite na- 
 ture, and equally violent, the most immoderate 
 sorrow would hardly be censurable. 
 
 351. Different degrees of joy are signified by 
 the words gladness, mirth, exultation, rapture, ec- 
 stasy ; and different degrees of sorrow by grief', 
 trouble, anguish, misery. Mirth is accompanied 
 with laughter, and exultation (as the name literally 
 imports) with leaping and dancing. The joy that 
 one feels on having overcome opposition has been 
 called triumph ; but this word is frequently so used 
 as to convey an idea of insult, which is quite un- 
 worthy of a generous mind. c Triumph not over 
 
 * thine enemy,' says an old adage ; ' victory is suf- 
 
 * ficient.' Nothing does less honour to the national 
 character of the Roman people than their 
 triumphs. There might be policy in them ; but 
 policy that shocks humanity is not good. Rejoic- 
 ing for victory may be allowed, and is natural, and 
 indeed, by its influence in diffusing public spirit,
 
 232 ELEMENTS OF PART Jrf 
 
 beneficial. But to expose to public view noble 
 and royal prisoners in chains, in order to shew our 
 power over them, is almost as barbarous as to 
 laugh at a fallen enemy writhing in the agonies 
 of death. 
 
 352. Savages are addicted to this sort of cruel- 
 ty ; and the Romans cannot be said to have em- 
 erged from the savage state, when this barbarous 
 exhibition was first introduced among them by 
 Romulus. Its continuance after they became ci- 
 vilized we may partly impute to fashion ; which 
 frequently betrays poor mortals into strange incon- 
 sistencies of conduct and sentiment. In their 
 better days, the Romans were neither ill-natured 
 nor ungenerous : yet, if we knew no more of their 
 story than what relates to their triumphs and gla- 
 diators, we must have thought them brutal and 
 bloody barbarians. 
 
 3-73. When gladness, or moderate joy, settles 
 into a habit, or continues for a considerable time, 
 it is called cheerfulness : and habitual sorrow is 
 termed dejection, heaviness, melancholy. Cheer- 
 fulness is far preferable to mirth : the former is a 
 habit, the latter a temporary act. Mirth is not 
 always friendly to virtue, and when too frequently 
 indulged, betrays an intemperate mind not a little 
 tinctured with folly : cheerfulness is a great sup- 
 port as well as ornament to every virtue, and is 
 consistent with dignity, and even with sanctity of 
 character. Our mirth is liable to be succeeded by
 
 CHAP. II. V. MORAL SCIENCE. 233 
 
 dejection ; our cheerfulness dispels melancholy 
 both from ourselves and from others. A merry- 
 companion is often teazing, and sometimes intoler- 
 able : a cheerful friend is always welcome, and 
 one of the greatest comforts of life. Mirth, says 
 Addison, is like a flash of lightning that breaks 
 through a gloom of clouds, and glitters for a mo- 
 ment : cheerfulness keeps up a kind of sunshine 
 in the soul, and fills it with a steady and perpetual 
 serenity. A cheerful man is master of himself, 
 and enjoys a sound judgment and untroubled 
 imagination : mirth, to a considerate mind, soon 
 becomes oppressive ; and, for a time, discomposes 
 all its faculties. 
 
 354. There are persons who, from bodily in- 
 firmity, or a deficiency of animal spirits, cannot 
 for any length of time be cheerful ; but if their 
 mind be suited to their condition, and their desires 
 proportioned to what they possess, they have con- 
 tentment ; and that, when founded in a firm per- 
 suasion of the goodness and wisdom of Providence, 
 creates a heaven upon earth. I know not whether 
 contentment and cheerfulness ought not to be 
 called virtues rather than passions, as they are not, 
 when moderate, as the former always is, accom- 
 panied with bodily commotion. Yet, in the coun- 
 tenance, they display themselves very significantly : 
 and he must be a superficial observer indeed, who 
 cannot distinguish gay from gloomy features, and 
 the placid smile of contentment from the surly
 
 2^4 ELEMENTS Of PART I, 
 
 Jook of dissatisfaction. They who wish to be con- 
 tented and cheerful must cultivate habits of be- 
 nevolence, humility, and rational piety. Pride, 
 malice, and superstition, disfigure the face with 
 frowns, and harass the soul with endless vexa- 
 tion. 
 
 3 55. When we rejoice on account of the joy of 
 others, or grieve because they are in trouble, it 
 may be called sympathetic joy, or sorrow. The 
 remarks formerly made on it need not be repeated. 
 Joy, when softened by tender passions, as conju- 
 .gal love, natural affection, gratitude, and the like, 
 does sometimes express itself by two symptoms, 
 which one would think inconsistent, a smiling 
 countenance, and eyes full of tears. Homer as- 
 cribes them to Andromache on a particular occa- 
 sion, lively yikoLGOLva, when her husband Hector, 
 going out to battle, puts his child in her arms, 
 after having held him in his own, and solemnly 
 invoked the blessing of heaven upon him. A face 
 with this expression is one of the most interesting 
 objects in nature. Painters have endeavoured to 
 do justice to Homer's idea : indeed there cannot 
 be a finer subject for painting. Many other 
 emotions allied to joy are apt to express them- 
 selves in the same way ; especially in those who 
 have weak nerves, or very delicate minds. There 
 are persons, who cannot, without tears, read sub- 
 lime verses, or hear or speak of any extraordinary 
 .instance of generosity. The sensations that ac-
 
 CHAP. II. $ V. MORAL SCIENCE. 23J 
 
 company such weeping are, if I may so speak, 
 painful from excess of pleasure. 
 
 356. The satisfaction one feels in the approba- 
 tion of one's own conscience may be called moral 
 joy ; and is of all human feelings the most delight- 
 ful and permanent. An approving conscience is a 
 counterbalance to all the evils of life, and supplies, 
 even in the hour of death, the sweetest consola- 
 tion. Without it there can be no happiness, and 
 with it there can be no misery. As, on the other 
 hand, moral sorrow, in all its forms of remorse, 
 regret, and self-condemnation, unless alleviated by 
 those hopes of pardon which the truly penitent are 
 permitted and encouraged to entertain, is alone 
 sufficient, even in the greatest worldly prosperity, 
 to make life a burden. * The spirit of a man will 
 ' sustain his infirmity,' that is, may support the 
 natural evils that flesh is heir to ; ' but a wounded 
 ' spirit who can bear ?' A condemning conscience 
 has often driven men to distraction ; and some- 
 times made them confess crimes, which it was in 
 their power to conceal, and which they knew 
 would, when confessed, bring upon them capital 
 punishment. 
 
 351. Shame is a passion which always accom- 
 panies moral sorrow. Some persons are, indeed, 
 incapable of shame ; but those, it is to be hoped, 
 are few : for to say of a man, that he is impudent, 
 or has lost the sense of shame, is a most severe- 
 censure, and seems to imply, that he has no con-
 
 ~36 ELEMENTS OF PART U 
 
 science, no fear of God, and no regard to man* 
 The word shame has several significations, and is 
 applied to several passions, similar perhaps in their 
 nature, but not the same. Consciousness of re- 
 putation lost, or in danger of being lost, causes 
 one sort of shame, which is also called confusion 
 of face , and discovers itself by blushing, down- 
 cast eyes, and abject behaviour. We feel in some 
 degree the same passion, when any thing disho- 
 nourable is unjustly charged upon us : only in this 
 case our knowledge of our own innocence supports 
 the mind, and yields great consolation ; and the 
 shame that may then remain proceeds from our 
 apprehension that others, whose opinion we revere, 
 may think hardly of us, from not having the means 
 of being better informed. 
 
 358. Upon the bare mention of any thing in- 
 decent, though not imputed to any body, a person 
 of delicacy is conscious of a passion or feeling, 
 which has also been called shame, and discovers 
 itself by the same symptom of blushing. This, as 
 a sign of an uncorrupted mind, is a very amiable 
 affection, and particularly becoming in young peo- 
 ple ; as the rudeness or impudence of those who 
 give occasion to it is detestable. Profane talkers, 
 lewd jesters, and they, who by speech or writing, 
 present to the ear or to the eye of modesty any of 
 rhe indecencies I allude to, are pests of society. 
 Against the thief and the highwayman, we may, 
 with the assistance of law, guard so as to be in no
 
 CHAP. II. V. MORAL SCIENCE. 237 
 
 great danger from them ; but a shameless profli- 
 gate, by scrawling his execrable trash on the walls 
 or windows of an inn, may, to the young and 
 harmless, do lasting mischief, which it is impos- 
 sible to punish, and which, therefore, the law can- 
 not prevent. In this respect there is not, I have 
 been told, any other country so infamous as our 
 own. It is some comfort however to reflect, that 
 none but the vilest of the people are capable of 
 this enormity. Those specimens of it that I have 
 had the misfortune to see, appear, from the spel- 
 ling and other circumstances, to have been the 
 work of wretches who were equally destitute of 
 sense, delicacy, and literature. 
 
 359. There is another sort of shame, commonly 
 called bashfulness, which often gives great pain to 
 the young and unexperienced, when they appear 
 before strangers, or in the presence of their su- 
 periors, or have occasion to speak or act in public. 
 When this evil shame (as the French call it) is ex- 
 cessive, so as to make people act absurdly, or dis- 
 qualify them for doing their duty, it is very incon- 
 venient as well as awkward, and pains should be 
 taken to get the better of it ; not all at once, how- 
 ever, nor in haste ; for thus they might be driven 
 into the opposite and much worse extreme of im- 
 pudence ; but by little and little. Young persons 
 of great sensibility are apt to be too much dis- 
 couraged in the consciousness of this infirmity ; 
 but they have no occasion to be so : for, if they
 
 238 ELEMENTS O? PART I; 
 
 are attentive and respectful to their company, bash- 
 fulness will not injure them in the opinion of the 
 discerning ; it will rather raise prepossessions in 
 their favour. 
 
 360. Even when the season of youth is past, a 
 slight degree of bashfulness is not at all ungrace- 
 ful on particular occasions, especially in those pub- 
 lic speakers who wish to gain upon their audience 
 by the gentle arts of persuasion ; because it be- 
 tokens humility and respect. Homer, who dis- 
 criminates human characters with the greatest ac- 
 curacy, tells us, that this was one of the pecu- 
 liarities that distinguished Ulysses as an orator ; 
 and the poet adds, that his eloquence was irresist- 
 ible. Ovid attended to this circumstance, as ap- 
 pears from his account of the contest between Ajax 
 and Ulysses for the arms of Achilles. Ajax, who 
 by the by lost his cause, begins with exclamation 
 and blustering, suitable to his character ; but no- 
 thing can be more modest or delicate than the at- 
 titude and exordium of Ulysses.* I mention this, 
 because, in the hope that some of those who hear 
 me may in time become public speakers, I would 
 caution them against that air of confidence and 
 self-sufficiency, which I have seen some preachers 
 assume, and which is very offensive to a hearer of 
 discernment and delicacy. I may add, that, as 
 humility is one of the distinguishing virtues of a 
 
 * See Ovid. Metam. xiii, 124.
 
 CHAP. II. $ V. MORAL SCIENCE. 25$ 
 
 Christian, a gentle, unassuming, and modest de- 
 portment, especially in public, is indispensable in 
 a clergyman. Among senators in debate, a more 
 vehement animation takes place, and may some- 
 times be proper ; yet the modest speaker never 
 fails to interest the audience in his favour. 
 
 361. Anger and gratitude. These are the last 
 pair of opposite passions which I mentioned as de- 
 rived from hatred and love. The person, who is 
 instrumental in bringing evil upon us, or otherwise 
 offending us, raises our anger ; which, Locke says, 
 implies a present purpose of revenge, as well as a 
 -sense of injury. Revenge and anger do indeed 
 too often go together ; but surely there may be 
 anger, as in an affectionate parent towards his 
 child, without any purpose of revenge. The chas- 
 tisement that may follow such anger is not vindic- 
 tive ; it aims at nothing but the good of the child ; 
 and to the good parent, whom duty compels to 
 administer so harsh a remedy, it gives pain instead 
 of pleasure. The person who is instrumental in 
 doing us good, is the object of our gratitude; 
 which is a very pleasing emotion : as anger is so 
 much the reverse, that we often call it displeasure. 
 Some people are so prone to anger, that one would 
 almost think they delighted in it. But if this is 
 really the case, there must be something unnatural 
 in the disposition of their minds. 
 
 20)2. Every thing that hurts us is not the object 
 of anger. Wc are not angry at the stone, which,
 
 24 ELEMENTS OP PART I. 
 
 falling by accident from the top of a house, gives 
 us a wound : but if we believed that a man occa- 
 sioned its fall, we should be angry, either at his 
 malice if he did it on purpose, or at his negligence 
 if he took no pains to prevent it. A sudden fit of 
 instinctive anger may, indeed, break out against an 
 inanimate thing ; as when we say bitter words to 
 the bench that bruises our shin in the dark : but 
 such anger is not rational ; we immediately become 
 ashamed of it ; and were it to continue, it would 
 make us ridiculous. An irrational animal, a horse 
 that kicks, or a dog that without provocation bites 
 lis, may raise our anger, because we have some 
 notion, though perhaps not well founded, that he 
 might and ought to have let us alone ; and the 
 punishment we apply in such cases is neither blamed 
 nor ridiculed ; because the provocation was great ; 
 and because our blows may be effectual, by fright- 
 ening the animal, in preventing such evil for the 
 future. 
 
 363. Anger is generally made up of dislike and 
 some degree of ill-will ; but of such ill-will as does 
 not always imply malevolence. Parents, as already 
 observed, may be angry with those children whom 
 they fondly love ; and that anger is not only con- 
 sistent with benevolence, but is even a proof of it. 
 For if a parent were not angry when his child is 
 guilty of transgression, we should say that he does 
 not love his child so much as he ought to do. In 
 like manner, we may be angry with a friend or
 
 CHAP. II. W. MORAL SCIENCE. 241 
 
 neighbour ; that is, we may be offended at some 
 injury he has done us, and wish something to hap- 
 pen to make him sensible of his fault, and prevent 
 his doing the like for the future : and all the while 
 we may be, and indeed ought to be, far from wish- 
 ing him any real or lasting evil ; but, on the con- 
 trary, ready to forgive him, desirous of reconcili- 
 ation, and inclined to do him a favour when it is 
 in our power. 
 
 364. Anger is called by Horace a short mad- 
 ness. When in any degree violent, it is truly so ; 
 for it deprives a man for a time of the use of his 
 reason, occasions absurd and immoral conduct, and, 
 if long continued, may terminate in real phrenzy. 
 Anger that is both lasting and violent is termed 
 rancour, or malignity, a passion which makes a 
 man miserable and detestable. When anger is apt 
 to rise on every trifling occasion, it is called peev- 
 ishness ; and renders one a torment to one's self, 
 and a plague to others. Anger that breaks forth 
 with violence, but is soon over, is termed passion- 
 ateness ; which, though not inconsistent either with 
 good nature or with generosity, ought to be re- 
 strained, because it is extremely inconvenient to 
 friends and dependents, and may hurry a man on 
 to the perpetration of crimes. Anger that is cool, 
 silent, and vindictive, is a much worse passion : it 
 is indeed so bad, that nothing good is to be ex- 
 pected from him who is capable of it. 
 
 365, Anger was implanted in our constitution 
 vol. i. Q
 
 242 ELEMENTS OF PART I, 
 
 for many valuable purposes, particularly for self- 
 defence. Had \vc nothing irascible in us, there: 
 would be no end of injuries and indignities ; but 
 our knowledge of the nature and effects of anger 
 makes us unwilling to provoke it : and thus men 
 stand in awe of one another, which greatly con- 
 tributes to the peace of society. If an injury be 
 accompanied with circumstances of peculiar base- 
 ness or meanness, our anger is termed indignation. 
 When anger exceeds the bounds of self-defence, 
 and contrives to bring real harm upon others, 
 without any view to their good, or to that of the 
 community, it becomes revenge, or vengeance ; 
 which, if generally practised, would introduce end- 
 less confusion. 
 
 366. For we are apt to think the injury we have 
 just now received greater than it really is ; and, 
 therefore, if we were to retaliate immediately by 
 word or deed, we should hardly fail to go beyond 
 the due bounds, and so become injurious in our 
 turn ; which would call for new revenge from the 
 opposite party ; and that, being no doubt equally 
 outrageous, would provoke to further vengeance, 
 so that the evil would be incurable. Accordingly, 
 revenge is forbidden by the laws both of God and 
 of man. Savages, who enjoy not the protection 
 of law, are their own avengers : whence they be- 
 come addicted to this dreadful passion j and their 
 vengeance is always excessive. One is not a com- 
 petent judge in one's own cause : and, therefore.
 
 CHAP. II. ^ V. MORAL SCIENCE. 243 
 
 in regular society, persons of impartiality and con- 
 siderable learning are appointed judges, to punish 
 according to the exact amount of the transgres- 
 sion, and give the injured party reasonable redress, 
 and no more. 
 
 307. When civilized nations go to war, or in- 
 dividuals go to law with one another, the principle 
 of their conduct ought to be, not revenge, but a 
 regard to public good ; which, in order to dis- 
 courage injury, and defend our violated or endan- 
 gered rights, compels us to have recourse to vio- 
 lent measures, that are justifiable oniy from the 
 necessity of the case. To go to law to plague a 
 neighbour, or, in order to obtain reparation for a 
 petty trespass that does neither us nor the public 
 any material injury, has in it more of malice than 
 of love to justice. In war, to kill unnecessarilv, 
 or with a view to gratify private malevolence, is 
 nothing less than murder ; and is indeed discoun- 
 tenanced by the opinions and practice of all en- 
 lightened nations. While the enemy attacks or 
 resists, it is lawful, because necessary, to repel 
 force by force : when he submits, he is entitled to 
 mercy, and even to the generosity of the con- 
 queror. ' Cowards are cruel, but the brave love 
 * mercy, and delight to save.' 
 
 368. There are many occasions, on which an- 
 ger is not to be blamed j there are many, on which 
 it is praiseworthy. The Scripture intimates, that 
 we may be angry without sin : nay, our Saviour 
 
 Q2
 
 244 ELEMENTS OF PART I. 
 
 himself once looked round with anger on the Jews, 
 * being grieved for the hardness of their hearts/ 
 Aristotle has very perspicuously, though with great 
 brevity, marked the boundaries within which this 
 passion may innocently operate, and so as to de- 
 serve praise, instead of blame, 'o y.w w \<p ok l&, 
 
 Xf otc lei ofyilojUtvoc, trt *j as cei, on, tvov Xt oyov > 
 
 iiraiYarou.* He who is angry only on such occa- 
 sions as he ought, and with such persons as he 
 ought, and in such manner, and at such time, and 
 for such length of time, as he ought, is actuated 
 by a laudable anger. I shall make a few remarks 
 on the several parts of this aphorism. 
 
 369. First, anger is laudable, when the occasion 
 is such as renders it, in some degree, our duty : 
 and that happens, when not to be angry would 
 discover on our part a want of moral sensibility, 
 or might prove an encouragement to wickedness in 
 others. Parents overlooking a child's transgres- 
 sion, or being equally indulgent to him when he 
 is, and when he is not, in a fault, would shew a 
 very blameable indifference : they could hardly 
 take a more effectual way to corrupt his mind. A 
 woman listening, without extreme indignation, to 
 a licentious proposal from a man, would undoubt- 
 edly give him reason to think that she did not dis- 
 approve of it. To speak without emotion of any 
 shocking instance of cruelty, ingratitude, injustice, 
 
 * Ethic, ad Nic. iv, 5.
 
 CHAP. II. V. MORAL SCIENCE. 245 
 
 blasphemy, or any other impiety, would make us 
 suspect the speaker, not only of insensibility, but 
 of a total want of principle. In cases of this na- 
 ture, anger, under certain limitations, is a virtue, 
 and the want of it a vice. 
 
 370. With respect to indignities offered to our- 
 selves, though we ought always to exercise for- 
 bearance, and be ready to forgive ; yet if, on re- 
 ceiving a very gross and public insult, we were to 
 shew no resentment, the world would blame our 
 meanness of spirit, and think us not very fit to be 
 entrusted with the important concerns of another, 
 when we shewed so little attention to our own. 
 Peculiar circumstances, however, and the dignity 
 of certain characters, might make great alteration 
 in a matter of this kind. When, at the trial of 
 Charles I, one of the by-standers spat in the king's 
 face, and he, without speaking, or even looking 
 at the traitor, calmly wiped his cheek with a hand- 
 kerchief, he manifested a greatness of soul that 
 had in it something more than heroic, and almost 
 more than human. But what words can express 
 our detestation of the ruffian who could perpetrate 
 such a deed ? 
 
 371. Anger is laudable, secondly, when a man 
 is angry with such persons as he ought. The per- 
 sons with whom we may reasonably be angry have 
 been, most of them, specified already. Those to- 
 wards whom we ought to exercise particular lenity 
 and forbearance, arc, first, our benefactors and 
 
 3
 
 246 ELEMENTS OF PART I. 
 
 friends, who may happen, in an unguarded mo- 
 ment, through the weakness of human nature, to 
 give us offence. Secondly, men eminently good, 
 or whom we know to be good. Great reverence 
 is due to good men ; and if we only hint to them, 
 in the gentlest terms, that they have without de- 
 sign done us injury, it will wound them as deeply 
 as they ought to be wounded ; they will readily 
 make acknowledgments ; and further reproach 
 from us would be cruel. Thirdly, they who are 
 liable to be too much disheartened by our anger, 
 as dependents, affectionate children, persons in ad- 
 versity, or of delicate health and spirits, or weak 
 in understanding, are all entitled to peculiar ten- 
 derness ; being all objects of pity, and not likely 
 to offend, except through inadvertence. And, 
 fourthly, those whom our anger would probably 
 irritate, or to whom it could not do any good, we 
 ought to bear with, or let alone, for our own 
 sakes, as well as for theirs.* 
 
 312. I need not add, that to be angry with our 
 Creator is, of all passions, the most shocking, un- 
 natural, and inexcusable ; insomuch that you may, 
 perhaps, think the human heart, bad as it is, in- 
 capable of such impiety. But are not they guilty 
 of it, who repine at Providence, either for bring- 
 ing on them adversity which they may fancy they 
 do not deserve, or for making their neighbour 
 
 * See Archbishop Seeker's Sermons, vol. v.
 
 'CHAP. IK * V. MORAL SCIENCE. 247 
 
 prosperous beyond what they may think him en- 
 titled to? All such murmurings, envyings, and 
 discontents, however common, and however dis- 
 guised, are so many instances of anger, if not of 
 hatred, towards both God and man. - This ought 
 to be seriously considered. Contentment with our 
 lot, joy in our neighbour's prosperity, and resig- 
 nation to the divine will, diffuse ineffable tranquil- 
 lity over the soul, prevent the intrusion of anger, 
 and every other painful passion, keep us at peace 
 with all th,e world, and make us rejoice in God 
 and in all his dispensations. 
 
 373. Thirdly, anger is laudable, when the man- 
 ner of it is consistent with propriety and duty. It 
 appears from what has been said, that our anger 
 may be in too slight a degree ; as, when it sets be- 
 fore others an example of blameable indifference, 
 or tends to repress, and consequently to weaken, 
 our moral sensibility. But excess of anger is the 
 more common and more dangerous extreme : and 
 it is hardly possible, and perhaps would not be 
 expedient, to fix the boundary to which anger, 
 consistently with innocence, may go. If this were 
 ascertained, and people taught that they might 
 safely proceed so far, they would think they might 
 proceed a little and a little further, till at last they 
 might lose all remembrance of the boundary. For 
 he who ventures to the utmost verge of innocence 
 seldom fails to go beyond it : there is criminal pre- 
 sumption in venturing so far. Two rules, how-
 
 248 ELEMENTS 01? PART I. 
 
 ever, may be given on this head : the first, that 
 our anger should never make us lose the govern- 
 ment of ourselves ; the second, that it should never 
 do injury to others. 
 
 374. Anger, thus moderated, will not produce 
 in us any commotion so violent as to hurt our 
 health, or our character as men of prudence ; nor 
 will it break out in boisterous, or insulting lan- 
 guage, far less in that impious and barbarous prac- 
 tice of cursing and swearing. To whatever degree 
 we may be irritated, we shall do well neither to 
 speak nor to act, while our agitation is such as to 
 prevent calm reflection. It is said of Socrates, 
 that, when greatly provoked, he became instantly 
 silent ; and, I suppose, he never had occasion to 
 repent of his silence. And I have heard it re- 
 commended as a good rule, that, before a man 
 give way to his passion, he should take time to do 
 Something else that is not connected with it, and, 
 if possible, retire for a moment, if it were only to 
 recollect some passage of a favourite author, or 
 even to repeat the letters of the alphabet. A little 
 delay may do good, and forbearance and mildness 
 can never do harm. 
 
 375. Fourthly, anger is laudable, when it is 
 well-timed. Now it is not well-timed, when it in- 
 terferes with the performance of any important 
 duty : to pray, or go to church, in anger, would, 
 be very indecent. Nor is anger well-timed, when 
 we have not had the means of knowing, whether
 
 CHA1. II. V. MOKAL SCIENCE. 249 
 
 any real offence has been given, or what is the 
 true amount of the offence : mistakes of this nature 
 are not uncommon ; men are often offended with- 
 out cause, and generally more than they ought to 
 be. Anger is also unseasonable, when it is likely 
 to give pain, or shew disrespect to our company ; 
 or when it is directed against a man whose present 
 temper of mind makes him, from an excess of le- 
 vity, or from any other intemperance, deaf to rea- 
 son, or in a condition of being easily exasperated. 
 Such infirmities we all have ; and, as we all wish 
 allowances to be made for them in ourselves, we 
 all ought to make the like allowances in favour of 
 others. 
 
 376. Fifthly, anger is not blamed when it 
 continues no longer than is reasonable. Lasting 
 resentment is inexcusable, whatever the provoca- 
 tion may have been. It sours the temper, and so 
 makes a man unfit for society, and unhappy in 
 himself; it excludes from his mind benevolent and 
 pious thoughts; it cherishes pride, envy, contempt, 
 and other violent and gloomy perturbations. 
 4 Let not the sun go down on your wrath/ is an 
 excellent rule : but, for the most part, anger is 
 censurable if it last an hour, or even a much shorter 
 space. The moment the offender owns his fault, 
 or seems desirous of reconciliation, our anger 
 ought to be lost in forgivenness. Though he should 
 not own his fault, nor give reason to believe that 
 there is any change in his mind for the better, we
 
 250 ELEMENTS OP FART 1, 
 
 shall do well to check our anger ; or, if it be pru- 
 dent to keep up an appearance of it, to take care 
 that it be an appearance only : for, because he is 
 injurious, it does not follow that we ought to make 
 ourselves unhappy ; which we shall certainly do, 
 if we suffer this tormenting passion to take and to 
 keep possession of us. 
 
 377. Let those who are prone to anger abstain 
 at least from every outward expression of it, from 
 reproachful words and vindictive deeds, and con- 
 ceal it carefully within their own breast. In this 
 way they may in time get the command of it ; for 
 most passions thus restrained become weaker. Let 
 them resolve that they will abstain from anger for 
 a day, for two days, for a week, for a month ; 
 and, if they adhere to the resolution, they will 
 soon congratulate themselves on the happy conse- 
 quences. Let them, as much as possible, keep 
 aloof from vexatious business, and from quarrel- 
 some and litigious men ; and avoid not only those 
 altercations which may lead to anger, but disputes 
 in general, and all that sort of reading which is 
 termed controversial. Let them never for a mo- 
 ment imagine, as passionate men are apt to do, 
 that their anger is incurable. They can manage it 
 sometimes for the sake of interest : let them learn 
 to manage it for God's sake, and for the sake of 
 their fellow creatures and themselves. 
 
 378. Gratitude was mentioned as the passion 
 that seems to stand in opposition to anger. We 
 
 5
 
 CHAP. II. V. MORAL SCIENCE. 2J1 
 
 naturally love a man, because he is of the same 
 condition with ourselves ; we have good-will to- 
 wards him, because he stands in need of our aid, 
 and may be profited by it ; we love him yet more, 
 if we know him to be of a mild disposition, and 
 more still when he proves himself a friend to man- 
 kind, by acts of beneficence : but if we ourselves 
 are the objects of that beneficence, our good-will 
 towards him, and our delight in him, ought to be 
 very strong. When we thus contemplate our 
 benefactor, not only with sentiments of compla- 
 cency and benevolence, but also with a disposition 
 to requite his favours, this mixture of pleasurable 
 emotions is termed gratitude. The reverse is in- 
 gratitude; which, if it cannot be called a passion, 
 because it occasions little commotion in the corpo- 
 real part of our nature, is however a vice of such 
 enormity, that the most profligate man would be 
 ashamed to acknowledge himself guilty of it. 
 
 379. Si ingratum dixeris, omnia dixeris, says the 
 Latin maxim : if you call a man ungrateful, you 
 have called him every thing that is base ; you need 
 say nothing more. The ungrateful man is an 
 enemy to the human race ; for his conduct tends 
 to discourage beneficence : and he is unfit for 
 society, and unworthy of it, because his indifference 
 or hatred towards his benefactor proves him to be 
 hard-hearted and unjust. There are two forms of 
 this vile disposition ; one, wheil a man neglects to 
 requite a favour when the requital is in his power ;
 
 252 ELEMENTS OF TART I, 
 
 the other, when he returns evil for good. The 
 last is no doubt the worst ; but both are so bad 
 that they are called by the same name ; it being 
 difficult to find in language an epithet of more re- 
 proachful import than ungrateful. Gratitude is a 
 gentle affection, and makes no great commotion in 
 the animal economy; yet is an active principle, and 
 often displays itself visibly in the countenance, by 
 raising the complexion, brightening the eyes, and 
 sometimes filling them with tears. An eye that 
 weeps with gratitude has a particular splendour and 
 earnestness in the expression. 
 
 :380. Gratitude towards things irrational, or even 
 inanimate, (if the term gratitude may be used in 
 such a connection), is not the object of censure or 
 ridicule ; for every emotion that resembles this, 
 amiable virtue betokens a goodness of nature, 
 which the passions allied to anger frequently do 
 not. The plank that brought the mariner on shore 
 from a shipwreck, we should not blame him for 
 taking particular care of, refusing to part with for 
 any pecuniary consideration, and even sheltering 
 from the injuries of the weather : we might smile 
 at the circumstance; but it would be a smile, not of 
 scorn, but of kindness. Dogs and horses have been 
 instrumental in saving mens' lives. Particular good- 
 will towards such a dog, or such a horse, would be 
 laudable ; and to shoot the one for running down a 
 sheep, or to harass with toil the old age of the other, 
 would be cruel, and without any violent figure of 
 
 3
 
 CHAP. U. V. MORAL SCIENCE. 253 
 
 speech might even be termed ingratitude. How- 
 ever, what is properly, and without a figure, called 
 gratitude (and the same thing is true of anger), has 
 for its object a being that acts, or seems to act, with 
 some degree of intention. We are grateful, not 
 to the medicine, but to the physician, that cures 
 us; and angry, not at the knife which wounds, but 
 with the person who intentionally or negligently 
 wielded it. Gratitude is due to every benefactor, 
 and ought to be ardent in proportion to the mag- 
 nitude of the favour, and the benevolence of those 
 who confer it. Persons of small ability confer 
 great favours, when what they do proceeds from a 
 high degree of good-will : by him, who saw the 
 generosity of the giver, the widow's mite was ac- 
 counted a great sum. 
 
 681. To the Supreme Being, who freely gives 
 us life, and every other good thing, our highest 
 gratitude is due, and should be continually offered 
 up in silent thanksgiving, and often expressed in 
 words, that it may have the more powerful effect 
 on our own minds, and on those whose devotion 
 we wish to direct or to animate. Parents are in the 
 next degree our benefactors, at least in ordinary 
 cases : for to an attentive and affectionate parent, 
 who must have done so much for us when we 
 could do nothing for ourselves, and watched so 
 long and so anxiously, and so frequently and fer- 
 vently prayed, for our welfare, we are more in- 
 debted than to any other fellow-creature. A
 
 254 ELEMENTS OF PART I. 
 
 stranger who relieves us, though he never saw us 
 before and may never see us again, is also entitled 
 to peculiar acknowledgments of gratitude, on ac- 
 count of the disinterestedness of his virtue. But 
 we must not think ourselves exempted from the 
 obligation of this great duty, even when our bene- 
 factor is a person on whom we may have conferred 
 many favours. A parent ought with thankfulness 
 to receive what a dutiful child offers for his relief. 
 ( This is nothing more than I was well entitled to,' 
 would be an improper speech on such an occasion. 
 It would intimate, that the parent, in taking care of 
 his child, had been actuated, as much at least by 
 the hope of recompence, as by natural affection and 
 a sense of duty. 
 
 SECTION VI. 
 
 THE SUBJECT CONTINUED. 
 
 Passions and Affections. 
 
 382. 1 have now given a brief account of some 
 of our more remarkable passions, but have not 
 gone through the subject, and could easily have 
 proceeded further, if there had been time for it. 
 Hints have been occasonally thrown in, with respect 
 to the government of particular passions: I subjoin 
 some brief remarks of a more general nature.^
 
 CHAP. II. VI. MORAL SCIENCE. 255 
 
 The government of the passions is a difficult work; 
 but absolutely necessary, if we wish to be happy 
 either in the next world, or in this. And as it is 
 the more difficult the longer it is delayed, it is the 
 part of prudence, as well as matter of duty, to be- 
 gin it without delay. The difficulty of this duty 
 may appear from the concurring testimony of wise 
 men in every age; from the earnestness with which 
 all moralists, particularly the inspired writers, re- 
 commend it ; from what we may feel in ourselves 
 of the unmanageableness of our passions, especially 
 of those to which we are most inclined by nature 
 or by habit ; and from what we must have observ- 
 ed in the world around us, where we see men of 
 good understanding, in other respects, enslaved to 
 criminal inclinations, and led on to ruin, with 
 their eyes open, by the strength of prevailing ap- 
 petites. 
 
 383. Temperance, and an active life, are of the 
 greatest benefit in preserving the health of both the 
 body and the mind ; and in giving us at all times 
 the command of our thoughts, and consequently 
 of our passions. Savages are much addicted to in- 
 temperance and idleness ; and their passions are 
 proportionably outrageous. As the passions de- 
 pend in a great measure upon the imagination, 
 whatever tends to regulate that faculty tends also 
 to make them regular. And imagination is kept 
 regular by cultivating habits of industry and sober- 
 ness, piety and humility, and by cherishing the
 
 156 ELEMENTS OF 1ART I. 
 
 love of nature, simplicity, and truth. The pas- 
 sions also depend in part on the bodily constitution, 
 and in some men are naturally stronger than in 
 others. But every man may govern his passions, 
 if he will take the necessary pains. The more the 
 body is pampered, the greater strength will every 
 evil passion acquire : and therefore a hardy, as well 
 as busy, life tends to keep them manageable. In- 
 temperance puts us off our guard, and disqualifies 
 us for that strict self-government, which is at all 
 times incumbent on us as moral and accountable 
 beings. A very slight degree of it has this ef- 
 fect. 
 
 384. The regulation of the passions ought to 
 
 begin as early in life as possible. Then indeed 
 they are strong, but then the mind is docile, and 
 has not contracted many evil habits. They, there- 
 fore, who have the care of children should be very 
 attentive to their passions and opinions, as soon as 
 these begin to appear ; rectifying the latter if erro- 
 neous, and of the former repressing such as seem 
 to partake of malice, pride, vanity, envy, or suspi* 
 cion. The benevolent and pious affections cannot 
 be indulged too much j and joy, hope, and fear, 
 are useful when moderate, and properly directed. 
 As a restraint on the passions of childhood, a sense 
 of honour and shame, if cherished from the begin- 
 ning, will be found to have better effects than 
 bodily punishment j which ought never to be had 
 recourse to, till all other means have been tried and
 
 CHAP.II. VI. MORAL SCIENCE. 25-7 
 
 found ineffectual. But nothing in a teacher or pa- 
 rent has more salutary consequences, than to set a 
 good example, of candour, moderation, good 
 nature, humanity, and modesty. ' Let no visible 
 ' or audible impurity,' says Juvenal, ' enter the 
 ' apartment of a child ; for to children the greatest 
 6 reverence is due.' See his fourteenth satire ; in 
 which are many excellent remarks to the same pur- 
 pose. It is pity that author was in this respect so 
 very inattentive to his own precepts. 
 
 385. Let no evil passion impose on us by as- 
 suming a false name ; for this often happens, and 
 is often fatal to virtue. Men are apt to mistake 
 their own avarice for frugality, profusion for 
 generosity, suspicion for cautious discernment, 
 pride for magnanimity, ostentation for liberality, 
 detraction for the love of truth, insolence for plain 
 dealing, revenge for resentment, envy for emula- 
 tion, and sensuality for necessary amusement. 
 We must carefully guard against these and the like 
 errors, by studying our own character with impar- 
 tiality, and attending to what is said of us, not 
 only by our friends, but also by our enemies, and 
 by the world in general. For though our faults 
 and infirmities are sometimes magnified by malici- 
 ous misrepresentation, it does not often happen, that 
 a man is universally blamed for a fault from which 
 he is altogether free. 
 
 386. Even from lawful gratifications we should 
 accustom ourselves frequently to abstain j for we 
 
 vol. i. R
 
 258 ELEMENTS OF PART I. 
 
 ought always to have our passions and appetites in 
 our power, remembering that the present is a life 
 of trial, and was never intended for a state of com- 
 plete happiness. Nor will this abstinence take 
 away from our sum of worldly enjoyment ; on the 
 contrary, it will add to it. As temperance, and 
 even fasting sometimes, may not only contribute to 
 health, but also by quickening appetite increase the 
 pleasure of eating and drinking, so it is with our 
 other appetites. Continual indulgence makes 
 them unruly, and less sensible to pleasure ; absti- 
 nence quickens them, and keeps them manage- 
 able. 
 
 387. Restrain needless curiosity ; nor inquire 
 into that business or those sentiments of other men 
 in which you have no concern ; nor puzzle your- 
 selves with intricate and unprofitable speculation. 
 There is in some people a restless and captious 
 spirit, which is perpetually finding fault, and pro- 
 posing schemes, and contriving arguments for the 
 support of paradox, and meddling with matters 
 that are not within their sphere. Hence arise 
 anxiety, vexation, disappointment, misanthropy, 
 scepticism, and many passions both unruly and un- 
 natural, which we may easily avoid, if we take the 
 apostb's advice, and ' study to be quiet, and to 
 ' mind our own business.* 
 
 38S. Avoid all companies, all books, and all op- 
 portunities of action, by which you may have reason 
 to apprehend that irregular passions may be raised
 
 CHAP.II. S, VI. MORAL SCIENCE, 259 
 
 or encouraged. How much good manners may 
 be corrupted by evil communications, the sad ex- 
 perience of every age, I had almost said of every 
 man, can abundantly testify. The world judges of 
 men from the company they keep j and it is right 
 that it should be so. No man will choose for his. 
 companion the person whom he either despises or 
 disapproves. He therefore who associates with the 
 wicked and the foolish gives proof of his own wick- 
 edness and folly. We may be the better, as long 
 as we live, for having conversed one hour with a 
 wise and good man ; and the same time spent with 
 those of an opposite character may give our virtue 
 an incurable wound. 
 
 38Q. Consider all those books as dangerous, by 
 which criminal passions may be inflamed, or good 
 principles subverted j and I again warn you to 
 avoid them as you would the pestilence. To take 
 pleasure in such things is a mark of as great cor- 
 ruption of mind, and ought to be accounted as 
 dishonourable, as to keep company with pick- 
 pockets, gamblers, and atheists. Study the evi- 
 dence of your religion, so as to be able to give a 
 reason to those who may have a right to question 
 you concerning your faith ; and steadily, though 
 calmly, defend your principles, if you should have 
 the misfortune to fall into the company of those 
 who controvert them : but do not rashly engage 
 in this sort of altercation ; nor choose for your 
 friend or companion the man who takes pleasure 
 
 R 2
 
 260 ELEMENTS OF PART I. 
 
 in the books of infidelity. Such a man you will 
 hardly convert by reasoning, as his unbelief is 
 founded, not in reason, but in prejudice ; and you 
 need not expect to receive from him much useful 
 information in these matters, as you will find, (at 
 least 1 have always found), that he has attended to 
 one side only of the question. 
 
 S90. Games of chance, where money is the ob- 
 ject, are dangerous in the extreme. They cherish 
 evil passions without number ; as avarice, anger, 
 selfishness, discontent ; and give rise to altercation 
 and quarrelling, and sometimes, as I am well in- 
 formed, to the most shocking impiety ; they occa- 
 sion, as long as they continue, a total loss of time, 
 and of all the rationed pleasures of social life : they 
 are generally detrimental to health, by keeping the 
 body inactive, and encroaching on the hours of 
 rest : they produce a feverish agitation of the spi- 
 rits, as hurtful to the mind, as habitual dram- drink- 
 ing would be to the body : they level all distinc- 
 tions of sense and folly, vice and virtue ; and bring 
 together, on the same footing, men and women of 
 decent and of the most abandoned manners. Per- 
 sons who take pleasure in play seldom fail to be- 
 come immoderately attached to it ; and neglect of 
 business, and the ruin of fortune, family, and re- 
 putation, are too frequently the consequence. Sa- 
 vages are addicted to gaming ; and, in this respect, 
 whatever difference there may be in the dress, or 
 colour of the skin, the characters of the gentleman
 
 CHAP.II. VI. MORAL SCIENCE. 261, 
 
 gambler and gambling savage are not only simi- 
 lar, but the same. The savage at play will lose 
 his wife, and children, and personal liberty ; the 
 other will throw away, in the same manner, what 
 should support his wife and children, and keep 
 himself out of a jail ; and it is well if he stop short 
 of self-murder. Is it possible to keep tit too great 
 distance from such enormities ? and can the man, 
 who once engages in this dreadful business, say 
 when he will stop, or how far he may go? let 
 
 NO SUCH MAN BE TRUSTED. 
 
 391. Our thoughts, as well as the real occur- 
 rences of life, may draw forth our passions ; and 
 one may work one's mind into a ferment of anger, 
 or some other violent discomposure, without hav- 
 ing been exposed to any temptation, and merely 
 by ruminating on certain objects. When we find 
 this to be the case, let us instantly give a new, and 
 if possible an opposite, direction to the current of 
 our thoughts. If any evil passion get hold of us, 
 and will not yield to reason, if, for example, we be 
 very angry with an injurious neighbour, let us 
 cease to think of him, and employ ourselves in 
 some other interesting and more agreeable recol- 
 lection ; let us call to mind some happy incident 
 of our past life ; let us think of our Creator, and 
 of his goodness to mankind, and to us in particu- 
 lar ; let us meditate on the importance of our pre- 
 sent conduct, and of that tremendous futurity which 
 is before us : or, if we be not at this particular 
 
 R 3
 
 '262 ELEMENTS OF PART I. 
 
 time well prepared for serious thought, let us ap- 
 ply to some book of harmless amusement, or join 
 in some entertaining conversation : and thus we 
 shall get rid of the passion that haunts us, and for- 
 get both its object and its cause. 
 
 SECTION VII. 
 
 Of the Passions, as they display themselves in the 
 Look and Gesture. 
 
 399. Passions being commotions of the body 
 as well as of the mind, it is no wonder that they 
 should display themselves in the looks and beha- 
 viour. If they did not, our intercourse with one 
 another would be much more difficult and danger- 
 ous than it is ; because we could not so readily dis- 
 cover the characters of men, or what is passing in 
 their minds. But the outward expression of the 
 passions is a sort of universal language ; not very 
 extensive indeed, but sufficiently so to give us in- 
 formation of many things which it concerns us to 
 know, and which otherwise we could not have 
 jknown. When a man is even at pains to conceal 
 his emotions, bis eyes, features, complexion, and 
 voice, will discover them to a discerning observer; 
 ;and when he is at no pains to hide or disguise 
 what he feeis, the outward indications will be st
 
 CHAP.II. VII. MORAL SCIENCE. 263 
 
 significant, that hardly any person can mistake 
 their meaning : his anger, for example, though he 
 should not utter a word, will contract his brows, 
 flash in his eyes, make his lips quiver, and give ir- 
 regular motions to his limbs. Sallust says of Ca- 
 tiline, that his eyes had a disagreeable glare, that 
 his complexion was pale, his walk sometimes quick 
 and sometimes slow, and that his general appear- 
 ance betokened a discomposure of mind approach- 
 ing to insanity. 
 
 393. It must be remarked here, that all are not 
 equally quicksighted in discerning the inward emo- 
 tion by means of the outward sign. Some have 
 great acuteness in this respect, some very little ; 
 which may in part be owing to habits of attention 
 or inattention. If there be men, as I believe there 
 are, who study almost every countenance that 
 comes in their way, whether of man or of beast, 
 and if there be others who seldom mind things of 
 that nature, it is reasonable to suppose that the for- 
 mer will have more of this acuteness than the latter. 
 The talent I speak of is sometimes called skill in phy- 
 siognomy , or physio gnomony ; which last form of 
 the word is more suitable to its Greek original. 
 Aristotle, and other ancient philosophers, wrote of 
 it ; and there were in ancient times persons whose 
 profession it was to judge of the character from the 
 outward appearance. One of these, having seen 
 Socrates, without knowing who he was, pronounc- 
 ed him to be a very bad man, and enslaved to
 
 ~64 ELEMENTS OF PART I. 
 
 some of the worst passions in human nature. This 
 was reported to Socrates, as a proof of the pre- 
 sumption and folly of the physiognomist. But So- 
 crates told them, that the man had discovered 
 uncommon penetration ; for that he was by nature 
 subject to all those passions, though with the aid 
 of reason and philosophy he had now got the better 
 of them. 
 
 394. I remark, secondly, That as all human 
 minds are not equally susceptible of warm emotion, 
 so all human bodies are not equally liable to re- 
 ceive impressions from the mind. There is an 
 awkwardness in the gestures of some people, and 
 a want of meaning in their faces, which make the 
 outward appearance pretty much the same at all 
 times, unless they be under great agitation. This 
 may be in part constitutional, and partly the effect 
 of habit. That uniformity of feature which the 
 stoics affected, and in which they supposed the 
 dignity of man in a great measure to consist, was 
 no doubt in many of them assumed and artificial. 
 But when we see the looks of one child continually 
 varying as his thoughts vary, and those of another 
 rarely undergoing any sensible change, we must 
 impute this diversity to constitution, as we cannot 
 suppose there is art or affectation in the case. In 
 the countenance of Garrick there was more variety 
 of expression than I ever saw in any other. This, 
 after he became a player, he studied and practised 
 with extraordinary application : but the same thing
 
 OHAP.II. VII. MORAL SCIENCE. 265 
 
 was observable in him from his earliest years, as 
 I have been assured by those who knew him when 
 a boy. 
 
 395. I remark, thirdly, that all states of society 
 do not allow equal scope to the outward and visible 
 display of the passions. People in civilized life, 
 from the awe in which they stand of the fashion, 
 and of one another, are at pains to curb, or, at 
 least, to hide, their more violent emotions : where- 
 as, among savages, and persons little acquainted 
 with decorum, there is hardly any restraint of this 
 sort. Hence the intercourse of the latter is always 
 more boisterous than that of the former, whether 
 the conversation lead to joy or sorrow, merriment 
 or anger ; and their countenances are more deeply 
 impressed with the traces of their predominant 
 passions. Artists, too, as I have elsewhere re- 
 marked, who employ themselves in the nicer parts 
 of mechanics, have, generally, a fixedness of fea- 
 ture suited to the earnest attention which they are 
 obliged to bestow on their work : while those who 
 can ply their trade, and amuse themselves at the 
 same time with discourse, have, for the most part, 
 smoother faces, and features less significant. 
 
 S'JG. Though there are many, who, from inat- 
 tention, or other causes, are not acute in discern- 
 ing human characters ; yet, almost every man is, 
 to a cenain degree, a physiognomist. Every one 
 can distinguish an angry from a placid, a cheerful 
 from a melancholy, a thoughtful from a thoughts
 
 266 ELEMENTS OF- PARTI. 
 
 less, and a dull from a penetrating, countenance. 
 Children are capable of this ; and soon learn to 
 fear the frowns, and take encouragement from the 
 smiles, of the nurse ; to participate in her joys or 
 sorrows, when they see the outward signs of those 
 emotions ; and to stand more in awe of an acute 
 than of a listless observer. The faces of the more 
 sagacious brutes are not without expression. A 
 curst cur and a well-natured dog, a high-mettled 
 and a spiritless horse, are known by their coun- 
 tenance and carriage ; and one might perceive in- 
 tuitively, that wolves, foxes, polecats, and bull- 
 dogs, are dangerous animals ; and that from asses, 
 sheep, calves, lambs, and kids, one has nothing 
 to fear, lie who acknowledges these facts, and 
 has observed what varieties of expression may be 
 displayed in pictures and statues, will admit, that 
 'physiognomy is a sort of science, and not destitute 
 of truth ; and that by a careful observer consider- 
 able progress may be made in it. 
 
 397. But observe, that it is not from the coun- 
 tenance alone that physiognomists form their opi- 
 nions. They must hear a man speak, and see him 
 move, and act, and smile ; they must be acquainted 
 with his general carriage, before they can decide 
 upon his character. Painters have observed, that 
 the position of the head is particularly expressive. 
 Humility and sorrow appear in its hanging down ; 
 arrogance, in lifting it up, and tossing it back ; 
 some of the gentler affections, in its inclining to
 
 CHAP. II. VII. MORAL SCIENCE. 267 
 
 one side ; and steadiness, in its rising erect be- 
 tween the shoulders. Love, hatred, joy, grief, 
 entreaty, threatening, mildness, as well as admira- 
 tion, anger, and scorn, have visible effects on the 
 attitudes of the head. The hands too, which it is 
 difficult to move gracefully, and which those who 
 have not been accustomed to elegant society ought 
 to move but seldom, and with caution ; the hands, 
 I say, by their motions and gestures, express va- 
 rious states of the mind, as admiration, hope, con- 
 sent, refusal, fear, entreaty, and many others. But 
 to describe those motions with accuracy is hardly 
 possible ; and, in a matter of this kind, inaccurate 
 rules are worse than no rules at all, as they lead 
 to affectation, and, consequently, to ungraceful- 
 ness. 
 
 398. Some people shew their characters more 
 slowly than others. With one, you think yourself 
 acquainted at first sight ; of another, after long 
 trial, you can make nothing, and, if he is very 
 cautious, he may elude your acutest observation 
 for years. Hence let the physiognomist learn to 
 be rather slow than hasty in forming a judgment. 
 Let him be on his guard, though appearances are 
 favourable ; and let charity incline him to modera- 
 tion; even when he may think he has certainly 
 detected a dangerous, or disagreeable associate. 
 We are often dissatisfied with a man at his first 
 appearance, whom we afterwards find worthy of 
 high esteem. In short, physiognomy is, in most
 
 268 ELEMENTS OF PART I. 
 
 cases, a conjectural science, and must not be im- 
 plicitly trusted ; for objections may be found to 
 almost every one of its principles. Marshal Tu- 
 renne, the greatest commander, and one of the 
 best men of his time, had so unpromising a look, 
 that when meanly dressed, as he often was, strangers 
 were apt to mistake him for a simpleton. The 
 same thing is recorded of another illustrious com- 
 mander, Philopcemen : and our Charles II, though 
 a man of great pleasantry and good nature, had a 
 stern and forbidding countenance. 
 
 399. Though I have long been studious of 
 physiognomy, and sometimes flattered myself that 
 I had skill in it, I dare not venture to treat of it in 
 any other way, than by offering a few slight ob- 
 servations ; well knowing, that on such a subject 
 people are apt to run into wild theories more likely 
 to mislead than to inform. The opinions of Aris- 
 totle, and other old writers, have been collected 
 by Joannes Baptista Porta ; whose book, though 
 formerly in some esteem, will give little satisfaction 
 to the unbiassed and inquisitive observer. He, 
 and some others, have amused themselves with 
 fancying likenesses between the faces of men and 
 of brutes, and assigning that character to the man 
 which predominates in the beast he resembles. 
 They have also, from the proportions of particular 
 parts of a human body, drawn conclusions with 
 respect to the virtues or vices of the soul with 
 which it is animated. And some would estimate
 
 CHAP. II. $ VII. MORAL SCIENCE. 26$ 
 
 the powers of a man's understanding by the shape 
 of his skull, and the outline of his brow and nose. 
 I have neither time nor inclination to enter into 
 these inquiries ; though I will not take it upon 
 me to say, that they are wholly without founda- 
 tion. 
 
 400. Of all the physiognomists I know, ancient 
 or modern, the most eminent is John Gaspard 
 Lavater, a clergyman of Zurich, in Switzerland. 
 He has published two or three magnificent volumes, 
 and adorned them with many curious drawings. 
 The work has noble strains of eloquence, and 
 proves the author to be a man of great piety and 
 goodness of heart ; and many of his remarks on 
 the human, and other figures, which he presents 
 to his reader, are such as, I think, no person of 
 observation can refuse to acquiesce in. But he is 
 frequently whimsical, and in affirmation too po- 
 sitive. His style, though beautiful in particular 
 passages, is, upon the whole, diffuse, incoherent, 
 and declamatory, to such a degree, that, I believe, 
 it would be a difficult matter to digest his notions 
 into a system. Some persons in his neighbour- 
 hood having been poisoned with the wine in the 
 Eucharist, Lavater, supposing it had been done 
 intentionally, preached a sermon with extraordinary 
 vehemence ; in which was this remarkable saying, 
 which I mention, to shew his confidence in his 
 art : ' I would not advise the perpetrator of this 
 i horrid deed to come in my way ; for I shall cer-
 
 270 ELEMENTS OF PARTI. 
 
 ' tainly know him by his look, if ever I set my 
 6 eyes upon him.' Lavater is a man of genius and 
 penetration, and a good deal of entertainment may 
 be found in his book. But I am afraid it will not 
 teach sagacity to those on whom nature has not 
 bestowed that talent ; nor form to habits of minute 
 attention those who are habitually inattentive. And 
 if it should encourage the unskilful to form rash 
 
 o 
 
 judgments, there is reason to apprehend that it 
 may do more harm than good. I shall not at- 
 tempt to give a more particular account of it ; 
 for that would lead me too far from my present 
 purpose. 
 
 401. Every body knows, that virtuous and in- 
 nocent affections give an agreeable expression to 
 the countenance, and criminal passions the con- 
 trary. Anger, discontent, despair, disfigure the 
 features, distort the limbs, and give dissonance to 
 the voice ; while good humour, contentment, hope, 
 joy, benevolence, have a pleasing effect in setting 
 off the body to advantage. Emotions that are in- 
 nocent, and at the same time, in some degree, 
 painful, as pity and rational sorrow, discompose 
 the features ; but such discomposure, far from be- 
 ing unseemly, may be even captivating : beauty in 
 tears has been found irresistible. When a passion 
 becomes habitual, it is reasonable to suppose, that 
 those muscles of the brows, eyes, nostrils, cheeks, 
 and mouth, over which it has influence, will, by 
 acting continually in the same way, produce traces
 
 CHAP.II. VII. MORAL SCIENCE. 271 
 
 in the countenance, and fix upon it a visible 
 character. This appears even in early life : a 
 peevish or good-humoured, a cheerful or melan- 
 choly, boy, soon contracts what we call a peevish 
 or good-humoured, a cheerful or melancholy, 
 look. And, if these dispositions continue to pre- 
 dominate in him, the lines produced by them in 
 the several parts of the face, will, in time, be- 
 come as permanent as those which are seen in the 
 palm of the hand. What it may be, which con- 
 nects certain emotions of the soul with certain 
 configurations of the muscles of the face, and 
 certain attitudes of the head and limbs, I cannot 
 determine ; Des Cartes, and others, have inquired 
 into this matter, but without success j and, till 
 the union of the soul and body be understood, 
 this will, probably, remain a mystery impenetrable 
 to man. 
 
 402. In order to form some idea of the expres- 
 sion of the countenance, we are desired to suppose 
 four parallel lines to be drawn across it ; one in 
 the direction of the eyebrows, another in that of 
 the eyes, a third in that of the lower part of the 
 nose, and a fourth in that of the mouth. It is- 
 not meant that these must be right lines, or pa- 
 rallel in the geometrical sense of the word ; they 
 are only supposed to have the same direction 
 nearly, and to extend from the one side of the 
 face to the other. While they remain parallel 
 and with little or no incurvation upwards or down 
 
 3
 
 272 ELEMENTS OF PART I, 
 
 wards, the countenance will indicate tranquillity, 
 that is, a composed state of mind without emo- 
 tion. If they seem depressed in the middle of 
 the face, and elevated towards the sides of ir, the 
 expression will incline to cheerfulness ; if raised 
 in the middle and depressed towards the sides, the 
 effect will be contrary, and convey an idea of me- 
 lancholy, or, at least, of sedateness. I do not 
 say, that this holds invariably ; I mean, that it is 
 so for the most part : and every thing must be 
 understood to be thus limited that relates to the 
 present subject. 
 
 408. The raising of the line of the mouth at 
 the two extremities is so well known to express 
 cheerfulness, that unskilful painters, in order to 
 give that meaning to their portraits, turn up the 
 corners of the mouth, even when the rest of the 
 countenance betokens composure, as the features 
 of those who sit for their picture commonly do. 
 But this contrivance produces a smirk, or affected 
 grin, rather than a smile, because the rest of the 
 face is not conformable to it. When the lines 
 above mentioned, especially that of the eyebrows 
 (the most expressive of them all) are twisted, or 
 irregularly bent, it generally intimates discom- 
 posure of mind, and, when much twisted, violent 
 discomposure. There is expression too, as every 
 body knows, in the colour of certain features. A 
 bright and sparkling eye, and increased ruddiness 
 'in the cheeks and lips, accompany keen emotions.
 
 CHAP.II. VII. MORAL SCIENCE. 27tf 
 
 as languid eyes and pale lips and cheeks betoken 
 the contrary. 
 
 404. Admiration, as formerly observed, elevates 
 the eyebrows, opens the mouth and eyes, fixes 
 the attention upon the admired object, raises the 
 hands, and spreads the fingers : astonishment opens 
 the mouth and eyes still wider, and gives a greater 
 and more irregular elevation to the brows. If 
 to astonishment fear be added, both rows of the 
 teeth will appear, and those ends of the eyebrows 
 which are next the nose will be much wrinkled, 
 and drawn downward so as to hide the upper eye- 
 lid. Esteem composes the countenance, elevates 
 the pupils of the eyes, draws the eyebrows down 
 towards the nose, contracts the nostrils, opens the 
 mouth a little, and gently depresses the corners of 
 it. Veneration sometimes assumes the same ap- 
 pearances a little heightened, elevating the pupil of 
 the eye till it almost disappear under the eyelid ; 
 and sometimes shuts the mouth and eyes, inclining 
 the face towards the ground, and spreading the 
 hand upon the breast. 
 
 405. Contempt elevates and draws back the 
 head, wrinkles and pulls down the brows, distends 
 and raises the nostrils, shuts the mouth and de- 
 presses the corners of it, makes the under lip 
 more prominent than the upper, turns away the 
 face from the despised object, and directs the 
 eyes towards it obliquely. Grief raises the brows 
 
 vol, i, S
 
 274 ELEMENTS OE l'ART I. 
 
 towards the middle of the forehead, depressing 
 them at the temples, gives a similar direction to 
 the line of the mouth, half shuts the eyes, hiding 
 the pupils under the upper eyelids, and frequently 
 draws forth tears. Joy smooths the forehead, 
 opens and illuminates the eyes, raises the brows 
 and the corners of the mouth, gently distends the 
 nostrils, and heightens the complexion. Laughter 
 raises the corners of the mouth still higher, giv- 
 ing the same direction to the line of the brows, 
 discovers both rows of the teeth, moistens and 
 almost shuts the eyes, diffuses wrinkles over se- 
 veral parts of the cheeks and forehead, and af- 
 fects the voice in a very sensible and peculiar 
 inanner. 
 
 406. I need not enter further into the detail o 
 this subject ; what has been said may serve as a 
 specimen, and that is perhaps sufficient. Descrip- 
 tions of physiognomy it is not easy to make intel- 
 ligible without drawings ; and if one had a good 
 assortment of these, little description would be 
 necessary. Le Brun's Passions are in every print- 
 shop, and must be allowed to have considerable 
 *ierit ; though the features, expressive of the more 
 violent emotions, are, perhaps, exaggerated into 
 what the Italians call caricatura. Chodowiecki 
 has made some valuable additions to Le Brun, 
 which may be found in Lavater. I conclude with 
 observing, that several energies of the understand- 
 mg> as belief, doubt, perplexity, denial, &c. da
 
 CHAP.1I. ^ VII. MORAL SCIENCE. 275 
 
 also display themselves visibly in the look and ges- 
 ture ; as may be seen in that admirable Cartoon 
 of Raffaelle, which represents Paul preaching at 
 Athens. 
 
 THE END OF PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 S2
 
 PART SECOND. 
 
 NATURAL THEOLOGY. 
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 407. "STATURAL theology explains what human 
 reason can discover concerning the being 
 and attributes of God. It is a science of bound- 
 less extent ; but we must confine ourselves to^ a 
 few general principles. In respect of certainty it 
 is equal to any science ; for its proofs rise to de- 
 monstration : in point of dignity it is superior to 
 all others ; its object being the Creator of the 
 universe : and its utility is so great, that it lays 
 the only sure foundation of human society and 
 human happiness. The proofs of the divine ex- 
 istence are innumerable, and continually force 
 themselves upon our observation ; and are withal 
 so clear and striking, that nothing but the most 
 obstinate prejudice, and extreme depravity of both 
 
 S3
 
 278 ELEMENTS OF PART II. 
 
 heart and understanding, could ever bring any ra- 
 tional being to disbelieve, or doubt of it. With 
 good reason, therefore, it is, that the Psalmist calls 
 the man 6 a fool, who saith in his heart, there is 
 ' no God.' Without belief in God, a considerate 
 person (if it were possible for such a person to be 
 without this belief) could never possess tranquil- 
 lity or comfort ; for to him the world would seem 
 a chaos of miser)- and confusion. But where this 
 belief is established, all things appear to be right, 
 and to have a benevolent tendency ; and give en- 
 couragement to hope, patience, submission, grati- 
 tude, adoration, and other good affections essen- 
 tial to human felicitv. 
 
 408. That men, from education, or from na- 
 ture, might have some notion of duty, even though 
 they were to harden themselves into atheists, can 
 hardly be doubted : but that notion would, in 
 such men, be wholly ineffectual. From the fear 
 of shame, or of human laws, the atheist may be 
 decent in his outward behaviour ; but he cannot 
 act from any nobler principle. And if, at any 
 time, he could promote (what he takes to be) his 
 interest, by the commission of the greatest crime, 
 it is plain that there would be nothing to restrain 
 him, provided he could conceal his guilt ; which 
 any man might do occasionally, and which men of 
 great wealth or power could do at any time. 
 Atheism is utterly subversive of morality, and, 
 consequently, of happiness : and as to a commu-
 
 INTR. MOHAL SCIENCE. 2*f9 
 
 nity, or political society, of atheists, it is plainly 
 impossible, and never took place in any nation. 
 They, therefore, who teach atheistical doctrines, 
 or, who endeavour to make men doubtful in re- 
 gard to this great and glorious truth, the being 
 of god, do every thing in their power to over- 
 turn government, to unhinge society, to eradicate 
 virtue, to destroy happiness, and to promote con- 
 fusion, madness, and misery. 
 
 409. On what human reason discovers of the 
 divine nature is partly founded the evidence even 
 of revelation itself. For no pretended revelation 
 can be true, which contradicts what, by human 
 reason, is demonstrable of the divine perfections. 
 We do not prove from Scripture, that God exists ; 
 because they who deny God, deny the authority of 
 Scripture too* But when, by rational proof, we 
 have evinced his being and attributes, we may then 
 ascertain the truth of divine revelation, or detect 
 the falsehood of a pretended one. When we have, 
 from the purity of its doctrine, and the external 
 vidence of miracles, prophecy, and human testi- 
 mony, satisfied ourselves of the truth of the Chris- 
 tian revelation, it becomes us to believe even such 
 parts of it as could never have been found out by 
 human reason. And thus it is, that our natural 
 notions of God and his providence are wonderfully 
 refined and improved by what is revealed in holy 
 writ : so that the meanest of our people, who has 
 had a Christian education, knows a great deal
 
 280 ELEMENTS OF PART II. 
 
 more on these subjects, than could ever be dis- 
 covered by the wisest of the ancient philosophers. 
 That many things in the divine government, and 
 many particulars relating to the divine nature, as 
 declared in Scripture, should surpass our compre- 
 hension, is not to be wondered at ; for we are 
 daily puzzled with things more within our sphere : 
 we know that our own soul and body are united, 
 but of the manner of that union we know nothing. 
 A past eternity we cannot comprehend ; and a 
 future eternity is an object by which our reason i3 
 astonished and confounded : yet nothing can be 
 more certain, than that one eternity is past and 
 another to come. 
 
 410. In evincing the being of God, two sorts 
 of proof have been employed ; which are called 
 the proofs a priori and a posteriori. In the former, 
 the being of God is proved from this consideration, 
 that his existence is necessary, and that it is absurd 
 and impossible to suppose that he does not exist. 
 This argument is fully discussed by Dr. Clarke, 
 in the first part of his excellent book on the evi- 
 dence of natural and revealed religion. The proof 
 a posteriori shews, from the present constitution 
 of things, that there is, and must be, a supreme 
 being, of infinite goodness, power, and wisdom, 
 who created and supports them. This last is the 
 most obvious proof, and the most easily compre- 
 hended ; and withal, so satisfying, that the man 
 must be mad who refuses to be convinced by it.
 
 INTR. ' MORAL SCIENCE. 2$1 
 
 I shall, therefore, give a brief account of this ar- 
 gument 5 referring to Dr. Clarke for the other * 
 Natural theology consists of two parts : in the first, 
 we demonstrate the existence of God ; in the se- 
 cond, his attributes. These parts, however, are 
 strictly connected ; for the same arguments that 
 prove the first, prove also the second. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 OF THE DIVINE EXISTENCE. 
 
 411. That we ourselves, and innumerable 
 other things, exist, may be taken for granted as a 
 first principle, as evident as any axiom in Euclid. 
 Hence we infer, that something must always have 
 existed. For if ever there was a time when no- 
 thing existed, there must have been a time when 
 something began to be ; and that something must 
 have come into being without a cause ; since, by 
 the supposition, there was nothing before it. But 
 . that a thing should begin to exist, and yet proceed 
 from no cause, is both absurd and inconceivable ; 
 all men, by the law of their nature, being necessa- 
 rily determined to believe, that whatever begins to 
 exist proceeds from some cause j therefore some
 
 282 ELEMENTS OF 1>ART II. 
 
 being must have existed from eternity. This be- 
 ing must have been either dependent on some- 
 thing else, or not dependent on any thing else. 
 Now an eternal succession of dependent beings, or 
 a being which is dependent, and yet exists from 
 eternity, is impossible. For if every part of such 
 a succession be dependent, then the whole must be 
 so; and, if the whole be dependent, there must be 
 something on which it depends ; and that some- 
 thing must be prior in time to that which depends 
 on it, which is impossible, if that which is depend- 
 ent be from eternity. It follows, that there must 
 be an eternal and independent being on whom all 
 other beings depend. 
 
 412. Some atheists seem to acknowledge a first 
 cause, when they ascribe the origin of the universe 
 to chance. But it is not easy to guess what they 
 mean by this word. We call those things acci- 
 dental, casual, or the effects of chance, whose im- 
 mediate causes we are unacquainted with ; as the 
 changes of the weather, for example ; which how- 
 ever every body believes to be owing to some ade- 
 quate cause, though we cannot find it out. Some- 
 times, when an intelligent being does a thing witta 
 out design, as when a man throwing a stone out of 
 his field happens to strike a man whom he did not 
 see ; it is called accidental. In affirming that the 
 universe proceeds from chance, it would appear, 
 that atheists mean, either that it has no cause at all, 
 r that its cause did not act intelligently, or with
 
 CHAP. I. MORAL SCIENCE. 283 
 
 design, in the production of it. That the universe 
 proceeds from no cause, we have seen to be ab- 
 surd, and therefore, we shall overturn all the 
 atheistical notions concerning chance, if we can 
 shew, what indeed is easily shewn, and what no 
 considerate person can be ignorant of, that the 
 cause of the universe is intelligent and wise, and 
 in creating it, must have acted with intelligence and 
 wisdom. 
 
 413. Wherever we find a number of things, 
 complex in their structure, and yet perfectly simi- 
 lar, we believe them to be the work of design. 
 Were a man to find a thousand pairs of shoes, of 
 the same shape, size, and materials, it would not 
 be easy to persuade him that the whole was chance- 
 work. Now the instances of complex and similar 
 productions in nature are so very numerous as to 
 exceed computation. AH human bodies, for ex- 
 ample, though each of them consists of almost aij 
 infinite number of parts, are perfectly uniform in 
 their structure and functions ; and the same thing 
 may be said of all the animals and plants of any 
 particular species. To suppose this the effect of 
 undesigning chance, or the production of an un- 
 intelligent cause, is as great an absurdity as it is 
 possible to imagine. 
 
 414. Further, a composition of parts mutually 
 adapted we must always consider as the work of 
 design, especially if it be found in a great variety 
 of instance?. Suppose a body, an equilateral prism, 
 
 3
 
 284 ELEMENTS OF PART If* 
 
 for example, to be formed by chance ; and sup- 
 pose a certain quantity of matter accidentally de- 
 termined to resolve itself into tubes of a certain 
 dimension. It is as infinite to one, that these tubes 
 should have orifices equal to the base of the prism; 
 there being an infinity of other magnitudes equally 
 possible. Suppose the orifices equal, it is as infi- 
 nite to one that any of the tubes should be prism- 
 atical ; infinite other figures being equally possible. 
 Suppose one of them prismatical, there is, for the 
 same reason, an infinity of chances, that it shall not 
 be equilateral. Suppose it equilateral, there are 
 still infinite chances that the tube and prism shall 
 never meet. Suppose them to meet, there are in- 
 numerable chances that their axes shall not be in 
 the same direction. Suppose them to have the 
 same direction, there are still many chances that 
 the angles of the prism shall not coincide with 
 those of the tube : and supposing them to coincide, 
 there are innumerable chances that no force shall 
 be applied in such a direction as to make the prism 
 enter the tube. 
 
 415. How many millions of chances, then, are 
 there against the casual formation of one prism in- 
 serted in a prismatic tube ! which yet a small de r 
 gree of design could easily accomplish. Were we 
 to find, in a solitary place, a composition of this 
 kind, of which the tube was iron and the prism of 
 wood, it would not be easy for us to believe, that 
 such a thing was the work of chance. And if so
 
 CHAP. I. MORAL SCIENCE. 285 
 
 small a thing cannot be without design, what shall 
 we say of the mechanism of a plant, an animal, 
 a system of plants and animals, a world, a system 
 of worlds, an universe ! No person, who has any 
 pretensions to rationality, and is not determined to 
 shut his eyes against the truth, will ever bring 
 himself to believe, that works so stupendous could 
 be the effect of undesigning chance. 
 
 416. To set this argument in a proper light, it 
 would be necessary to take a survey of the works 
 of nature ; in which the vast number of systems, 
 the artful union of parts, the nice proportions esta* 
 blished between every part and system and its 
 respective end, the innumerable multitudes of 
 species, and the irifinite numbers of forms in every 
 species, are so conspicuous as to prove, beyond all 
 doubt, that the Creator of the world is infinitely 
 wise, powerful, and good. Let a man examine only 
 a grain of corn, by cutting it open, and viewing it 
 with a microscope; and then let him consider 
 another grain as planted in the earth, and by the 
 influence of heat, soil, air, and moisture, spring- 
 ing up into a plant, consisting of a great number 
 of vessels that disperse the vital sap into every 
 part, and endowed with the power, or susceptibi- 
 lity, of growing in bulk, till in due time it pro- 
 duce a number of other grains of the same 
 kind, necessary to the existence of man and other 
 creatures ; let a rational being attend to this fact, 
 and compare it with the noblest efforts of human
 
 28(> ELEMENTS OP PART Il> 
 
 art ; and if he is not struck with the infinite su- 
 periority of the one to the other, what can we 
 say of him, but that he is void of understanding ! 
 And yet the mechanism and growth of a vege- 
 table seems an inconsiderable thing, when we think 
 of the wisdom and power displayed in many other 
 works of nature. 
 
 417. What a fabric is our solar system ! where- 
 in bodies of such enormous magnitude accomplish 
 their revolutions through spaces immense j and 
 with a regularity, than which nothing can be more 
 perfect. The distance of the planets from the sun, 
 and their several magnitudes, are determined with 
 the utmost wisdom, and according to the nicest 
 geometrical proportion. The central orb, whether 
 we consider its glorious appearance, its astonishing 
 greatness, or the beneficial influence of its light 
 and heat, is such an object as no rational being 
 can contemplate without adoring the Creator. 
 We have good reason to believe, that there are 
 thousands of other suns and systems of worlds, 
 more glorious perhaps, and more extensive than 
 ours ; which form such a stupendous whole, that 
 the human soul, labouring to comprehend it, loses 
 sight of itself and of all sublunary things, and is 
 totally overwhelmed with astonishment and venera- 
 tion. With such thoughts in our view, we are 
 apt to forget the wonders that lie immediately 
 around us, and that the smallest plant or animal 
 body amounts to a demonstration of the divine
 
 CHAP. I. MORAL SCIENCE. 287 
 
 existence. But God appears in all his works, in 
 the least as well as in the greatest ; and there is 
 not, in the whole circle of human sciences, any- 
 one truth confirmed by so many irresistible proofs, 
 as the existence of the Deity. 
 
 418. The diurnal motion of the planets is the 
 easiest way possible of exposing all their parts to 
 the influence of light and heat. Their globular 
 form is the fittest for motion, and for the free cir- 
 culation of atmosphere around them j and at the 
 same time supplies the most capacious surface. 
 The principle of gravitation, prevailing through the 
 whole system, and producing innumerable pheno- 
 mena, is a most amazing instance of unbounded 
 variety united with the strictest uniformity and pro- 
 portion. But it is impossible in a few pages to 
 give such an enumeration of particulars, as would 
 do any justice to the subject. The man, who 
 should suppose a large city, consisting of a hundred 
 thousand palaces, all finished in the minutest parts, 
 and furnished with the greatest elegance and va- 
 riety of ornament, and with all sorts of books, pic- 
 tures, and statues, executed in the most ingenious 
 manner ; to have been produced by the accidental 
 blowing of winds and rolling of sands, would justly 
 be accounted irrational. But to suppose the uni- 
 verse, or our solar system, or this earth, to be the 
 work of undesigning chance, is an absurdity incom- 
 parably greater.
 
 288 ELEMENTS OF PART II. 
 
 419. And now, from a particular survey of 
 the terraqueous globe ; of the atmosphere, so ne- 
 cessary to light, and life, and vegetation ; of the 
 different productions of different countries, so well 
 adapted to the constitution and use of the inhabit- 
 ants ; from the variety of useful minerals to be 
 found in all parts of the earth ; from the wonder- 
 ful mechanism and still more wonderful growth 
 of vegetables, their vast number and variety, their 
 beauty and utility, and the great abundance of such 
 as are most useful, particularly grass and corn ; 
 from the structure, life, motion, and instincts, of 
 animals ; from the exact correspondence of their 
 instincts to their necessities ; from the different 
 kinds of them and of vegetables having been so 
 long preserved j from the similitude between all 
 the individuals of each species ; from the body and 
 soul of man so replete with wonders ; from his in- 
 tellectual and moral faculties; and from innumerable 
 other particulars that come under the cognizance 
 of man ; we might proceed to set the Divine Ex- 
 istence in a still clearer light, if that were neces- 
 sary, but the subject is so copious that we cannot 
 enter upon it. We should injure it by a brief 
 summary ; and a full detail would comprehend 
 astronomy, geography, natural history, natural 
 philosophy, and several other sciences. I there* 
 fore refer you to what has been written on it, by 
 Xenophon, in the fourth chapter of his first book of 
 Memorabilia ; by Cicero, in his second book De
 
 CHAP. I.. MORAL SCIENCE. 289 
 
 natura deorum ; by Derham, Ray, Fenelon, 
 Niewentyt ; by Clarke, Bentley, Abernethy, &c. 
 in their sermons ; and by other ingenious au- 
 thors. 
 
 420. Some have urged, that there are in the 
 universe many marks of irregularity and want of 
 design, as well as regularity and wisdom ; and 
 that therefore we have no evidence, that the Being, 
 who made all things is perfectly good and wise. 
 But though we were to admit the fact, the infer- 
 ence would not be fair. The wonderful contriv- 
 ance, which appears in the arrangement of the so- 
 lar system, or even in the human body, abundantly 
 proves the Creator to be infinitely wise. That he 
 has not thought fit to make all things equally beau- 
 tiful and excellent, can never be an imputation on 
 his wisdom and goodness : for how absurd would 
 it be to say, that he would have displayed more 
 wisdom, if he had endowed all things with life, per- 
 ception, and reason ! Stones and plants, air and 
 water, are most useful things, and would have 
 been much less useful if they had been percipient 
 beings; as the inferior animals would have been 
 both less useful and less happy, if they had been 
 rational. Their existence, therefore, and their 
 natures, are proofs of the Divine goodness and 
 wisdom, instead of being arguments against it. 
 
 42 1 . Besides, no man of sense accounts him- 
 self a complete judge of any work, even of a 
 fellow-creature, unless he understand its end and 
 
 vol. i. T
 
 290 ELEMENTS OF PART II* 
 
 structure, as well as the workman himself does. 
 When we wish to know with certainty the value of 
 a ship, or a house, or any complex machine, we 
 consult those who are skilled in such things ; for 
 them only we hold to be competent judges. In a 
 complex contrivance there may be many parts of 
 the greatest importance, which an unskilful ob- 
 server would not perceive the use of, or would 
 perhaps declare to be useless. Now, in the course 
 of Providence, a vast number of events and objects 
 may be employed to accomplish one great end ; 
 and it is impossible for us to pronounce reasonably 
 of any one event, or object, that it is useless, or im- 
 proper, unless we know its tendency and connec- 
 tion with other things both past and future; which 
 in cases innumerable we cannot do. For of the 
 past we know but little, the present we know im- 
 perfectly, and of the future we have no certain 
 knowledge beyond what is revealed. The system 
 of Providence relating to us and to our final des- 
 tination, extends through thousands of years, as 
 we have good reason to believe ; but our life is 
 short, and our views are bounded by our ex- 
 perience, which is very limited. That therefore 
 may be a most wise and beneficent dispensation, 
 which to a captious mind and fallible judgment may 
 appear the contrary. 
 
 422. Moreover, the Deity intended, that the 
 nature of all created things should be progressive. 
 Many years pass away before a man arrives at ma-
 
 -.CHAP. I. MORAL SCIENCE. 291 
 
 turity ; and many days, before a plant can yield 
 good fruit. Every thing is imperfect, while ad- 
 vancing to perfection ; and we cannot say of any 
 thing, whether it be well or ill contrived for an- 
 swering its end, till we know what its state of ma- 
 turity will be, and what the effects are whereof it 
 may be productive. Physical evils may, as will be 
 shewn by and by, be improved into blessings; and 
 it will also be shewn, that moral evil is a conse- 
 quence of that law of nature which makes us cap- 
 able of virtue and happiness. Even in this world, 
 Providence often brings good out of evil ; and 
 every man of observation must have perceived, 
 that certain events of his life, which when they hap- 
 pened seemed to be great misfortunes, have been 
 found to be great blessings in the end. 
 
 423. If, then, that which seems evil may really 
 be good, for any thing we know to the contrary, 
 and if that which is really evil often does, and 
 always may, produce good : how can man be 
 so presumptuous as to suppose, because he can- 
 not distinctly see the nature and use of some 
 things around him, that therefore the Creator of 
 the world is not supremely good and wise ! No 
 man can draw this conclusion, unless he believe 
 himself infallible in his knowledge of all things past, 
 present, and future ; and he who believes so, if 
 there be any such, is a fool. 
 
 T2
 
 '292 ELEMENTS OF FART II, 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 OF THE DIVIXE ATTRIBUTES. 
 
 424. Our knowledge of the Divine Nature? 
 though sufficient to raise within us the highest ador- 
 ation and love, must needs be very imperfect; for we 
 cannot form a distinct idea of any moral or intel- 
 lectual quality, unless we find some trace of it in 
 ourselves. Now God must possess innumerable 
 perfections, which neither we, nor any created be- 
 ing can comprehend. When we ascribe to him 
 every good quality that we can conceive, and con- 
 sider him as possessed of them all in supreme per- 
 fection, and as free from every imperfection, we 
 form the best idea of him that we can : but it must 
 fall infinitely short of the truth. The attributes of 
 God, which it is in our power in any degree to 
 conceive, or to make the subject of investigation, 
 have been divided into natural, as unity, self- 
 existence, spirituality, omnipotence, immutability , 
 eternity ; intellectual, as k?iotuledge and wis- 
 dom ; and moral, as justice, goodness, mercy, 
 holiness. 
 
 425. That God is, has been proved already. 
 That there are more gods than one, we have no 
 evidence, and therefore cannot rationally believe. 
 Nay, even from the light of nature, we have evi-
 
 CHAP. II. MORAL SCIENCE. 293 
 
 dence, that there is one only. For, in the works 
 of creation, there appears that perfect unity of de- 
 sign, which naturally determines an attentive spec- 
 tator to refer them all to one first cause. Accord- 
 ingly, the wisest men in the heathen world, though 
 they worshipped inferior deities, (I should rather 
 say, names which they substituted for deities), did 
 yet seem to acknowledge one supreme god, the 
 greatest and best of beings, the father of gods and 
 men. It is probable, that belief in one god was 
 the original belief of mankind with respect to 
 deity. But, partly from their narrow views, which 
 made them think that one being could not, without 
 subordinate agents, superintend all things ; partly 
 from their flattery to living great men, and grati- 
 tude to the dead, disposing them to pay divine ho- 
 nours to human creatures ; partly from fanciful 
 "analogies between the Divine Providence and 
 earthly governments ; and partly from the figures 
 of poetry, by which they saw the attributes of the 
 deity personified, they soon corrupted the original 
 belief, and fell into polytheism and idolatry. And 
 no ancient people ever retained long their belief in 
 the one true God, except the Jews, who were en- 
 lightened by revelation ; and even they were fre- 
 quently inclined to adopt the superstitions of their 
 neighbours. We see then, that, in order to ascer- 
 tain and fix men's notions of the Divine unity, re- 
 velation seems to be necessary. 
 
 T3
 
 294 ELEMENTS OF PART II. 
 
 426. Self-existence, or independence, is another 
 natural attribute of God. If he depended on any 
 thing, that thing would be superior and prior to 
 him, which is absurd j because he himself is the 
 supreme and the first cause : therefore his exist- 
 ence does not depend on any thing whatever. The 
 attribute of self-existence is something that sur- 
 passes our comprehension ; and no wonder ; since 
 all the beings that we see around us in the world 
 are dependent. But, as already observed, there are 
 many things which we must acknowledge to be 
 true, notwithstanding that we cannot comprehend 
 them. 
 
 427. We see the material universe in motion ; 
 but matter is inert, and, so far as we know, no- 
 thing can move it but mind ; therefore God is a 
 Spirit. We do not mean that his nature is the same 
 with that of our soul : it is infinitely more excelr 
 lent. But we mean, that he possesses intelli- 
 gence and active power in supreme perfection ; 
 and as these qualities do not belong to matter, 
 which is neither active nor intelligent, we must re- 
 fer them to that which is not matter, but mind. 
 Some of the ancients thought, that God is the soul 
 of the universe, and that the universe is, as it were, 
 his body. But this cannot be ; for wherever there 
 is body, there must be inactivity, and consequently 
 imperfection. He is therefore a pure Spirit. Nor 
 can we conceive, that he is confined within the li- 
 mits of creation, as a soul is within its body ; or
 
 CHAP. II. MORAL SCIENCE. 29.7 
 
 that he is liable to impressions from material things, 
 as the soul is from the body ; or, that material 
 things are instruments necessary to the exertion of 
 his attributes, as our bodies are to the exertion of 
 our faculties. It must be as easy for him to act 
 beyond the bounds of creation, as within them ; 
 to create new worlds, as to cease from creation. 
 He is everywhere present and active ; but it is a 
 more perfect presence and activity, than that of a 
 soul within a body. Another notion once pre- 
 vailed, similar to that which has been just now 
 confuted, that the world is animated, as a body is 
 by a soul, not by the Deity himself, but by an 
 universal spirit, which he created in the beginning, 
 and of which the souls of men, and other animals, 
 are parts or emanations. This I mention, not be- 
 cause a confutation is necessary, for it is mere hy- 
 pothesis, without any shadow of evidence ; but, 
 because it may be of U6e in explaining some pas- 
 sages of ancient authors, particularly of Virgil, 
 who once and again alludes to it.* 
 
 428. in t>rder to be satisfied, that God is om- 
 nipotent, we need only to open our eyes, and look 
 round upon the wonders of his creation. To pro- 
 duce such astonishing effects, as we see in the 
 universe, and experience in our own frame ; and 
 to produce them out of nothing, and sustain them 
 in the most perfect regularity, must certainly be 
 the effect of power, which is able to do all things, 
 
 * iEneid, vi, /24. Gcor, iv, 220.
 
 2596 ELEMENTS OF TART II. 
 
 and which, therefore, nothing can resist. But the 
 divine power cannot extend to what is either im- 
 possible in itself, or unsuitable to the perfection of 
 his nature. To make the same thing at the same 
 time to be and not to be, is plainly impossible ; 
 and to act inconsistently with justice, goodness, 
 and wisdom, must be equally impossible to a being 
 of infinite purity. 
 
 429. That God is from everlasting to everlast- 
 ing, is evident from his being self-existent and 
 almighty. That he was from all eternity, was 
 proved already ; and it can admit of no doubt, 
 that what is independent and omnipotent must 
 continue to all eternity. In treating of the eternity 
 of God, as well as of his omnipresence, some 
 authors have puzzled themselves to little purpose* 
 by attempting to explain in what manner he is con- 
 nected with infinite space and endless duration. 
 But it is vain to search into those mysteries ; as 
 they lie far beyond the reach of all human, and, 
 most probably, of all created intelligence. Of 
 this we are certain, for, upon the principle just 
 now mentioned it may be demonstrated, that the 
 Supreme Being had no beginning, and that of his 
 existence there can be no end. That which is om- 
 nipotent and eternal, is incapable of being changed 
 by any thing else ; and that which is infinitely 
 wise and good can never be supposed to make any 
 change in itself. The Deity, therefore, is un- 
 changeable.
 
 chat*, ii. Moral science. 297 
 
 430. As he is the maker and preserver of all 
 things, and everywhere present (for to suppose 
 him to be in some places only, and not in all, 
 would be to suppose him a limited and imperfect 
 being), his knowledge must be infinite, and com- 
 prehend, at all times, whatever is, or was, or shall 
 be. Were his knowledge progressive, like ours, 
 it would be imperfect ; for they who become more 
 wise, must formerly have been less so. Wisdom 
 is the right exercise of knowledge : and that he is 
 infinitely wise, is proved, incontestably by the same 
 arguments that prove his existence. 
 
 431. The goodness of God appears in all his 
 works of creation and providence. Being infinitely 
 and eternally happy in himself, it was goodness 
 alone that could move him to create the universe, 
 and give being, and the means of happiness, to the 
 innumerable orders of creatures contained in it. 
 Revelation gives such a display of the divine good- 
 ness, as must fill us with the most ardent gratitude 
 and adoration : for in it we find, that God has put 
 it in our power, notwithstanding our degeneracy 
 and unworthiness, to be happy both in this life and 
 for ever ; a hope, which reason alone could never 
 have permitted us to entertain on any ground of 
 certainty. And here we may repeat, what was 
 already hinted at, that although the right use of 
 reason supplies our first notions of the divine na- 
 ture, yet it is from revelation that we receive those 
 distinct ideas of his attributes and providence,
 
 '298 ELEMENTS OF PART H. 
 
 which are the foundation of our dearest hopes. 
 The most enlightened of the heathen had no cer- 
 tain knowledge of his unity, spirituality, eternity, 
 wisdom, justice, or mercy ; and, by consequence, 
 could never contrive a comfortable system of na- 
 tural religion ; as Socrates, the wisest of them, 
 acknowledged. 
 
 432, Lastly, justice is necessary to the forma- 
 tion of every good character ; and, therefore, the 
 Deity must be perfectly just. This, however, is 
 an awful consideration to creatures, who, like us, 
 are immersed in error and wickedness, and whose 
 conscience is always declaring, that every sin de- 
 serves punishment. It is reasonable to think, that 
 a being infinitely good must also be of infinite 
 mercy : but still, the purity and justice of God 
 must convey the most alarming thoughts to those 
 who know themselves to have been, in instances 
 without number, inexcusably criminal. But, from 
 what is revealed in Scripture, concerning the di- 
 vine dispensations with respect to man, we learn, 
 that, on performing certain conditions, we shall 
 be forgiven and received into favour, by means, 
 which at once display the divine mercy in the 
 most amiable light, and fully vindicate the divine 
 justice. 
 
 433. It is, indeed, impossible to understand the 
 doctrines of our religion, and not to wish, at least, 
 that they may be true : for they exhibit the most 
 comfortable views of God and his providence ;
 
 CHAP. II. MORAL SCIENCE. 209 
 
 they recommend the purest and most perfect mo- 
 rality ; and they breathe nothing throughout, but 
 benevolence, equity, and peace. And one may 
 venture to affirm, that no man ever wished the 
 gospel to be true, who did not find it so. Its 
 evidence is even more than sufficient to satisfy 
 those who love it. And every man who knows it, 
 must love it, if he be a man of candour and a= 
 s:ood heart. 
 
 THE END OF PNEVMATOLOGY,
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 Of the Incorporeal Nature of the Human Soul. 
 
 434. TV/TAN is made up of a body and a soul, 
 intimately connected together, we know 
 not how, or when. In consequence of this con- 
 nection, the body lives and moves, is nourished 
 with food and refreshed by sleep, and, for a cer- 
 tain time, increases in bulk. When this connec- 
 tion is dissolved, the body is insensible and mo- 
 tionless, soon becomes cold, and gradually mould- 
 ers into dust. That the soul and body are distinct 
 and different substances, was formerly inferred 
 (see 11Q), from the general consent of mankind 
 in regard to this matter. It seems to be natural 
 for us to believe, that the soul may exist, and be 
 happy or miserable, without the body. This ap- 
 pears from those notions, which, in every age 
 and country have prevailed, concerning a future 
 state. 
 
 435. But of the souPs immateriality there is 
 other evidence. When two things have some es-
 
 API*. MORAL SCIENCE. 301 
 
 sential qualities in common, we refer them to one 
 class, or, at least, consider them as somewhat si- 
 milar in their nature. But when two things are 
 found to have not one quality in common, we 
 must consider them as totally unlike and different. 
 If, therefore, any piece of matter (or body) ap- 
 pear to have qualities which we know, for certain, 
 do not belong to matter, we conclude, that to this 
 piece of matter there is joined something which is 
 not matter. The human frame presents to our 
 outward senses a certain quantity of matter, di- 
 vided into various parts of different shapes and 
 colours. Now the essential qualities of matter we 
 know, from experience, to be gravity, extension, , 
 solidity, inactivity, and some others. These qua- 
 lities are all in the human body : but in the human 
 frame there are many qualities, not only different 
 from these, but altogether unlike them. We are 
 conscious of perceiving, remembering, judging, 
 imagining, willing, and of a variety of passions, 
 affections, and appetites. Surely these qualities, 
 which are indisputably in the human frame, are 
 very different from, and very unlike to, hardness, 
 softness, weight, extension, and the other qualities 
 of body. There is therefore in man, something 
 which cannot be called body, because from body 
 it is in every respect different. 
 
 436. Moreover ; the further we carry our in- 
 quiries into matter, and its qualities, the more we 
 are convinced, that it is essentially inactive, or in-
 
 302 ELEMENTS OF A1P< 
 
 capable of beginning motion. But in the human 
 frame we know, for certain, that there is some- 
 thing essentially active, and capable of beginning 
 motion in a thousand different ways. In the 
 human frame, therefore, there are two things 
 whose natures are not only unlike, but opposite : 
 the one is body, which is essentially inactive ; the 
 other, which is essentialty active shall we call it 
 body too ? Then body must be something which 
 unites in itself qualities directly opposite, and de- 
 structive of each other : that must be in it which 
 is not in it ; it must at once have a certain quality, 
 and not have that quality ; it must be both active 
 and inactive. Round squareness, white blackness, 
 or red-hot ice, are as natural, and may be as easily 
 conceived by the mind, as that one and the same 
 thing should be, at one and the same time, capable 
 of beginning motion, and incapable of beginning 
 motion. The human frame is partly material. It 
 follows, therefore, from what has been said, that 
 the human frame must also be in part immaterial, 
 spiritual, or not corporeal. That part of it which 
 is material we call our body ; and that part of it 
 which has been proved to be immaterial,* we call 
 our soul, spirit, or mind. 
 
 * Till of late there was no ambiguity in this epithet, as 
 here applied. But since our language began to decline, im- 
 material has been licentiously used to signify unimportant* 
 The true English sense of it is, incorporeal, distinct from 
 matter.
 
 Aft, MORAL SCIENCE. 303 
 
 437. Many controversies have been raised about 
 the origin of the soul, and the time when it is 
 united with the body. The common opinion 
 seems to be the most probable ; namely, that the 
 soul is created and united with the body when the 
 body is prepared for its reception. At what time* 
 or in what manner, this union may take place, it 
 is impossible for us to determine, and therefore" 
 vain to inquire. Let us not suppose it derogatory 
 from the happiness or perfection of the Deity, to 
 be always employed (if we may so speak) in crea- 
 tion. To omnipotence it must be as easy, and as* 
 glorious, to create, as not to create. The best 
 philosophers have thought, that his continual en- 
 ergy is necessary to produce gravitation, and other 
 appearances in the material world. That the di- 
 vine providence extends to the minutest parts of 
 creation, has been believed by wise men in all 
 ages ; is confirmed by revelation ; and is agree- 
 able to right reason. For as he is everywhere 
 present, and of infinite power, it is impossible 
 that any thing should happen without his permis- 
 sion. 
 
 438. When we consider man's helpless condi- 
 tion at his coming into this world ; how ignorant 
 he is, and how unfit for action j that all he ever 
 acquires in knowledge is by experience and me- 
 mory ; that we have no remembrance of any thing 
 previous to the present state ; and that both re- 
 velation, and the conscience of mankind, declare
 
 304 ELEMENTS OF APIS 
 
 the punishment which the wicked fear, and the 
 reward which the good hope for, hereafter, to be 
 the consequence of their behaviour in this life : 
 when, I say, we lay all these things together, we 
 must be satisfied, that the present is our first state 
 of being. But it is said, that in this world we 
 sometimes suffer evil which we do not deserve ; 
 that the vicious triumph, while the virtuous are 
 unsuccessful ; that the infant child may be liable 
 to want or disease, from the profusion or debauch- 
 ery of the parent, and the harmless villager to 
 ruin, from the crimes of his sovereign : and that, 
 therefore, we must, in a former state, have incur- 
 red guilt, of which these, and the like evils, are 
 the punishment. 
 
 439. This leads to an important, and, as many 
 think, a difficult subject, the origin of evil : on 
 which I shall make some remarks, after I have 
 offered an observation or two upon the opinion 
 that introduced it. First, it may be observed, that 
 the unequal distribution of good and evil in this 
 life, naturally turns our thoughts, not to a former, 
 but to a future state of being ; and does, in fact, 
 as we shall see by and by, afford a proof of a fu- 
 ture state. Secondly : of virtues performed, or 
 crimes committed, in a former state, we have no 
 remembrance, consciousness, or belief: and to 
 punish us for crimes which we cannot conceive 
 that we ever committed, and of which we know- 
 nothing, is inconsistent with divine justice. And,
 
 APP. MORAL SCIENCE. 305 
 
 thirdly, if we sinned, or suffered, in a former 
 state, the origin of that sin, or suffering, must be 
 as hard to be accounted for, as the origin of pre- 
 sent evil. 
 
 440 Evil is of two sorts ; physical, as pain, 
 poverty, death ; and moral, or vice. 1. Our being 
 subject to physical evil puts it in our power to ex- 
 ercise patience, fortitude, resignation to the divine 
 will, trust in providence, compassion, benevolence, 
 industry, temperance, humility, and the fear of 
 God. If there were no physical evil, there would 
 hardly be an opportunity of exercising these vir- 
 tues ; in which case our present state could not be, 
 what both reason and scripture declare it to be, a 
 state of probation. Besides, our present suffer- 
 ings we may, if we please, convert into blessings ; 
 which we shall do, if we take occasion from them 
 to cultivate the virtues above mentioned : for thus 
 they will prove means of promoting our eternal 
 happiness. The existence, therefore, of physical 
 evil, being necessary to train us up in virtue, and, 
 consequently, to prepare us for future felicity, is a 
 proof of the goodness of God, instead of being 
 an objection to it. 
 
 44 1 . 2. Without virtue, such a creature as man 
 could not be happy. In forming an idea of a 
 happy state, we must always suppose it to be a 
 state of virtue ; the natural tendency of virtue 
 being, to produce happiness ; as vice invariably 
 leads to misery. Now, man could not be capable 
 
 vol. i. U
 
 306 ELEMENTS OF ArP. 
 
 of virtue, nor, consequently, of happiness, if he 
 were not free, that is, if he had it not in his power 
 to do either good or evil. And if he have this in 
 his power, he must be liable to vice. Vice, there- 
 fore, or moral evil, is the effect of that law of 
 divine providence, whereby man is made capable 
 of virtue and happiness. As the possibility of 
 falling into error, and mistaking falsehood for 
 truth, is necessary to the improvement of our ra- 
 tional powers, so the existence of evil, as well as 
 of good, is necessary, at least in this life, to the 
 improvement of our moral nature. And upon our 
 improvement of our moral nature our future hap- 
 piness must depend. 
 
 442. Supposing the present life to be prepara- 
 tory to a future and eternal state, the evils we are 
 now exposed to must, to a good man, appear in- 
 considerable. What are a few years of sorrow to 
 an eternity of happiness ? Not so much as a head- 
 ach of an hour is to a thousand years of good 
 health. And who would scruple to suffer pain for 
 several months, if he could thus ensure health for 
 many years ? But, in fact, the evils of life are 
 not so great as some people represent them. There 
 is in human nature a pliableness, by which it can 
 adapt itself to almost any circumstances : and con- 
 tentment, and resignation to the divine will, which 
 are virtues in every person's power, are sufficient 
 to render all the evils of life tolerable. And jf to 
 these virtues there be added a well-grounded hope
 
 APP, MORAL SCIENCE. S07 
 
 of future felicity, which is also in the power of 
 every person who is willing to be good, our pre- 
 sent afflictions may become not only tolerable, but 
 light. The wicked, indeed, must be unhappy, 
 both now and hereafter : but they will not suffer 
 more than they deserve ; they will be punished ac- 
 cording to their works. And so far is their suf- 
 fering from being an objection to the divine cha- 
 racter, that it would be a very strong objection if 
 they were not to suffer. For he who is per- 
 fectly good must be perfectly just : and a being 
 perfectly just must punish those who deserve pu- 
 nishment. 
 
 443. To ask, why we are not. made infallible 
 and perfect, and capable of happiness without vir- 
 tue or liberty, is an impertinent, and, perhaps, an 
 impious question. It may as reasonably be asked, 
 why there are not twenty planets in the solar sys- 
 tem ? why a stone was not made a man or an 
 angel ? or, why the Deity did not make all his 
 creatures equal to himself? Such questions de- 
 serve no answer, but this ; that whatever God has 
 been pleased to do must be right, whether we can 
 account for it or not. Creatures who have it in 
 their power to be happy, and whose happiness will 
 ever increase as they improve in virtue, are surely 
 under the greatest obligations to be thankful to 
 that Providence which has made them what they 
 are. 
 
 U2
 
 308 ELEMENTS OF AP1\ 
 
 Of the Immortality of the. Soul. 
 
 444. It is unnecessary to prove to a Christian,, 
 that his soul will never die ; because he believes 
 that life and immortality have been brought to 
 light by the gospel. But, though not necessary, 
 it may be useful, to lay before him those argu- 
 ments, whereby the immortality of the soul might 
 be made to appear, even to those who never heard 
 of revelation, probable in the highest degree. 
 Whether the human soul shall die with the body, 
 or survive death and live for ever, is an inquiry 
 which may be said to comprehend the three fol- 
 lowing questions. 1. Does the light of nature, 
 unaided by revelation, afford any reason to think, 
 that the soul of man may possibly survive the body ? 
 
 2. Does the light of nature afford any reason to 
 believe, that the soul luill actually survive the body? 
 
 3. If it does, what may be reasonably conjectured 
 concerning a future state ? 
 
 445. Section I. Does the light of nature, 
 unaided by revelation, afford any reason to think, 
 that the human soul may possibly survive the body ? 
 First, death destroys the body by disuniting its 
 parts, or preparing them for being disunited : and 
 we have no reason to think that death can destroy 
 in any other way, as we have never seen any thing 
 die, which did not consist of parts. But the soul 
 consists not of parts ^having been proved to be
 
 AVV. MORAL SCIENCE. 309 
 
 incorporeal. Therefore, from the nature of death 
 and of the soul, we have no evidence that death 
 can destroy the soul. Consequently, the soul may 
 possibly, and for any thing we know to the con- 
 trary, survive the body. 
 
 446. Secondly, the soul is a substance of one 
 kind, and the body of another ; they are united ; 
 and death dissolves the union. We may conceive 
 them to exist after this union is dissolved ; for we 
 see that the body does exist for some time after ; 
 and may, by human art, be made to exist for a 
 long time. And as most men have, in all ages, 
 entertained some notion of a future state, it must 
 be agreeable to the laws of the human understand- 
 ing to believe, that the soul may live when sepa- 
 rated from the body. Now the dissolution of the 
 union of two distinct substances, each of which is 
 conceived to be capable of existing separate, can 
 no more be supposed necessarily to imply the de- 
 struction of both the united substances, than the 
 dissolution of the marriage union by death, can be 
 supposed to imply, of necessity, the destruction of 
 both husband and wife. Therefore the union of 
 the soul and body is not necessary to the existence 
 of the soul after death. Consequently, the soul 
 may possibly survive the body. 
 
 447. Thirdly, naturalists observe, that the par- 
 ticles whereof our bodies consist are continually 
 changing ; some going off, and others coming in 
 their room : so that in a few years a human body 
 
 U3
 
 SIO . ELEMENTS OF .tAPF. 
 
 becomes, not indeed different in appearance, but 
 wholly different in substance. But the soul con- 
 tinues always the same. Therefore, even in this 
 life, the soul survives, or may survive, several 
 dissolutions of the body. And if so, it may pos- 
 sibly survive that other dissolution which happens 
 at death. It is true, these dissolutions are gradual 
 and imperceptible ; whereas that is violent and sud- 
 den. But if the union of the soul and body be 
 necessary to the existence of the soul, the dissolu- 
 tion of this union, whether sudden or gradual, 
 whether violent or imperceptible, must destroy the 
 soul. But the soul survives the gradual dissolu- 
 tion. Therefore, for any thing we know to the 
 contrary, it possibly may, and probably will, sur- 
 vive that which is instantaneous. 
 
 448. Some object, that it is only additional 
 matter joined to our original body, which is gradu- 
 ally dissolved by the attrition of the parts ; whereas 
 death dissolves the original body itself. Though 
 this were granted, it must, at any rate, be allowed, 
 that the soul has as much command over this ad- 
 ditional matter as over the original body. For a 
 full-grown man has, at least, as much command of 
 his limbs, as an infant has of his ; and yet, in the 
 limbs of the former there must be a great deal of 
 additional matter, which is not in the limbs of the 
 latter. And the soul and body of a full-grown 
 man do mutually affect each other, as much, at 
 least, as the soul and body of an infant. Conse-
 
 APP. MORAL SCIENCE. 311 
 
 quently, the union between our soul and this sup- 
 posed additional matter, is as strict and intimate as 
 that between the soul and its supposed original 
 body. But, we find, that the former union may 
 be dissolved without injury to the soul : therefore, 
 the union of the soul, with its supposed original 
 body, may also be dissolved, without endangering 
 the soul's existence. 
 
 449. Further : admitting the same doctrine of 
 an original body, we must, however, observe, that 
 living men may lose several of their limbs by am- 
 putation. Those limbs must contain parts of this 
 original body, if there be any such thing. There 
 is, then, a dissolution of the union between the 
 soul and part of the original body ; and a violent 
 one too ; which, however, affects not the existence 
 of the soul : and, therefore, for any thing that 
 appears to the contrary, the soul may possibly sur- 
 vive the total dissolution at death. 
 
 450. But it is now time to reject this unintel- 
 ligible doctrine of an original body. From a small 
 beginning, man advances gradually to his full 
 stature. At what period of his growth is it, that 
 the original body is completed, and the accession 
 of additional matter commences ? What is the 
 original body ? Is it the body of an embryo, of 
 an infant, or of a man ? Does the additional mat- 
 ter begin to adhere before the birth, or after it, in 
 infancy, in childhood, in youth, or at maturity ? 
 These questions cannot be answered ; and, there-
 
 31*2 ELEMENTS OF APP. 
 
 fore, we cannot admit the notion of an original 
 body, as distinguishable from the additional matter 
 whereby our bulk is increased. Consequently, 
 the third argument remains in full force ; and is 
 not weakened by this objection. 
 
 451. Fourthly, if the soul perish at death, it 
 must be by annihilation; for death destroys nothing, 
 so far as we know, but what consists of parts. 
 Now we have no evidence of annihilation taking 
 place in any part of the universe. Our bodies, 
 though resolved into dust, are not annihilated ; 
 not a particle of matter has perished since the cre- 
 ation, so far as we know. The destruction of old, 
 and the growth of new, bodies, imply no creation 
 of new matter, nor annihilation of the old, but 
 only a new arrangement of the elementary parts. 
 What reason then can we have to think, that our 
 better part, our soul, will be annihilated at death, 
 when even our bodies are not then annihilated ; 
 and when we have no evidence of such a thing as 
 annihilation ever taking place ? Such an opinion 
 would be a mere hypothesis, unsupported by, nay, 
 contrary to, experience ; and, therefore, cannot 
 be reasonable. We have, then, from reason and 
 the light of nature, sufficient evidence, that the 
 soul may possibly survive the body, and, conse- 
 quently, be immortal ; there being no event be- 
 fore us, so far as we know, except death, which 
 would seem likely to endanger its existence. 
 
 452. Section II. Does the light of nature af-
 
 APF. MORAL SCIENCE. 313 
 
 ford any reason to believe, that the soul will actu- 
 ally survive the body ? The following are reasons 
 for this belief. First : It is natural for us to think, 
 that the course of things, whereof we have had, 
 and now have, experience will continue, unless 
 we have positive reason to believe that it will be al- 
 tered. This is the ground of many of those opi- 
 nions, which we account quite certain. That, to* 
 morrow, the sun will rise, and the sea ebb and 
 flow ; that night will follow day, and spring suc- 
 ceed to winter ; and, that all men will die, are 
 opinions amounting to certainty : and yet we can- 
 not account for them otherwise than by saying, 
 that such has been the course of nature hitherto, 
 and that we have no reason to think it will be al- 
 tered. When judgments of this kind admit of no 
 doubt, as in the examples given, our conviction is 
 called moral certainty. I am morally certain, that 
 the sun will rise to-morrow, and set to-day, and 
 that all men will die, &c. The instances of past 
 experience, on which these judgments are founded, 
 are innumerable ; and there is no mixture of such 
 contradictory instances, as might lead us to expect 
 a contrary event. 
 
 453. But it often happens, that the experiences 
 on which we ground our opinions of this sort, are 
 but few in number ; and sometimes too they are 
 mixed with contradictory experiences. In this case, 
 We do not consider the future event as morally 
 certain ; but only as more or less probable, or
 
 3J4 ELEMENTS OF API*. 
 
 likely, according to the greater or less surplus of 
 the favourable instances. If, for example, a medi- 
 cine has cured in five cases, and never failed in one, 
 we should think its future success probable, but 
 not morally certain ; still more probable, if it has 
 cured in twenty cases ; and more still, if in a hun- 
 dred, without failing in one. If a medicine has 
 cured in ten cases, and failed in ten, our mind, in 
 regard to its future success, would be in a state of 
 doubt ; that is, we should think it as probable that 
 it would fail on a future trial, as that it would suc- 
 ceed. If it had cured ten times, and failed only 
 six, we should think it more probable that it would 
 cure on a future trial, than that it would fail ; and 
 still more probable, if it had cured ten times and 
 failed only once. 
 
 454. These remarks, which properly belong to 
 logic, will help to explain in what manner our judg- 
 ments are regulated, in regard to the probability or 
 moral certainty of future events. To make us 
 morally certain of a future event requires, we can- 
 not tell how many, but requires a very great num- 
 bjr of favourable experiences, without any mixture 
 of unfavourable ones. It is true, we have heard of 
 two men, Enoch and Elijah, who did not die, yet 
 we expect our own death with absolute certainty. 
 But these instances are confessedly miraculous; 
 and, besides, are so very few, compared with the 
 infinite number of instances on the other side, that 
 they make no alteration in our judgment.
 
 APP. MORAL SCIENCE. 315 
 
 455. To apply all this to the present subject. 
 Our bodies just now exist, but we foresee a cause 
 that will destroy them, namely, death ; and, there- 
 fore, we believe that they will not exist long. Our 
 souls just now exist ; but we do not foresee any 
 positive cause that will destroy them : it having 
 been proved, that they may survive the body ; and 
 there being no cause, so far as we know, that will 
 then, or at any_other time, destroy them. We 
 must, therefore, admit, that our souls will pro- 
 bably survive the body. It is natural for us to 
 believe this : the rules of evidence, which de- 
 termine our belief in similar cases, determine us 
 to this belief. But there are other arguments, 
 which prove the same thing, by evidence, still 
 higher. 
 
 456. Secondly, we are conscious of being, in 
 many respects, capable of endless improvement. 
 The more knowledge we acquire, the greater is 
 our capacity and our relish for further acquisitions. 
 It is not so with the brutes ; for such of them as 
 are at all docile, soon reach the highest improve- 
 ment whereof they are capable. Disease may put 
 a stop to our improvement as well as curiosity, for 
 a time ; but when it goes off, we are curious and 
 improveable as before. Dotage is a disease ; from 
 which, if we could recover, there is reason to 
 think, that we should be as rational and ingenious 
 as ever ; for there have been instances of recovery 
 from dotage j and of persons, who, at the close
 
 316 ELEMENTS OF API\ 
 
 of life, have regained the full use of those facul- 
 ties, of which they had been, for several years, 
 deprived. And it often happens that old people 
 retain all their mental powers, and their capacity 
 of improvement, to the last. Now God, being 
 perfect in wisdom, cannot be supposed to bestow 
 upon his creatures useless or superfluous faculties. 
 But this capacity of endless improvement is super- 
 fluous, if man be to perish finally at death; for 
 much more limited powers would have suited all 
 the purposes of a creature, whose duration com- 
 prehends no more than ninety or a hundred 
 years. It is, therefore, unreasonable to suppose, 
 that the soul will perish with the body. 
 
 457. Thirdly, the dignity of the human soul, 
 compared with the vital principle of brutes, leads 
 to the same conclusion. Brutes have some facul- 
 ties in common with us ; but they are guided by 
 instinct chiefly, and incapable of science. Man's 
 arts, and his knowledge, may be said to be, in 
 one sense, of his own acquisition ; for, independ- 
 ently on experience and information, he can do 
 little, and knows nothing. But then, he is im- 
 proveable, as was just now observed, to an extent 
 to which we can set no bounds. He is, moreover, 
 capable of science ; that is, of discovering the laws 
 of nature, comparing them together, and applying 
 the knowledge of them to the regulation of his 
 conduct, and to the enlargement of his power. 
 He has a sense of truth and falsehood, virtue and
 
 APP. MORAL SCIENCE. 317 
 
 vice, beauty and deformity. He is impressed with 
 a belief that he is accountable for his conduct. He 
 is endo>ved with the capacity of knowing, obeying, 
 and adoring his creator ; on whom, he is sensible, 
 that he and all things depend, and to whom he 
 naturally looks up for protection and comfort ; 
 and he expects that his being will not end with 
 this life, but be prolonged through eternity. 
 These are principles and sentiments, whereof the 
 most sagacious brutes are not, in any degree, sus- 
 ceptible. 
 
 458. The instincts, appetites, and faculties, 
 which we have in common with them, are neces- 
 sary to our existence and well-being as animals ; 
 but, for what purpose are we endowed with moral 
 and religious principles ? These are not necessary 
 to the support of our animal nature ; these are 
 useless, or, at least, fallacious, if there be no fu- 
 ture state. To those who attend to the economy 
 and analegies of nature, and observe how nicely 
 every thing is fitted to its end, it must appear in- 
 credible, that man should have the same final 
 destiny with the brutes ; considering that his mental 
 constitution is so very different, that his capacities? 
 are transcendently superior ; and that his highest 
 happiness and misery arise from circumstances 
 whereof the brutes feel nothing, and know no- 
 thing, namely, from his virtue and vice, and from 
 his hope of the approbation, and fear of the disap- 
 probation of his creator.
 
 3J8 ELEMENTS OF APP. 
 
 459. Fourthly, we are possessed of many facul- 
 ties, which, in the present life, are never exerted. 
 This we know to be the case with those who die 
 young, or uninstructed, that is, with the greatest 
 part of mankind : and we have reason to think, 
 that this is the case, in some measure, with all ; 
 for we seldom prosecute any new study, without 
 finding in ourselves powers which we were not 
 conscious of before ; and no man, after the great- 
 est attainments in art and science, and at the end 
 of the longest life, could say, that he had exer- 
 cised all his powers, or knew the full extent of 
 his own capacity. In most men, therefore, we 
 are sure that there are, and in all men we have 
 reason to think that there are, faculties, which are 
 not exerted in this life ; and which, by conse- 
 quence, must be useless if there is no other. But 
 in the works of creation there is nothing useless : 
 therefore, the souls of men will exist in a future 
 state. 
 
 460. Fifthly, all men have a natural desire and 
 expectation of immortality. The thought of be- 
 ing reduced into nothing is shocking to a rational 
 soul. These hopes and desires are not the effect 
 of education ; for, with a very few exceptions, 
 they are found in all ages and countries. They 
 arise not from self-conceit, or pride, or any ex- 
 travagant passion ; for the conscience of mankind 
 approves them as innocent, laudable, and right : 
 and they prevail most in those who are most re- 
 
 4 x
 
 APP. MORAL SCIENCE. 31 
 
 markable for virtue, that is, for the moderation 
 and right government of their passions and de- 
 sires. They must, therefore, take their rise from 
 something in the original frame of human nature : 
 and, if so, their author is God himself. But is it 
 to be supposed, that he, who is infinitely wise and 
 good, should have inspired his creatures with hopes 
 and wishes, that had nothing in nature to gratify 
 them ? Is it to be supposed, that he should dis- 
 appoint his creatures, and frustrate those very de- 
 sires which he has himself implanted ? The ex- 
 pectation of immortality is one of those things 
 that distinguish man from all other animals. And 
 what an elevating idea does it give us of the dig- 
 nity of our nature ! 
 
 461. Sixthly, it is remarkable, that the wisest 
 men in all ages, and the greatest part of mankind 
 in all nations, have believed that the soul will sur- 
 vive the body ; how much soever some of them 
 may have disfigured this belief by vain and in- 
 credible fictions. Now here is a singular fact, that 
 deserves our attention. Whence could the uni- 
 versal belief of the soul's immortality arise ? It is 
 true, that all men have believed that the sun and 
 starry heavens revolve about the earth : but this 
 opinion is easily accounted for ; being warranted 
 by what seems to be the evidence of sense. It is 
 also true, that most nations have, at one time or 
 other, acknowledged a plurality of gods : but this 
 is a corruption of an original true opinion ; for it
 
 320 ELEMENTS OF APP. 
 
 is highly probable, nay, it appears from history, 
 that believing in one God was the more ancient 
 opinion, and that polytheism succeeded to it, and 
 was a corruption of it. Now it is not at all sur- 
 prising, that when a true opinion is introduced 
 among mankind, it should, in ignorant ages, be 
 perverted by additional and fabulous circumstances. 
 But the immortality of the soul is not a corruption 
 of an original true opinion ; nor does it derive any 
 support from the evidence of sense. It is itself an 
 original opinion, and the testimony of sense seems 
 rather to declare against it. Whence, then, could 
 it arise ? 
 
 462. Not from the artifice of politicians, in 
 order to keep the world in awe, as some have 
 vainly pretended : for there never was a time when 
 all politicians were wise, and the rest of mankind 
 fools : there never was a time when all the poli- 
 ticians on earth were of the same opinion, and 
 concurred in carrying on the same design : there 
 never was a time when all politicians thought it 
 their interest to promote opinions so essential to 
 human happiness, and so favourable to virtue, as 
 this of immortality : and, in ancient times, the in- 
 tercourse between nations was not so open as to 
 permit the universal circulation of this opinion, 
 if it had been artificial. To which, I may add, 
 that mankind have never yet adopted any opinion 
 universally, merely upon the authority of either 
 politicians or philosophers. This opinion, there-
 
 APP. MORAL SCIENCE. 321 
 
 fore, must have arisen from a natural suggestion 
 of the human understanding, or from a divine 
 revelation communicated to our first parents, and 
 by them transmitted to their posterity. In either 
 case, this opinion will be allowed to be of the most 
 respectable authority ; and it is highly absurd and 
 dangerous to reject it, or call it in question. An- 
 other argument is founded upon the unequal dis- 
 tribution of good and evil in the present life. 
 This will be considered by and by. 
 
 463. Section III. What may be reasonably 
 conjectured concerning a future state ? First, 
 from the wisdom and goodness of God, we may 
 reasonably infer, that it will be governed, like the 
 present, by established laws. What those may be, 
 it is not for us to determine ; but we may rest as- 
 sured, that they will be wise and good. Secondly, 
 from the different circumstances wherein we shall 
 then be placed, and from the different beings with 
 whom we shall then probably have intercourse, it 
 may be inferred, that in a future state we shall be 
 endowed with many new faculties, or, at least, 
 that many faculties, now hidden and unknown, 
 will then exert themselves. In our progress from 
 infancy to mature age, our powers are continually 
 improving, and new ones often appear and are 
 exerted. We may therefore expect, that the same 
 progression will be continued hereafter. It is true, 
 we cannot now form any idea of faculties different 
 
 vol. i. X
 
 322 ELEMENTS OF APP. 
 
 from those of which we have experience : but this 
 argues nothing against the present conjecture. A 
 man born blind has no notion of seeing, nor has 
 an ignorant man any idea of those operations of 
 the human mind whereby we calculate eclipses, 
 and ascertain the periods of the planets: yet it 
 would be absurd, in those who want these powers, 
 to deny their reality or possibility. 
 
 464. Thirdly, as the future state will be a state 
 of happiness to the good, we may reasonably con- 
 jecture, that it will be a state of society : for we 
 cannot suppose it possible, for such creatures as 
 we are, to be happy in perfect solitude. And if 
 we shall then have any remembrance of present 
 things, which is highly probable, there is reason 
 to hope, and good men have, in all ages, rejoiced 
 in the hope, that the virtuous will then know and 
 converse with those friends, with whom they have 
 been intimately connected in this world. This, 
 we cannot but think, will be an addition to their 
 happiness. But painful remembrances, of every 
 kind, will, probably, be obliterated for ever. 
 
 465. Fourthly, the future state will be a state 
 of retribution ; that is, of reward to the good, and 
 of punishment to the wicked. This is intimated 
 by many considerations ; which prove, not only that 
 a future state, if there be one, will be a state of 
 retribution, but prove also, that there will be a 
 future state. Vice deserves punishment, and virtue
 
 APP. MORAL SCIENCE. 323 
 
 reward :* jhis is clear from the dictates of reason 
 and conscience. In the present life, however, the 
 wicked sometimes meet with less punishment than 
 they deserve, while the virtuous are often dis- 
 tressed and disappointed. But, under the govern- 
 ment of him, who is infinitely good and just, who 
 cannot be mistaken, and whose purposes it is im- 
 possible to frustrate, this will not finally be the 
 case ; and every man must, at last, receive accord- 
 ing to his works. 
 
 466. Further : good men have a natural hope, 
 and wicked men a natural fear, in consequence of 
 what they expect in the life to come. Those hopes 
 and fears result from the intimations of conscience, 
 declaring the merits of virtue, and the demerits of 
 fice : and, therefore, as it is impossible for us to 
 believe, that the dictates of conscience, our su- 
 preme faculty, are delusive or irrational, we must 
 believe, that there is future evil to be feared by 
 the wicked, and future good to be expected by the 
 righteous. Even in this life there are signs of a 
 retribution begun j whence we learn, that we are 
 subject to the moral government of pod, and that 
 things have a tendency to retribution. Certain 
 virtues, as temperance and industry, are frequently 
 their own reward, and the opposite vices seldom 
 fail to bring along with them their own punish- 
 ment. Nay, sometimes, even here, the wicked are 
 
 * In what respects virtue is meritorious, will be afterwards 
 considered. 
 
 X<2
 
 324 ELEMENTS OF Ar?. 
 
 overtaken with judgments of so peculiar a kind, 
 that we cannot help ascribing them to a just pro- 
 vidence. But the retribution here begun is not 
 perfect. Perfect, however, under the government 
 of a just and almighty being, it must be in the end. 
 And, therefore, there will be a future state of most 
 righteous retribution. 
 
 467. Fifthly, in a future life, the virtuous will 
 make continual improvements in virtue and know- 
 ledge, and, consequently, in happiness. This may 
 be inferred, from the progressive nature of the 
 human mind, to which, length of time, properly 
 employed, never fails to bring an increase of know- 
 ledge and virtue even in this world ; and, from the 
 nature of the future state itself, in which we can- 
 not suppose, that any cross accidents will ever in- 
 terfere to prevent virtue from attaining happiness, 
 its natural consequence and reward. 
 
 468. Lastly, in the future state, virtue shall 
 prevail over vice, and happiness over misery. This 
 must be the final result of things, under the go- 
 vernment of a being who is infinitely good, power- 
 ful, and wise. Even in this life, virtue tends to 
 confer power as well as happiness : many nations 
 of vicious men might be subdued by one nation of 
 good men. There is hardly an instance on record 
 of a people losing their liberty while they retained 
 their virtue ; but many are the instances of mighty 
 nations falling, when their virtue was lost, an 
 easy prey to the enemv. In this life, the natural
 
 APP. MORAL SCIENCE. 325 
 
 tendency of virtue to confer superiority is ob- 
 structed in various ways. Here, all virtue is im- 
 perfect ; the wicked, it is to be feared, are the 
 most numerous ; the virtuous cannot always know 
 one another ; and, though they could, many ac- 
 cidents may prevent their union. But these causes 
 extend not their influence beyond the grave j and, 
 therefore, in a future state, happiness and virtue 
 must triumph, and vice and misery be borne 
 down. 
 
 469. This is a very brief account indeed, of the 
 arguments that human reason, unaided by revela- 
 tion, could furnish, for the immortality of the 
 soul. All taken together amount to such a high 
 probability, as can hardly be resisted by any ra- 
 tional being. Yet we must acknowledge, that, un- 
 assisted reason makes this matter only in a very 
 high degree probable. It is the Gospel, which 
 makes it certain ; and which, therefore, may with 
 truth be said to have brought life and immor 
 
 TALITY TO LIGHT. 
 
 X3
 
 PART THIRD. 
 
 MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 470. TIT ORAL philosophy treats of the cultiva- 
 tion of our active or moral powers. It 
 has been defined, the science which explains our 
 duty, and the reasons of it ; and, more briefly by 
 Dr. More, Ars bene beateque vivendi. As it would 
 be neither easy nor expedient to keep the several 
 divisions of the abstract philosophy entirely sepa- 
 rate, I have not scrupled, in the former part of 
 this summary, to anticipate some things which 
 properly belong to this part, and which it is un- 
 necessary to repeat. By the omission of these 
 here, the extent of the science now before us will 
 be contracted, as well as by this other considera- 
 tion, that, as the most perfect system of duty is 
 contained in holy writ, no person, who has hatf
 
 328 ELEMENTS OF PART III, 
 
 Christian education, can be ignorant of morality. 
 The chief points of it, and the more important 
 speculations connected with them, I shall briefly 
 illustrate, and endeavour to arrange in a scientific 
 form : and this is all, perhaps, that can reasonably 
 be expected, considering the shortness of the time, 
 and the great number of subjects that fall within 
 my province. 
 
 47 1 The word moral signifies, of, or belonging 
 to, manners. Manners are human actions, or, 
 rather, human habits acquired by action. But all 
 human actions and habits are not of that sort 
 which we call moral. Manual dexterity, bodily 
 activity, and the exertions of memory and genius, 
 are not, in themselves, either moral or immoral ; 
 for it is not from circumstances of this kind that 
 we form an estimate of the human character, as 
 dignified by the performance of duty, or debased 
 by the neglect of it. An ingenious mechanic, a 
 strong and active man, a person of lively fancy, 
 or tenacious memory, may be the object of our 
 esteem, disapprobation, or contempt, according as 
 he applies his talents to a good, a bad, or an in- 
 significant purpose. But moral goodness implies 
 a regard to duty, and is always the object of 
 esteem and approbation. 
 
 472. The common use of language requires, 
 that a distinction be made between morals and 
 manners : the former depend upon internal dispo- 
 sitions, the latter on outward and visible accom-
 
 INTR. MORAL SCIENCE. 329 
 
 plishments. A man's manners may be pleasing, 
 whose morals are bad : such a man shews what is 
 good in him, and conceals what is evil. They 
 who in their manners are agreeable, and who also 
 exert themselves in doing good, that is, in pro- 
 moting happiness, are of good morals as well as 
 of good manners. And to do good, or, at least, 
 to wish to do good, and be ready to do it when 
 opportunity offers, is in every person's power, and 
 every person's duty : whereas, to have manual 
 dexterity, a sound state of mind and body, great 
 genius, great memory, or elegant manners, is not 
 every man's duty, because not in every man's 
 power. Those actions and habits, therefore, are 
 properly called moral, or immoral, which are in 
 the power of the agent, and which he knows to 
 have an influence, favourable or unfavourable, on 
 human happiness. 
 
 473. Some duties are incumbent on all men 
 without exception, because tending to promote 
 good in general. Other duties are incumbent on 
 us in consequence of our connection with particu- 
 lar societies ; because they tend to promote the 
 good of those societies. To enumerate all the 
 forms of society with which we may be connected, 
 is impossible : but there are two, which may be 
 considered as the most important, and with which 
 every one of us either is, or may be, connected ; 
 and those are, a family, and a state or government. 
 J-kncc moral philosophy may be divided into three
 
 330 ELEMENTS OF PART III, 
 
 parts. The first, which I call ethics, treats of the 
 morality of actions, as arising from the disposition 
 of the agent, and as tending to promote good in 
 general. The second, called economics, regulates 
 human conduct, so as to make it promote the 
 good of that family of which one may be a mem- 
 ber. The third, which may, without impropriety, 
 be termed politics, explains the nature of political 
 or civil society, and the duties and rights of men 
 with respect to it. A more minute, as well as 
 more comprehensive, distribution of this science 
 might be given : but, considering the limits within 
 which our academical rules oblige me to confine 
 myself, this may, perhaps, be thought sufficient.
 
 MORAL SCIENCE. 331 
 
 MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 PART FIRST. 
 
 OF ETHICS. 
 
 474. ttere we are to consider human actions 
 as good or bad, according to the mo- 
 tives, principles, intentions, or dispositions, from 
 which they proceed ; and, according as they tend 
 to promote good in general, or the contrary. In 
 prosecuting this subject, I shall inquire, first, into 
 the nature and foundation of man's moral good- 
 ness, that is, of human virtue ; and, secondly, 
 into the nature and foundation of particular vir- 
 tues, or duties. The former may be called specu- 
 lative ethics, and the latter practical ethics. Ob- 
 serve here, that the words virtue and duly have 
 often, but not always, the same signification. He 
 is a man of virtue who does his duty ; he is a vi- 
 cious man who neglects it : and modesty, humility, 
 piety, benevolence, may be called either virtues, 
 or duties. But, when called virtues, we consider
 
 532 ELEMENTS OF PART III. 
 
 them as performed, or acquired ; when called du- 
 ties, we consider them as what it is incumbent on 
 us to perform, or acquire. Accordingly, we call 
 a good man, not a man of duty, but a man of 
 virtue j because we mean a person who has actu- 
 ally done what he ought to do, or who has ac- 
 quired those habits, or dispositions, which he ought 
 to acquire : but a regard to duty, and a regard to 
 virtue, are phrases nearly synonymous. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 OF THE NATURE OF VIRTUE. 
 
 \ 
 
 475. This word, in its most general accepta- 
 tion, denotes power, or ability. As applied to 
 man, and characterised by the epithet moral (to 
 distinguish it from other sorts of virtue, which will 
 be specified afterwards), it signifies some quality, 
 disposition, or habit, which fits a man for answer- 
 ing his end, that is, for living as he ought to live, 
 and being what he ought to be ; or, more ex- 
 plicitly, for living as the author of his nature in- 
 tended that he should live, and being what the 
 author of his nature intended that he should bc>
 
 CHAP. I. MORAL SCIENCE. 333 
 
 But, can human reason discover what the author 
 of nature intended in making men such beings as 
 they are ? Yes : reason can discover this, in the 
 same way in which it discovers (and with the same 
 degree of certainty), that an artist, in making a 
 clock such a thing as we see it is, intended that it 
 should measure time, and announce the hour. 
 For what end was man made, is, therefore, the 
 first inquiry in ethics. Till we know this, we can- 
 not know what is suitable to his end, or what is 
 unsuitable ; that is, we cannot know what is his 
 virtue, or what is not his virtue. 
 
 476. Human nature is a very complex object, 
 and, confessedly, in a state of lamentable degene- 
 racy. But neither from its degeneracy, nor from 
 its complexness, can any reasonable supposition 
 arise of the impossibility of discovering its end. 
 From many appearances in a ruinous building, it 
 might be easy to see the intention of the builder ; 
 whether he meant it for a church, or a storehouse, 
 a dwelling for men, or a shelter for cattle. And 
 a person moderately skilled in mechanics might 
 find out the use of a very complex machine, even 
 though every part of it were new to him ; which, 
 it cannot be pretended, that any part of human 
 nature is to us. And when, from the structure 
 and relations of the parts, the end of any system 
 is fairly investigated, the complex nature of that 
 system proves nothing against the certainty of the 
 investigation, but is an argument for it.
 
 334 ELEMENTS OF PART ItT. 
 
 477. 'Man was made for two ends, or purposes', 
 action and knowledge. This will be readily ad- 
 mitted by every person who has observed, that all 
 the powers of our nature fit us (as was formerly 
 intimated) for action, for knowledge, or for both. 
 That of these two ends action is the nobler, and 
 that, by consequence, action is man's chief end, 
 will appear, when we consider, that our happiness 
 depends rather on what we do, than on what we 
 know ; that extensive knowledge falls to the share 
 of but few, whereas action is the business of all 
 men ; and that knowledge is valuable only as it 
 serves to promote or assist action those specula- 
 tions being of no value, which can be applied to 
 no practical purpose. Now we are capable of va- 
 rious sorts of action. The next inquiry, there- 
 fore, is, for what sort of action was man made ? 
 
 478. We discover the end for which a system 
 is made, by examining its fabric, or constitution. 
 In this way one might find out for what end a 
 clock or watch was made, though one had never 
 seen or heard of such a thing before. But the 
 mere knowledge of the parts, taken and examined 
 separately, would not be enough ; the wheels and 
 pegs lying in a heap, or detached from one an- 
 other, would, to a person unskilled in the art, 
 convey no idea of a clock or watch, or of the use 
 of either : they must be put together according to 
 the intention of the maker, and examined in their 
 connected state, and as operating on one another ;
 
 CHAP. I. MORAL SCIENCE. 335 
 
 and that circumstance, in the structure, must be 
 particularly attended to, that they are all subservi- 
 ent to, and regulated by, the balance, or the pen- 
 dulum. Human nature, though not a machine, 
 is a most curious system, more so than any other 
 that this sublunary world can exhibit, and consists 
 of many parts, or faculties, mutually operating 
 upon, or influencing one another ; one of which, 
 in common language called conscience, has a na- 
 tural supremacy over all the rest ; as I shall en- 
 deavour to prove, when I have first given a brief 
 account of this faculty. ( l6'2). 
 
 479. Every man must be conscious, that he 
 approves of some actions, because they seem to 
 him to be good, and right, and what ought to be 
 done ; and disapproves of other actions, because 
 he thinks them bad, wrong, and what ought not 
 to be done. Now it is this faculty of conscience, 
 that gives rise to these sentiments of approbation 
 and disapprobation, and so enables us to distinguish 
 between virtue and vice, between moral good and 
 moral evil, between what is our duty and what is 
 contrary to duty. This faculty is peculiar to ra- 
 tional nature ; brutes have nothing like it : the 
 being who is destitute of it we cannot consider as 
 rational. It is this faculty which makes man capa- 
 ble of virtue, and, consequently, of happiness j 
 for, without virtue, rational beings cannot be 
 happy. Some modern philosophers are willing to 
 believe, that of every human faculty the inferior
 
 33$ ELEMENTS OF PART III. 
 
 animals participate, in some degree ; and, because 
 a dog loves and fears his master, infer, that brutes 
 are not quite destitute of moral and religious no- 
 tions. With equal reason it might be inferred, 
 because dogs bark at the moon, and wolves behold, 
 or beltoivl it, as Shakespeare says, (either reading 
 will serve in this place), that they are also studious 
 of astronomy. 
 
 480. Actions performed through compulsion, 
 or against our will, conscience does not approve, 
 even though they may tend to good ; nor disap- 
 prove, though they may have an evil tendency : 
 those only are approved as morally good, or dis- 
 approved as immoral, in the performance of which 
 man is understood to be a free agent. Nor is it 
 the action merely, that we either approve or dis- 
 approve. A man may kill another by accident, 
 or may kill another by design ; and, in both cases, 
 the action may be the same ; the firing of a mus- 
 ket may do either. But, in the former case, the 
 manslayer may be entirely innocent ; in the latter, 
 he may be guilty of murder : for, in the latter, 
 there may be a criminal purpose in the former, 
 there is, or may be, none. Our affections, there- 
 fore, dispositions, motives, purposes, or intentions, 
 are the real objects of moral approbation or disap- 
 probation. 
 
 481. The actions we consider as the signs and 
 proofs of what was in the mind of the agent : for 
 man cannot see the heart ; and we call an action
 
 CHAP. I. MORAL SCIENCE. 33? 
 
 immoral, or virtuous, according as it seems to us 
 to manifest a criminal, or a virtuous intention. In 
 our intentions themselves, though not exerted in 
 action, there may be virtue, or there may be vice. 
 He who intends to murder, is really, and in the 
 sight of God, who knows the heart, a murderer : 
 and he who does all the good he can, and wishes 
 he were able to do more, is virtuous in proportion 
 to the extent of his wishes, however small his 
 ability may be. 
 
 482. In this notion of moral approbation, sug- 
 gested to every man by his conscience, several no- 
 tions, or sentiments, are comprehended, similar, 
 indeed, in their nature, but which may be ver- 
 bally distinguished. A generous, or good action, 
 delights us when we think of it j and we say, that 
 it is fit, right, and what ought to be done, and 
 that he who has done it deserves reward or praise. 
 A wicked action gives us pain when we think of 
 it ; and we say, that it is improper, wrong, and 
 what ought not to be done, and that he who has 
 done it deserves punishment or blame. These no- 
 tions are universal among mankind. We are con- 
 scious of them in some degree, and frequently in 
 a great degree, when the good or evil is done by 
 others : we are conscious of them in a very great, 
 and often in a most intense degree, when it is done 
 by ourselves. A man's moral judgment, applied 
 to the consideration of his own conduct, is, in 
 common language, called his conscience; when 
 voj>. j, Y
 
 338 ELEMENTS OF PART III. 
 
 applied to the consideration of moral good or evil 
 in general, it may be called the moral faculty ; 
 and has sometimes, both by modern and by an- 
 cient philosophers, been termed the moral sense. 
 Disputes have been raised about the propriety of 
 these appellations ; but, if the thing be under- 
 stood, the name is of small importance. 
 
 483. That this faculty is implanted in us as a 
 rule of conduct, and has a natural right to regu- 
 late the whole human system, will appear from the 
 following considerations. To counteract our bo- 
 dily appetites ; to abstain from food when we are 
 hungry, from drink when thirsty, from any other 
 similar indulgence when appetite stimulates, may 
 be not only innocent, but laudable : but to coun- 
 teract conscience, to neglect to do what the moral 
 faculty declares to be incumbent, is always blame- 
 able. He had a craving for food, but would not 
 eat, is a phrase which implies no censure j nay, a 
 man might do so from a regard to health, in which 
 case it would be praiseworthy : but, his conscience 
 urged him to abstain, but he would not intimates 
 criminal behaviour ; and no man is ever blamed 
 for acting according to conscience, or praised for 
 acting in opposition to it. Cases might be men- 
 tioned, in which every other sort of self-denial 
 would be right ; but to resist or disregard con- 
 science, is, in all possible cases, wrong. Such is 
 the opinion of mankind, especially of all wise and 
 good men. The opinion, therefore, must be ra-
 
 CHAP. I. MORAL SCIENCE. $39 
 
 tional. Consequently, the principle of conscience 
 is naturally superior to our bodily appetites, and 
 ought to regulate and controui them. 
 
 484. Secondly, to prefer deformity to beauty, 
 discord to harmony, bad imitations to good ones, 
 Cowley to Milton, broad Scotch to the English of 
 Addison, is only an instance of bad taste, which 
 might be innocent, or indifferent ; and the person 
 who should do so might be a worthy man upon 
 the whole : but to prefer an action which our own 
 conscience condemns to another which it approves, 
 to prefer fraud to honesty, malice to benevolence, 
 blasphemy to devotion, impudence to modesty, is 
 a proof of a bad heart, which every man of sense 
 and virtue must condemn as worthy of blame, and 
 even of punishment. Are not, then, the dictates 
 of conscience more sacred, and of higher authority, 
 than the principles of taste ? 
 
 485. Thirdly, to act upon the supposition, that 
 the three angles of a triangle are less than two 
 right angles, or that the history of Julius Csesar is 
 a fable, or that the sun and starry heavens revolve 
 round the earth, would be absurd, and a proof of 
 ignorance ; but might, possibly, be innocent : and 
 a lawgiver would act foolishly who should pro- 
 hibit, on pain of fine and imprisonment, the hold- 
 ing of such opinions. But to act upon a suppo- 
 sition, that what conscience dictates ought not to 
 be done ; that ingratitude and perjury are duties ; 
 or that piety to God, and benevolence to man, are 
 
 Y2
 
 3'iO ELEMENTS OF PAUT III. 
 
 not incumbent, can never be innocent in any ra- 
 tional being. I do not say, however, that false 
 opinions in matters of mere science are always in- 
 nocent ; I only say, that they may be so, and often 
 are. But to act contrary to conscience, or to dis- 
 regard its dictates, is always a proof of a wicked 
 heart, and always blameable. 
 
 486. Fourthly, to gratify hunger and thirst, to 
 prefer elegance to deformity, to act conformably 
 to mathematical, historical, and physical truth, is 
 right ; but we do not suppose that a man deserves 
 reward or praise for having done so. But when 
 we do that which the moral faculty commands, 
 and abstain from what it forbids, we are conscious, 
 and all mankind acknowledge, that we deserve re- 
 ward, or praise at least, which is a species of re- 
 ward. He is a man of taste, an acute mathemati- 
 cian, an intelligent historian, skilled in astronomy, 
 and rational in his political notions : all this is very 
 well. A man, however, may be all this, who is 
 impious, unjust, and intemperate j and who, of 
 course, merits nothing from society, and can en- 
 tertain no reasonable hope of happiness in the life 
 to come. But he who acts in a conformity to mo- 
 ral truth, and obeys the dictates of his conscience, 
 is entitled to the approbation and esteem of his 
 fellow-creatures, and may, through the divine 
 goodness, entertain the hope of future reward ; 
 though he be skilled very imperfectly, or not at 
 til, in human sciences. Does not this prove, that
 
 CHAP. I. MORAL SCIENCE. 34\ 
 
 there is inherent in the dictates of conscience a 
 peculiar sanctity and supremacy, that distinguish 
 them from the other suggestions of rational na- 
 ture? 
 
 487. Fifthly, conscience often obtrudes itself 
 upon us against our will, and in the midst of out- 
 ward prosperity makes the sinner miserable, in 
 spite of all his endeavours to suppress it : and it is 
 never so keen in its reproaches as when a wicked 
 person comes to die, and has nothing further to 
 fear from man. To paint the horrors of a guilty 
 conscience, some ancient poets have typified it by 
 the image of a fury, brandishing a scourge made 
 of serpents, and thundering condemnation in the 
 ear of the criminal. A gnawing worm, that never 
 dies, is a scriptural emblem of similar import. 
 The images are strong, but not hyperbolical : for 
 of all the torments incident to human nature, that 
 of a guilty and awakened conscience is the most 
 dreadful. Bad men have sometimes felt it so in- 
 supportable, as to make life a burden (see 856) ; 
 and good men will defy death, and torture, and 
 distress of every kind, rather than do that which 
 their conscience declares to be unlawful. Surely 
 there must be something very peculiar in that fa- 
 culty, which has so powerful an influence on the 
 felicity of man, and can triumph so easily, and so 
 effectually, over sublunary tilings, So high is the 
 authority of conscience, in declaring the merit of 
 virtue, and demerit of vice, that considerate men, 
 
 Ys
 
 342 ELEMENTS OF TART III. 
 
 not finding that the one obtains a suitable reward, 
 or the other an adequate punishment, in this 
 world, have been led, even by the light of nature, 
 to look forward to a future life of more perfect 
 retribution. 
 
 488. Conscience, therefore, is our supreme fa- 
 culty. We see that every other power of our na- 
 ture ought to submit to it; and that it may be 
 stronger than even our love of life, or horror of 
 infamy. And when this is the case, all men ac- 
 knowledge that it is no stronger than it ought to 
 be, and has a natural right to be : whereas, if any 
 other passion, principle, or propensity, were to 
 gain such influence, or assume such authority, dis- 
 order would prevail in the mental system, and 
 neglect of duty would discompose the procedure 
 of human affairs. Even to the love of learning 
 (for I speak not of criminal or debasing pursuits), 
 if we were to sacrifice every other concern, we 
 should justly incur censure. But too conscienti- 
 ous we can never be ; the best of us are not suf- 
 ficiently so ; and if all men were as much so as 
 they ought to be, nothing would be wanting to 
 make society happy. 
 
 489. Conscience being proved to be the su- 
 preme regulating principle of human nature, it 
 follows that virtuous action (see 477) is the ul- 
 timate end for which man was made. For virtue 
 is that which conscience approves ; and what con- 
 tradicts the supreme principle of any system, mus>t
 
 CHAP. I. MORAL SCIENCE. 343 
 
 be contrary to the end of that system. It is true 9 
 that in most men for a little, and in bad men for 
 a long time, conscience may lose its power, when 
 borne down by evil habit, or tumultuous passion : 
 even as the strongest man, by: being kept long in 
 fetters, may lose the use of his limbs ; and as the 
 most lively genius, if doomed to slavery, may sink 
 into inactivity and stupefaction. But though con- 
 science may lose its power, it still retains its au- 
 thority, that is, its right to govern. A good king 
 may be dethroned by the rebellion of a wicked 
 subject, and may, for a time, be unable to enforce 
 his own laws ; but he still retains that right to 
 govern, which is secured to him by the constitu- 
 tion of his country. He, however, may die with- 
 out being restored : but sooner or later, in the 
 next world, if not in this, conscience will resume 
 its rights, and cover the guilty head with confu- 
 sion. . 
 
 490. We act, therefore, according to the end 
 and law of our nature, when we act according to 
 conscience. By doing so, we may, and, indeed, 
 often must, controui our inferior appetites ; but 
 then we promote the happiness and perfection of 
 our whole nature. So a medicine may do good to 
 the whole body, though it be offensive to the taste, 
 or even to the stomach. By complying with an 
 appetite in opposition to conscience, we may ob- 
 tain a slight gratiiication ; but then we introduce 
 disorder and unhappiness into our nature, and
 
 344 * ELEMENTS OF PART 111. 
 
 make it more imperfect than it was before. Se 
 things may please the palate, and give momentary 
 comfort to the stomach, which yet have poisonous 
 qualities. 
 
 491. And now, we see in what respects a life 
 of virtue may be said to be, what some ancient 
 moralists called it, a life according to nature. The 
 indulgence of any natural appetite may be called a 
 natural indulgence ; but, to act suitably to the 
 dictates of the moral faculty, is according to the 
 general tendency of our whole nature, because 
 agreeable to the supreme principle of the human 
 system. Some vices may be called natural ; be- 
 cause there are in us passions that prompt to them, 
 and a principle of corruption, or degeneracy, that 
 urges our compliance : but no vice can be said to 
 be according to our whole nature ; because no- 
 thing is so, but what conscience, our supreme re- 
 gulating principle, approves. What pleases the 
 palate may hurt health, and be therefore pernicious 
 to the human constitution. That only can be 
 called natural food, which preserves, or promotes 
 the health of the whole body. 
 
 492. Yet, it has been said, that a life of virtue 
 is a life of mortification and warfare. And no- 
 thing is more true; notwithstanding that, upon 
 the whole, such a life must be the most happy. 
 The nature of man is miserably corrupted. Cri- 
 minal passions crave indulgence ; and it requires 
 great efforts te resist them : criminal habits must
 
 CHAP. I. MORAL SCIENCE. 343 
 
 be overcome ; and this is a work of long and diffi- 
 cult labour. Things, that by their agreeable qua- 
 lities attract our notice, and engage our liking, 
 often prove a snare ; and it requires incessant 
 watchfulness to keep aloof from them, or, when 
 they fall in our way, to prevent their gaining on 
 our affections. The best men fall into transgress 
 sion, which, in a good man, is always followed by 
 repentance ; and repentance, though most salutary 
 in its effects, is attended with great anguish of 
 mind. How many dangers and disappointments 
 must they encounter who engage in active life ! 
 Yet such a life is incomparably happier than se- 
 curity, with idleness. Even so, virtue may be a 
 warfare ; but it is, upon the whole, happy as well 
 as honourable, and never fails to be crowned with 
 victory and eternal peace. Vice is a warfare too ; 
 but it is neither honourable nor happy, and, neces- 
 sarily, ends in shame and punishment. 
 
 493. We may further learn, from what has 
 been said, how foolishly those men argue, who 
 give way to all their passions without reserve, and 
 excuse themselves by saying, that every passion is 
 natural, and that they cannot be blamed for doing 
 what nature prompts them to do. The fallacy of 
 this plea must be very apparent to those, who, in 
 their notions of man, can distinguish between the 
 whole and a part. Partial indulgence may, no 
 doubt, be obtained by gratifying criminal propen- 
 sity j as a man may pleas? his palate while he is
 
 346 ELEMENTS OF PART.ltl. 
 
 swallowing poison ; but every indulgence is un- 
 natural, or, at least, improper, which disorders the 
 moral system, by counteracting its supreme regu- 
 lating principle. From the wheels of a clock, or 
 watch, if you take off those restraints whereby 
 the motion is made regular, the wheels must move 
 irregularly. Such motion you may, if you please, 
 call natural ; because it is natural for bodies to 
 move according to the force that impels them: 
 but such motion you cannot call right, or agree- 
 able to the purpose of the maker, because it is not 
 governed by that principle which was intended to 
 controul and regulate the whole machine. 
 
 494. Few sentiments are more familiar to the 
 human mind than this, that vice deserves punish- 
 ment, and virtue reward. But, to prevent mis- 
 takes, it is necessary to add> that, in strict propri- 
 ety of speech, our virtue is meritorious with re- 
 spect to our fellow-creatures only. Considered in 
 his relation to the Supreme Being, man, when he 
 has done his best, is an unprofitable servant. To 
 enter into some particulars on this subject. Life 
 is, by all men, accounted a great blessing ; for, in 
 the general intercourse of the world, few things 
 are more valued than that which supports it. 
 Now life is a blessing, which the Deity confers on 
 his creatures gratuitously : we cannot say that our 
 virtue gives us a title to it, or is an adequate re- 
 turn for it. Our reason, conscience, susceptibility 
 of happiness, and capacity for virtue, are all the
 
 CHAP. I. MORAL SCIENCE. 34? 
 
 free gift of God : and who can imagine that there 
 is merit in having received what has been given 
 us ? If we abuse his benefits, we deserve punish- 
 ment ; if we make a right use of them (which no 
 man of sense will say that he does), we do nothing- 
 more than what is incumbent on us in consequence 
 of our having received them, and for which our 
 enjoyment of them is more than an adequate re- 
 compence. 
 
 495. Besides, virtue, even in this life, obtains 
 very considerable gratifications. It obtains peace 
 of mind, and an approving conscience ; blessings, 
 more precious than life. It generally obtains the 
 esteem of good men, and some degree of respect 
 even from the worthless : the advantages whereof 
 will be allowed to be great by those who consider, 
 that good reputation, which alone can procure us 
 the esteem of others, is, by every generous mind, 
 accounted invaluable. Now, let it not be forgot- 
 ten, that this peace of mind, esteem of good men, 
 and respect from all men, are the result of laws 
 established by our beneficent creator, for the com- 
 fort of the virtuous in this world of trial. These 
 are high privileges : for what other terrestrial con- 
 solations would a wise man exchange them ? 
 
 496. It is to be observed further, that all human 
 yirtue is very imperfect ; and that the best man on 
 earth can scarce be said to pass a day, without 
 violating the divine law in thought, word, or deed. 
 There are hardly any human actions, how virtuous
 
 S48 ELEMENTS F PART III. 
 
 soever they may seem, and how meritorious soever 
 with respect to our fellow-creatures they may be, 
 of which the agent, if a man of sense, will not 
 readily acknowledge, that they must, in the sight 
 of the creator, appear tainted with imperfection ; 
 and that we have always reason to pray, with hu- 
 mility and contrition, that God would pardon what 
 is wrong, or wanting, even in our best perform- 
 ances. We all know, that criminal habits pervert 
 the understanding, and debase the moral faculty j 
 and that we have contracted many evil habits, 
 which, with proper attention, we might have avoid- 
 ed, and are, of course, accountable for those 
 debasements and perversities which are owing to 
 our inattention, and for all the errors and follies 
 thence resulting. 
 
 497. Now, since all human excellence is so 
 defective; since even the best men are so great 
 offenders; and since the advantages that virtue 
 may enjoy, even in this life, are so important ; 
 what man is there who can say, that his virtue in- 
 tilles him to receive any other rewards from that 
 God whom he is continually offending ; to whose 
 goodness he is every moment under unspeakable 
 obligations ; and, compared with whose consum- 
 mate purity, all human attainments are in the pro- 
 portion of weakness to omnipotence, of finite to 
 infinite, of time to eternity ! From the placability 
 of our judge, who knows our frailty, reason, un- 
 enlightened by revelation, might, perhaps, encou-
 
 CHAP. I. MORAL SCIENCE. 340 
 
 rage the penitent to hope for pardon; but, to 
 pardon a criminal, and to receive him into favour, 
 are different things : and what proportion is there 
 between human virtue, debased as it is with vice 
 and with error, and a state of never-ending feli- 
 city in the life to come? Can we merit such a 
 reward ? we, whose goodness, if we have any, 
 is, even in this world, rewarded beyond what it 
 deserves ! 
 
 498. These speculations might lead into a laby- 
 rinth of perplexity, if it were not for what revela- 
 tion declares concerning the divine government. 
 It declares, that man may expect, on the perform- 
 ance of certain conditions, not only pardon, but 
 everlasting happiness ; not on account of his own 
 merit, which in the sight of God is nothing, but 
 on account of the infinite merits of the Redeemer ; 
 who, descending from the height of glory, vo- 
 luntarily underwent the punishment due to sin, 
 and thus obtained those high privileges for as 
 many as should comply with the terms announced 
 by him to mankind. So much for the supremacy, 
 and general nature, of the faculty of conscience. 
 
 499. It was hinted, and partly proved, that 
 man's chief happiness results from virtue. A 
 more explicit proof of this point may now be 
 proper, and is as follows. If we could at once 
 gratify all the propensities of our nature, that 
 would be our highest possible happiness, and what 
 we might cajl our summum honum, or chief good.
 
 350 ELEMENTS OF TART HI, 
 
 But that cannot be ; for our propensities are often 
 inconsistent, so that if we comply with one, we 
 must contradict another. He who is enslaved to 
 sensuality, cannot at the same time enjoy the more 
 sublime pleasures of science and virtue : and he 
 who devotes himself to science, or adheres to vir- 
 tue, must often act in opposition to his inferior 
 appetites. The ambitious man cannot labour for 
 the acquisition of power, and taste the sweets of 
 indolence at the same time : and the miser, while 
 he indulges himself in the contemplation of his 
 wealth, must be a stranger to the pleasures of be- 
 neficence. The gratification of all our appetites 
 at once, is therefore impossible. Consequently, 
 some degree of self-denial must be practised by 
 every man, whether good or bad, by the ruffian 
 as well as the saint, the sensualist as well as the 
 hermit : and man's greatest possible happiness 
 must be, at least in the present state, not a com- 
 plete gratification of all our propensities, but the 
 most comprehensive gratification of which we are 
 capable. Now some pleasures conduce more to 
 happiness than others, and are therefore more im- 
 portant than those others. And if we sacrifice a 
 less important to a more important one, we add 
 to our sum of happiness ; and we take away from 
 that sum, when we sacrifice a more important plea- 
 sure to one of less importance. 
 
 500. In forming a judgment of the compara- 
 tive importance of gratifications, the following
 
 CHAP. I. MOAAL SCIENCE. S3 1 
 
 maxims may be safely admitted. First, some are 
 of greater dignity than others, because more suit- 
 able to our rational nature, and tending more to 
 improve it : the pleasures of the glutton, or the 
 miser, are surely of less dignity than those which 
 we derive from the discovery of truth, from the 
 study of nature, or from the performance of a 
 generous action. Pleasures, therefore, which have 
 more dignity, are preferable to such as have less. 
 And it will be readily allowed, in the second place, 
 that a more intense pleasure is more valuable than 
 one that is less- intense j and that such as are not 
 attended with pain are better than those that bring 
 pain along with them. Thirdly, considering the 
 manifold evils of life, it will hardly be doubted, 
 that pleasures which alleviate distress are prefer- 
 able to those that do not ; and that those which 
 give a relish to other pleasures are better than 
 such as make others insipid. Fourthly, durable 
 gratifications are preferable to such as are transi- 
 ent; and those that do not please on reflection, 
 are of less value than those that do. Fifthly, 
 some grow more insipid the more we are used 
 to them, others continually improve upon repeti- 
 tion ; the last are undoubtedly preferable. And, 
 lastly, those which may be had at all times, and 
 in all places, must contribute more to happiness, 
 than such as depend on circumstances, and are not 
 in our own power. 
 
 501. If we be satisfied of the truth of these re-
 
 <552 ELEMENTS OF PART III. 
 
 marks on the comparative value of human gratifi- 
 cations, and we can hardly call them in question, 
 if we allow experience to be a rational ground of 
 knowledge, we must also be satisfied, that of man's 
 chief good, or greatest possible happiness, the fol- 
 lowing is a just character. It must be something 
 that gratifies the more dignified powers of his na- 
 ture; yields intense pleasure, unmixed, and un- 
 accompanied, with pain ; alleviates the calamities 
 of life ; is consistent with, and gives a relish to, 
 other pleasures ; is in itself durable, and pleases 
 on reflection ; does not pall upon the sense, but 
 grows more exquisite the more we are accustomed 
 to it ; is attainable by every man, because depen- 
 dent on himself, and not on outward circumstan- 
 ces ; and is accommodated to all times and places. 
 Now, every gratification, whereof human nature 
 is capable, may be comprehended under one or 
 other of these three classes : the pleasures of out- 
 ward sense ; the pleasures of imagination and in- 
 tellect, that is of taste and science ; and the plea- 
 sures that result from the right exercise of our 
 moral powers. Let us see then in which of these 
 classes we are likely to find our chief good, or 
 greatest felicity. 
 
 502. First, That the pleasures of sense contri- 
 bute not a little to our comfort, and that some of 
 them are not momentary, is acknowledged. But 
 they are confessedly, at least in the opinion of all 
 the enlightened part of mankind, the lowest grati-
 
 CHAP. I. MORAL SCIENCE. 353 
 
 fications of our nature ; for no man ever yet be- 
 came respectable by attaching himself to them. 
 They often bring disgust and even pain along with 
 them ; they please not upon reflection ; and they 
 tend to disqualify us for the nobler delights of 
 science and virtue. They depend not on ourselves, 
 but on other things and persons ; they are attain- 
 able in certain circumstances only ; and we lose 
 all taste for them in adversity. To them therefore 
 the character of man's chief good is not applicable. 
 
 503. Secondly, The pleasures of imagination 
 and science have great dignity ; the pursuit of 
 them is honourable, though it may run to excess j 
 and they are consistent both with moral and with 
 sensual gratification, and in an eminent degree 
 friendly to the former. They are not momentary ; 
 they please upon reflection ; and they grow more 
 exquisite by being frequent. But they do not 
 alleviate the calamities of life : and so far are they 
 from being accommodated to all times and places, 
 that by all the uninstructed, that is, by the great- 
 er part of the human race, they are absolutely 
 unattainable. Consequently, the character of 
 man's chief good does not belong to them. 
 
 504. Thirdly, The delights that arise from the 
 right exercise of our moral powers, and from the 
 approbation of conscience, are of all gratifications 
 the most dignified : the more a man attaches him- 
 self to them, the more respectable he becomes, 
 and it is not possible for him to carry such attach- 
 
 vol. i. Z
 
 354 ELEMENTS OF PART III. 
 
 ment to excess : with disgust, or with pain, they 
 are never attended : they give a relish for other 
 pleasures, by preserving the mind cheerful, and 
 the body in health : they are not inconsistent with 
 any innocent gratification, that is, they are con- 
 sistent with all pleasures except those which bring 
 pain and misery : they please intensely on reflec- 
 tion ; are a perpetual source of comfort in adver- 
 sity ; become more exquisite the more we are ac- 
 customed to them ; are within the reach of every 
 man, high and low, learned and ignorant; are 
 suited to all times and places : and, so long as we 
 retain our rationality, it is not in the power of 
 malice or of fortune to deprive us of them. To 
 virtue, therefore, which is the right exercise of 
 our moral powers, the character of man's chief 
 good does belong ; which will appear still more 
 evident when we consider, that the hope of future 
 felicity is the chief consolation of the present life, 
 and that the virtuous alone can reasonably enter- 
 tain that hope. As, on the other hand, vice, in 
 the most prosperous condition, is subject to the 
 pangs of a guilty conscience, and to the dreadful 
 anticipation of future punishment ; which are suffi- 
 cient to destroy all earthly happiness. 
 
 505. I am far from adopting, in its literal sense, 
 that maxim of the poet, ' Virtue alone is happi- 
 ' ness below.' For though I say, with the Peripa- 
 tetics, that virtue is the chief good, I do not say, 
 with the Stoics, that it is the only good. That a
 
 CHAP. I. MORAI? SCIENCE. 355 
 
 virtuous man in health and prosperity may be hap- 
 pier than a man of equal virtue beset with adver- 
 sity and disease, I see no reason to doubt ; and if 
 so, health and prosperity are good, and disease 
 and adversity evil. Besides, if destitute of the 
 hope of immortality, the mind of a good man 
 (especially if he were a man of sensibility and pe- 
 netration) would not be happy in this world, but 
 would, on the contrary, be a prey to perplexity 
 and anguish. Such a man would be perpetually 
 shocked with the confusion which would then ap- 
 pear in the universe, and of which he could fore- 
 see no end. The world to him would seem to be 
 governed by a being, whose power was indeed 
 great, but whose justice and goodness were not 
 equally conspicuous. It is the belief of a future 
 state of retribution that satisfies the rational mind 
 of the infinite rectitude of the Divine government ; 
 and it is this persuasion only, that can make the 
 virtuous happy in the present life. And as we 
 could not, without revelation, entertain a well- 
 grounded hope of future reward, it is only the vir- 
 tue of the true Christain that can obtain the happi- 
 ness we now speak of. 
 
 506. Virtue being the chief good of individuals, 
 it is hardly necessary to add, that it must be the 
 chief good of society. For of individuals society 
 is made up, and that is the happiest society in 
 which there is most private happiness. We can- 
 not conceive a community, or a nation, to be pro- 
 
 Z 2
 
 356 ELEMENTS OF PART III. 
 
 sperous, if the people who compose it are miser- 
 able. Kingdoms in every age have been flourish- 
 ing and happy no longer than they maintained 
 their virtue. 
 
 507. And now it appears, that virtue is found- 
 ed in our constitution, and agreeable to our whole 
 nature, of which indeed it is the perfection ; that 
 it must therefore be conformable to the will of him 
 who is the author of our nature ; and that it is the 
 only means of making mankind truly happy. Vice, 
 consequently, is contrary to our whole nature, and 
 tends to debase and destroy ; it is contrary to the 
 will of God, and contrary to our own interest. 
 I conclude the chapter with the following descrip- 
 tion, every part of which will be found to have 
 been enforced and illustrated by the foregoing rea- 
 sonings. ' Moral virtue is a disposition of the 
 
 * mind, voluntary and active, agreeable in itself, 
 ' and praiseworthy, incumbent on all men, and 
 
 * tending to improve our whole nature, and pro- 
 
 * mote our happiness both here and hereafter.' So 
 much for the general nature of virtue. I shall 
 proceed to the practical part of Ethics, when I 
 have made a few miscellaneous observations.
 
 CHAP. II. MORAL SCIENCE. 357 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE SUBJECT CONTINUED. MISCELLANEOUS 
 OBSERVATIONS. 
 
 508. The word Virtue ; like many other ab- 
 stract terms, has great latitude of signification. 
 Often it denotes power or agency ; as when we 
 speak of the virtues of a plant or mineral. Some- 
 times it means that which makes a thing good or 
 agreeable: thus perspicuity, simplicity, correct- 
 ness, and harmony, have been called the virtues 
 of a good style. The Romans by the word virtus 
 frequently signified valour and public spirit, be- 
 cause they held these qualities in peculiar esteem. 
 The same term is used to signify any quality, or 
 perfection of qualities, which fits a thing for an- 
 swering its end ; and, in this sense, has been ap- 
 plied not only to the moral, but also to the intel- 
 lectual, and even to the corporeal part of our con- 
 stitution. Hence human virtues have been dis- 
 tinguished into Corporeal, as health, strength, 
 swiftness, &c. Intellectual, as genius, learning, 
 wit, humour, eloquence, &e. and, Moral, as 
 temperance, justice, benevolence, piety, &c. 
 
 509. Every rational being must see, that these 
 last are quite different from corporeal and intellec- 
 
 Z 3
 
 358 ELEMENTS OF PART III. 
 
 tual abilities, and that the preceding reasonings 
 and description are applicable to moral virtue alone. 
 This is valuable for its own sake, and always tends 
 to happiness ; and every man may be, and ought 
 to Jbe, possessed of it. But intellectual and cor- 
 poreal accomplishments, though they give plea- 
 sure, and may even raise admiration, are not valu- 
 able on their own account ; nor valuable at all, 
 unless they promote moral goodness. They are 
 not the objects of choice, and therefore cannot be 
 said to be incumbent on mankind. They may be 
 employed in doing evil ; in which case they make 
 a man more odious than he would have been with- 
 out them. For what should we think of him, 
 who would employ his learning or eloquence in 
 perverting the principles of others, or his bodily 
 strength in destroying their lives. 
 
 510. It is true, we ought to do every thing in 
 our power for the improvement of our nature in 
 all its parts. But this is moral virtue, or is not 
 moral virtue, according to the intention with 
 which it is done. If we endeavour to improve 
 ourselves, because we consider it as our duty, and 
 that we may have it in our power to be useful, we 
 act virtuously ; if we do the same thing, in order 
 to qualify ourselves for doing harm to others, we 
 act viciously. Besides, to have naturally a weak 
 judgment, a bad memory, a narrow capacity, or 
 a sickly constitution, makes one the object not of 
 blame, but of pity; for these things are not in our
 
 CHAP. II. MORAL JSCIENCE. 359 
 
 power, and every man would be without them if 
 he could : but to want honesty, benevolence, jus- 
 tice, or piety, is always criminal, and deserves 
 blame and punishment. 
 
 511. Aristotle and the Peripatetics, following 
 perhaps the notions of Pythagoras, who wished to 
 reduce every thing to number and proportion, gave 
 it as a general character of virtue, that it consists 
 in mediocrity, /uktotyi?, or a middle between two ex- 
 tremes j one of which is criminal from excess, and 
 the other from deficiency. This doctrine may be 
 of use in the conduct of life, and will be found to 
 hold true in many respects. It seems to be war- 
 ranted by common opinion : ' the middle way is 
 best,' is a proverb with us, as medio tutissimus 
 ibis was with the Romans. But it does not hold 
 universally, as Aristotle himself acknowledges. 
 Love to God, and good will to man, cannot be- 
 come vicious through excess ; because they never 
 can be excessive. The same author held, as was 
 formerly observed, ( 263) that virtue consists, 
 not in transient acts, but in settled habits or dispo- 
 sitions; whence the word *'-, or habit, occurs 
 in many of his definitions of the virtues. Some 
 idea of his method of arranging this subject may 
 be formed from the following brief remarks. 
 
 512. He considered all virtue as resolvable into 
 the four cardinal virtues of Prudence, Justice, 
 Temperance, and Fortitude. Prudence is a habit 
 of mediocrity, enabling us to act reasonably in re-
 
 360 ELEMENTS OF PART III. 
 
 gard to those things that are good or evil ; and it 
 includes these three particulars. First, a habit of 
 acting at all times with consideration ; the vicious 
 defect is rashness ; the blameable excess is that 
 mean-spirited caution, which keeps a man inactive 
 and irresolute. Secondly, prudence includes a 
 habit of judging rightly of the true nature of those 
 good or evil things that may prompt us to action : 
 the defect is folly : for the excess we have no name. 
 But folly, when unavoidable, as it sometimes may 
 be even in the wisest men, cannot be accounted 
 blameable, though we must allow it to be an im- 
 perfection. Nor can a habit of right judgment be 
 carried to excess. Nay, right judgment, so far as 
 it depends not on ourselves, but is the gift of na- 
 ture, cannot be called a moral virtue. And Ari- 
 stotle himself names it among the intellectual vir- 
 tues. 
 
 513. Prudence includes, thirdly, a habit of dis- 
 covering the proper means for attaining good ends. 
 Gunning is said to be the excess, and imprudence 
 the defect. But imprudence, if owing to a weak 
 judgment, is no vice at all ; for we cannot help it : 
 cunning, as it seeks to gain its ends by secret and 
 unfair means, is rather an abuse, than an excess 
 of prudence j and a habit of discovering the best 
 means for accomplishing good purposes can never 
 be carried to excess. Here observe, that, though 
 the Peripatetics and Stoics treated, in their sys- 
 tems of duty, of intellectual as well as moral vir-
 
 CHAP. II. MORAL SCIENCE. 36l 
 
 tues; because they considered both as necessary 
 to form a perfect character, and thought it their 
 duty to improve their whole nature, so as to make 
 themselves useful and agreeable ; yet they never 
 thought of confounding, as a late writer endea- 
 voured to do, moral virtues with intellectual. The 
 distinction is expressed in the clearest terms, by 
 Aristotle in the beginning of his Ethics, and by 
 Cicero in his fifth book de Jinibus bonorum et ma- 
 lorum, 
 
 514. Justice is said to consist in the middle be- 
 tween doing and suffering injury ; as in the case 
 of a man selling a piece of goods for as much as it 
 is worth, and no more j for, were he to take less, 
 he would injure himself, and, were he to take 
 more, he would injure the buyer. But to suffer 
 injury by another's injustice is no fault, but a mis- 
 fortune ; and therefore, except in some particular 
 cases, justice is not the medium between two cri- 
 minal extremes. Justice is twofold, namely, ge- 
 neral or strict justice, which consists in observing 
 the laws, and the aim of which is public good ; 
 and particular justice or equity, which aims at the 
 good of individuals, and is then observed, when 
 one obtains no more good, and suffers no more 
 evil, than is agreeable to humanity and common 
 sense. Justice is also divided into distributive and 
 commutative : the former respects reward and 
 punishment ; the latter regulates the ordinary deal- 
 ings of men with one another. '
 
 3()2 ELEMENTS OP PART III. 
 
 515. Justice implies many virtues. It implies 
 liberality, or> mediocrity with respect to the use of 
 wealth ; the defect is avarice, the excess prodigali- 
 ty. It implies veracity, or adherence to truth ; 
 the one extreme is said to be dissimulation, when 
 one conceals what is true ; the other simulation, 
 when one pretends what is false. But these two 
 opposite extremes are not criminal in the same de- 
 gree, at least in many cases. To conceal what we 
 know to be true may sometimes be innocent, and 
 sometimes even laudable ; as in the case of our be- 
 ing bound by oath or promise to do so. Nor is 
 simulation always criminal ; to compose a sick per- 
 son's mind, or pacify a madman, one may with^ 
 out blame say what one does not think. Justice 
 further implies fidelity to promises, and to the 
 trust reposed in us : the defect is unfaithfulness : 
 the excess has no name, nor needs any ; for one 
 cannot be too faithful. Justice implies also such 
 a regard to the rights of our fellow-creatures as 
 prevents our doing them wrong. The defect is 
 injury ; the excess needs not a name, because it 
 never happens. 
 
 5l(). Fortitude is a habit of mediocrity relating to 
 fear and confidence. Its object is evil. It consists 
 in being not insensible to evil, but superior to it. 
 Now there are evils which we ought to fear and 
 guard against ; namely, the evil of vice, and such 
 Other evils as it is in our power to prevent. Ari- 
 stotle therefore rightly determines, that evils which
 
 CHAP. II. MORAL SCIENCE. 363 
 
 depend on ourselves are not the objects of this vir- 
 tue. Fortitude requires, that we should noC.be 
 afraid without reason : the excess is fool-hardiness ; 
 the defect is called panic ; unreasonable and un- 
 accountable fear being by some of the ancients as- 
 cribed to the influence of the god Pan. Fortitude, 
 when its object is real danger, may be called in- 
 trepidity : the excess is also termed fool-hardiness, 
 the defect is cowardice. When its object is pain, 
 fortitude is called patience ; the extremes are said 
 to be impatience on the one hand^and insensibility 
 on the other. But insensibility to pain is no vice 
 at all ; and therefore patience, though a virtue, is 
 not the middle between two extremes. Fortitude 
 in regard to labour is activity ; the excess restless- 
 ness, the defect laziness. Fortitude, when injury 
 is its object, is forbearance ; the one extreme is 
 implacability, an odious and inhuman vice ; the 
 other may be called stupidity, which, though an 
 imperfection, is not criminal, because it depends 
 on constitution, and not on free-will. See more 
 on this subject 339, &c. 
 
 517. Temperance is a habit of mediocrity re- 
 specting those appetites which man has in common 
 with the brutes ; as eating, drinking, sleep, &c. 
 and consists in having moderate desires, and being 
 satisfied with moderate gratifications. The defect 
 is intemperance ; which those men are guilty of, 
 who are either immoderate in the use of sensual 
 pleasure, or uneasy in the want of it. Excessive
 
 364 ELEMENTS OF PART III. 
 
 temperance cannot be reckoned a fault, unless 
 when it goes so far as to injure health, and when 
 a man means to injure his health by it : a circum- 
 stance, which may have happened, but is not like- 
 ly to be frequent. 
 
 518. The Stoics divided moral philosophy in- 
 to two parts, the speculative and the practical. In 
 the former they inquired into the general nature of 
 good and evil : in the latter, they explained the 
 several duties incumbent on mankind in the various 
 conditions of life. The former is illustrated by 
 Cicero in his five books de Jinibus bonorum et 
 malorum, concerning the boundaries of good and 
 evil ; the latter in his three books of moral duties, 
 de qfficiis. In this last treatise he examines the five 
 following questions ; the first and second in the 
 first book, the third and fourth in the second 
 book, and the fifth in the third book : First, what 
 is virtue, honestum ? Secondly, of two given vir- 
 tues which is the greater, or more important ? 
 Thirdly, what is utility ? Fourthly, of two given 
 utilities which is the greater ? Fifthly, can virtue 
 and utility ever be inconsistent ? in other words, 
 can it ever be a man's interest to violate or neglect 
 his duty ? This last question, though he does not 
 discuss it with so much precision as could be wish- 
 ed, he very properly determines in the negative. 
 
 519. Virtue, honestum, belongs, not to things 
 inanimate, or to brutes, but to man. It must 
 therefore be founded in those parts of the human
 
 CHAP. II. MORAL SCIENCE. 365 
 
 constitution which are peculiar to man, and dis- 
 tinguish him from inferior beings. Accordingly, 
 Cicero, having finished his introduction, begins 
 his inquiry into the nature of virtue, by drawing a 
 comparison between man and irrational animals. 
 He observes, that all animals have some qualities 
 in common, as a desire of self-preservation, of 
 avoiding pain, of gratifying hunger and thirst and 
 other natural appetites, and a certain degree of at- 
 tachment to their young. But man, he says, dif- 
 fers from other animals in these four respects. 
 
 520. First, man is rational, desirous and cap- 
 able of knowledge, and a lover of truth ; whence 
 arises, according to our author, the virtue of pru- 
 dence. Secondly, man is a social and political 
 being ; who wishes, not only to live in society, and 
 convey his thoughts to others by means of speech, 
 but also, that the society in which he lives should 
 be moulded into a certain form, and governed by 
 political institutions or laws. Hence arises social 
 virtue, which is the second of the great virtues, 
 and which the author subdivides into justice and 
 beneficence. Thirdly, man loves liberty, and na- 
 turally aspires after excellence and pre-eminence ; 
 yet is conscious of legal authority, and willing to 
 submit to it : on this peculiarity in man's nature 
 Cicero founds the third great virtue of magnani- 
 mity or fortitude. Lastly, man has a sense, which 
 brutes have not, of elegance, order, and proprie- 
 ty, not only in things external and visible, but
 
 366 ELEMENTS OF PART III. 
 
 also in the thoughts and emotions of the mind. 
 And hence, we are told, arises temperance or 
 modesty, the fourth of the great virtues. Into 
 these four, prudence, social virtue, fortitude, and 
 temperance, the whole of human virtue, may be 
 resolved ; according to the doctrine of the Stoics, 
 as explained by Cicero in his books de qfficiis. 
 
 521. It may be proper, before we proceed to 
 Practical Ethics, to offer a few brief observations 
 on some points relating to the moral faculty, which 
 have been made matter of controversy among phi- 
 losophers. Some have maintained, that moral ap- 
 probation is an agreeable feeling, and nothing 
 more ; and that moral disapprobation is merely a 
 disagreeable feeling. The truth is, that moral ap- 
 probation is both an agreeable feeling, and also a 
 determination of judgment or reason; the former 
 following the latter, as an effect follows the cause. 
 For the conduct of others, or of ourselves, would 
 not give us an agreeable feeling, if we did not first 
 judge it to be right ; nor any painful feeling, if we 
 did not first judge it to be wrong. Feelings and 
 determinations of judgment frequently accompany 
 each other : and sometimes, as in the case just 
 now mentioned, the judgment precedes the feel- 
 ing, and gives rise to it ; and sometimes the feel- 
 ing precedes and gives rise to the judgment ; as in 
 the case of our judging, that external things, be- 
 cause they affect our senses in a certain way, (that 
 is, raise in us certain feelings), do really exist, and
 
 CHAP. II. MORAL SCIENCE. 367 
 
 are what they appear to be. In popular language 
 feelings and judgments are too often confounded ; 
 but they are not the same. Feelings distinguish 
 what is animated from what is inanimate ; judg- 
 ments, what is rational from what is irrational. 
 In other words, all animals feel, rational beings 
 alone can judge. Previously to their acquiring the 
 use of reason, human creatures are not considered, 
 by either the moralist or the lawgiver, as moral 
 beings : which would hardly be the case, if moral 
 approbation and disapprobation were understood 
 to be feelings merely, and not also exertions of 
 rationality. 
 
 522. Sensations and sentiments should also be 
 distinguished, though they too have been confound- 
 ed by some modern writers. Opinion, notion, judg- 
 ment, is the true English meaning of sentiment, 
 which of course implies the use of reason. Of 
 moral sentiment, therefore, we may speak with 
 strict propriety ; but moral sensation is not proper 
 English : and yet, if the suggestions of the moral 
 faculty were understood to be mere feelings, it 
 would seem captious to object to it. In French 
 the word sentiment has greater latitude of significa- 
 tion than in English ; and this may have led some 
 of our writers into a licentious use of that term. 
 It may be added, that the same word has been, 
 and often is, used in another peculiar sense, to de- 
 note an opinion or thought which greatly affects or
 
 368 ELEMENTS OF PART III. 
 
 interests us. This, too, is an innovation in our 
 language, and seems to have given rise to various 
 modes of expression, which, though we frequent- 
 ly see and hear them, it is not easy to explain. 
 We have heard, not only of men and women of 
 sentiment, (where perhaps the word may mean taste 
 or delicacy), and of sentimental men and women, 
 (which I know not whether I understand) ; but al- 
 so of sentimental tales ; and, what is yet more ex- 
 traordinary, of sentimental journeys ; which I think 
 should be advertised in the same paragraph with 
 philosophical razors, 
 
 523. Conscience, like every other human fa- 
 culty, and suitably to the whole analogy of animal 
 and even of vegetable nature, arrives at maturity 
 by degrees, and may be either improved by culti- 
 vation, or perverted by mismanagement. In our 
 early years, it is improved by moral precept and 
 good example ; and, as we advance in life, by 
 habits of consideration, and a strict adherence to 
 truth and our duty. By different treatment ; by 
 want of instruction, bad example, inconsiderate 
 behaviour, neglect of duty, and disregard to truth, 
 it may be perverted, and almost destroyed. From 
 this, however, we are not warranted to infer, as 
 some have done, that it is not a natural faculty, 
 but an artificial way of thinking superinduced by 
 education ; nor suppose, that opposite habits, and 
 opposite modes of teaching, would have made us 
 disapprove virtue and approve vice, with the same 
 
 5
 
 CHAP. II. MORAL SCIENCE. 369 
 
 energy of thought, wherewith we now disapprove 
 vice, and approve virtue. 
 
 524. For, let it be observed, that even our 
 outward senses may be made better or worse, by 
 good or bad management. Excessive light, or 
 too long continuance in darkness, may hurt our 
 eyes irrecoverably ; and, from a companion who 
 squints, it is neither difficult nor uncommon to 
 learn a habit of squinting : fever may destroy taste 
 and smell : even touch, or any other faculty, may 
 be depraved by those disorders which we call 
 nervous; and which, by injudicious conduct, in 
 regard to food, study, or exercise, any man may 
 bring upon himself. Those powers also, which I 
 took the liberty to call (perhaps not very pro- 
 perly) secondary senses (see ^ 162), may, in like 
 manner, be either debased ; a musical ear, for 
 example, by continually hearing barbarous music ; 
 and a taste for elegance and sublimity, by long ac- 
 quaintance with vulgar manners, vulgar language, 
 and bad company : or improved ; the former, by 
 hearing and studying good music ; and the latter, 
 by reading such books, and keeping such com- 
 pany, as may make good manners, good language, 
 and elegant writing, familiar to us. Yet it cannot 
 be denied, that the external senses are original fa- 
 culties of our nature : it cannot be deiued, that 
 there is in man, if in any degree enlightened, a 
 capacity of distinguishing between beauty and de- 
 formity, meanness and dignity, grossness and <}e- 
 vol. i. \ a
 
 370 ELEMENTS OF PART III. 
 
 licacy, dissonance and harmony : nor can it be 
 denied, that these distinctions have as real a 
 foundation in nature, as any other that can be 
 mentioned. 
 
 525. Even reason itself (which, if we have any 
 original faculties, is surely one of them), is subject 
 to the same law of habit, as the means of im- 
 provement or of debasement. How different is this 
 faculty in its cultivated state, as it appeared in 
 Newton, Clarke, Butler, (for example), or as it 
 appears in any man of learning and good sense, 
 from the unimproved understanding of a peasant, 
 who can hardly follow the shortest train of reason- 
 ing ; or from the still ruder intellect of a savage, 
 who has never been accustomed to argumentation 
 at all ! What care is taken, by judicious parents 
 and teachers, to improve both the moral and the 
 intellectual powers of children ! Yet it will not 
 be said, that reason is merely an artificial thing, a 
 way of thinking superinduced by education ; or 
 that human beings could, by the most artful ma- 
 nagement, be taught to mistake the plainest truth 
 for falsehood, or the most glaring falsehood for 
 truth. Ignorant people believe many things which 
 are not true ; and may, no doubt, by those who 
 can infuse prejudice, or work upon the passions, 
 be prevailed on to acquiesce in very gross absurdi- 
 ties : reason, in short, as well as sense and con- 
 science, may be artificially, or may be accidentally, 
 perverted to a certain degree ; and, in some minds,
 
 CHAP. II. MORAL SCIENCE. 371 
 
 even to a great degree. But a total perversion of 
 these faculties, needs not be apprehended. The 
 most ignorant man will never, if he is not an 
 idiot, be induced to reject the evidence of sense, 
 to disbelieve the existence of the material world, 
 to think all human actions equally right or equally 
 wrong ; or, in general, to doubt the truth of what 
 is self-evident, or of what, by a few words of ar- 
 gument suited to his capacity, has been in his hear- 
 ing demonstrated to be true. 
 
 5H6. To prove that moral sentiments are merely 
 the effect of education, some authors have taken 
 pains to collect, from the history of both civilized 
 and savage men, a detail of singular customs and 
 institutions, which are accounted lawful in some 
 countries, and criminal in others. Something of 
 this kind was attempted by Locke, in the firsjt 
 book of his Essay on human understanding. His 
 examples, however, though they were all unex- 
 ceptionable, could prove nothing more, than that 
 conscience is liable to be, in some degree, influ- 
 enced by habit ; which nobody denies : but would 
 be far from proving, that it is wholly subject to 
 that influence. But of those examples it might 
 easily be shewn, that some are so bare of circum- 
 stances, that they prove nothing ; that some are 
 quoted from writers of doubtful authority ; and 
 that some, when fairly stated, will be found to 
 prove just the contrary of what they are brought 
 to prove. Till the motives whence men act be 
 
 Aa2
 
 372 ELEMENTS OF UART IH r 
 
 known, one cannot, with certainty, determine 
 whether they be actuated by a good or a bad prin- 
 ciple : and to detect the motives of those savage 
 men, of whose customs and language little or no- 
 thing is known except to themselves,, would, in 
 most cases, be difficult, in many, impossible ; and 
 require a degree of sagacity which fe\v travellers 
 possess, or are solicitous to attain. 
 
 527. Besides, it is a true as well as an old ob- 
 servation, that most travellers are fond of the 
 marvellous ; few of them having that candour, 
 humanity, and philosophical acuteness, which so 
 eminently distinguished that ornament of his coun- 
 try and profession, the incomparable James Cook. 
 And I fear it is no less true, that, in an age so ad- 
 dicted to paradox as the present, too many of the 
 readers of travels may be well enough pleased to 
 see the licentious theories of modern Europe, 
 countenanced by reports from the extremities ot 
 Asia. We should, therefore, as long at least as 
 this mode of thinking remains in fashion, be cau- 
 tious of admitting with implicit faith the first ac- 
 counts, that may be circulated among us, of the 
 immoralities said to prevail in remote nations. 
 Some particulars of this sort, which appeared in a 
 late collection of late voyages, have already, if I 
 am not misinformed, been declared on good au- 
 thority to be unwarrantably exaggerated : but, 
 even supposing the worst accounts to be true, we 
 shall not find that they prove virtue an indeter-
 
 HAP. II. MORAL SCIENCE. 3l"3 
 
 minate thing ; or the moral faculty a bias, either 
 artificially or accidentally, impressed upon the 
 mind by education and habit. 
 
 528. We may with good reason suppose, that 
 In savage life moral notions must be few, the 
 sphere of human action and human intellect being 
 there extremely limited. In childhood we see the 
 same thing happen among ourselves, even where 
 the mind has been, in some degree, expanded by 
 education. But if savages have any moral notions 
 at all, they are not destitute of a moral faculty. 
 And if there be friendship among them, or natural 
 affection, or compassion towards one another, there 
 must also be mutual confidence, gratitude, good- 
 will, and some regard to equity ; virtues which 
 cannot be where moral principle is not. Nor can 
 any thing favourable to the opposite side of the 
 question be inferred from their untowardly treat- 
 ment of strangers, even of such as visit them with 
 benevolent purposes ; for it is very natural for 
 them to mistake strangers for enemies ; and it is 
 melancholy to consider how often they have found 
 them so. And if they be, as probably they all 
 are, enslaved more or less to superstition, the im- 
 moralities and other absurdities thence resulting, 
 need not raise wonder ; for superstition ever was, 
 and ever will be, productive of absurd and im- 
 moral behaviour. 
 
 529. Against the doctrine here maintained, of 
 conscience being, as well as reason, a natural fu- 
 
 AaS
 
 374 ELEMENTS OF PART III. 
 
 culty implanted in man by his creator, it is no 
 argument, that, where the objects of duty are un- 
 known, or where mistakes are entertained con- 
 cerning their nature, man must be liable to misap- 
 prehend his duty with respect to those objects. 
 The objects of duty are, the Deity, our fellow- 
 creatures, and ourselves. Give a rational being 
 right notions of these, and his moral faculty will 
 not permit him to be ignorant of the duty he owes 
 them. Convince him, for example, that God is 
 infinitely wise, powerful, good, and holy, the 
 source of happiness, and the standard of perfec- 
 tion ; and he cannot fail to know (whether his 
 practice be conformable or not) that it is his duty 
 to love, fear, and obey so great and glorious a 
 being. Teach him, on the contrary, that there 
 are many gods, some capricious and foolish, others 
 a little more intelligent, some as weak and wicked 
 as men, not one of them free from imperfection, 
 and not a few infamously profligate, and you will 
 make him have the same absurd notions which the 
 heathen vulgar formerly had, of the duties that 
 men owe to those gods. Is this occasioned by a 
 depravity of conscience, or by a total want of that 
 faculty ? Is it not owing to an understanding per- 
 verted by misrepresentation and ignorance ? 
 
 530. Consider the following case, which, if not 
 exactly, is nearly parallel. With the bodily eyes 
 we cannot perceive what is situated beyond our 
 sphere, of vision j and through an impure, or un-
 
 CHAP. II. MORAL SCIENCE. 375 
 
 equal medium, we must see things discoloured, or 
 distorted. This does not prove, either that we 
 have no eyes, or that they are fallacious : nor does 
 this prove, that it is education, or habit, which 
 teaches men to see rightly, or to see wrong. For, 
 without making any change on the visual organ, 
 without subduing any evil habit or prejudice of 
 education, and merely by purifying the medium, 
 and bringing the objects within our sphere of vi- 
 sion, we see them at once in their natural colours 
 and proportions. Similar mistakes, with respect 
 to social virtue and the duties of self-government, 
 may be either infused into the mind, by false in- 
 formation concerning the nature and end of man, 
 or removed and rectified, by counteracting false 
 information, and enforcing true. Now, of the 
 divine nature, of the end for which men are sent 
 into this world, of their relation to God and their 
 fellow-men, and of the dispensations of providence 
 with respect to their present and future state, the 
 heathen world were very imperfectly informed ; 
 much more imperfectly indeed, than many of them 
 might have been, if they had rightly improved the 
 rational and moral faculties that had been given 
 them. Need we wonder then at the imperfection 
 of the best systems of pagan morality ? Need we 
 wonder that pagan nations, according as they make 
 a better, or a worse use of their mental powers, 
 are some of them more, and others less, enlight- 
 ened with the know ledge of moral truth ?
 
 376 ELEMENTS OF PART III. 
 
 531. Nor is it any objection to the present doc- 
 trine, that all sorts of wickedness are perpetrated 
 in civilized nations. This is a proof, that there 
 the moral faculty has not so much power as it 
 ought to have ; but this does not prove, that there 
 the moral faculty does not exist, or is entirely 
 borne down by fashion and bad example. My 
 argument requires me to speak here, not of the 
 performance, but of the acknowledgment, of duty : 
 and no body needs be informed, that men well in- 
 strcted in all the duties of life, act, too often, con- 
 trary to the dictates of their conscience, and the 
 known will of God. Video meliora proboque, 
 deteriora sequor, is a confession which even the 
 best men have frequent occasion to repeat. But 
 while the faults of individuals are Condemned by 
 the general voice of a nation, or of the unpreju- 
 dised and considerate part of mankind, that ge- 
 neral voice is prompted by the suggestions of a 
 moral faculty, which, in spite of bad example, li- 
 centious opinion, and absurd education, has been 
 able to retain both its authority, and its power. 
 And the conscience of the criminal himself, how- 
 ever thoughtless or hardened he may be for a time, 
 seldom fails, sooner or later, to bear such testi- 
 mony against him, as he finds it misery to endure, 
 and an impossibility to evade. 
 
 532. Were it necessary to bring further evi- 
 dence, of conscience being not an artificial, but a 
 natural, way of thinking, and that moral sent!-
 
 CHAP. II. MORAL SCIENCE. 37T 
 
 ments are among men as prevalent and permanent 
 as rationality itself, I might remark that philo- 
 sophers (real philosophers I mean), however they 
 may have differed in their speculative notions con- 
 cerning the foundation of morality, have not often 
 disputed concerning the merit and demerit of par- 
 ticular virtues and vices ; that in writings com- 
 posed by the wisest men of remote antiquity, and 
 under the influence of governments and manners 
 very unlike ours, moral notions are exhibited and 
 exemplified, similar to, and in many particulars 
 the same with, our own ; that in ancient poems 
 and histories we seldom find those personages pro- 
 posed as patterns for imitation whom we disap- 
 prove, or those actions condemned which we con- 
 sider as meritorious j and, that, though it might 
 seem possible for ifs, after undergoing a certain 
 course of discipline, to choose modes of life ex- 
 tremely different from those in whkh we have 
 been educated, it seems not possible for us to re- 
 concile our minds to such characters as Nero, 
 Herod, Catiline, Muley Ishmael, &c. I may add, 
 that moral sentiments seem to be necessary to the 
 very existence of society j that no association of 
 human beings, in which, invariably, that should 
 be believed to be virtue which we account vice, 
 and that to be vice which we account virtue, could 
 subsist for a single day, if men were to do what 
 in that case they would think their duty ; and that, 
 by consequence, wherever human societies are es-
 
 S7S ELEMENTS OJ? TAUT UI^ 
 
 tablished, we may warrantably conclude that moral 
 distinctions are there acknowledged. I do not say, 
 that any particular moral principle is innate, or 
 that an infant brings it into the world with him : 
 this would be as absurd as to say, that an infant 
 brings the multiplication table into the world with 
 him. But I say, that the moral faculty which dic- 
 tates moral principles, and the intellectual faculty 
 which ascertains proportions of quantity and num- 
 ber, are original parts of man's nature ; which, 
 though they appear not at his birth, nor for some 
 time after, even as the ear of corn is not seen till 
 long after the blade has sprung up, fail not how- 
 ever, provided Gutward circumstances be favour- 
 able, to dislose themselves in due season.* 
 
 533. Much has been said, by writers on casu- 
 istry, concerning the merit or demerit of those 
 actions which proceed from an erroneous con- 
 science ; that is, which are authorized by a con- 
 science so perverted by education or habit, as in a 
 particular case to approve what is wrong, or dis- 
 
 * This, and the ten preceding paragraphs, contain the ge- 
 neral principles of a treatise on the Universality of moral Sen- 
 timent, written in I/67. Some of the reasons which then 
 hindered me from prosecuting the subject to its full extent, I 
 have given elsewhere. Others, that have prevented the prose- 
 cution of it since, might be mentioned. But the detail of these 
 it would be painful to write, and not pleasant to read : there- 
 fore I suppress them. See an Essay on truth, page 137 
 quarto edition : and see the preface to Dissertations moral and 
 critical, printed in London 1/83.
 
 *HAP. II. MORAL SCIENCE. 379 
 
 approve what is right. On this subject volumes 
 might be written, and a thousand difficulties sup- 
 posed, which, probably, will never take place in 
 fact : but the whole matter, as far as it may be 
 expressed in general terms, amounts to little more 
 than this. It is man's duty, not to debase his rea* 
 son by prejudice, nor his moral faculty by criminal 
 practice ; but to do every thing in his power to 
 improve his nature, and particularly to obtain, in 
 all matters that affect the conscience, the fullest 
 information. If the person who has done this 
 shall mistake his duty after all, the error is una- 
 voidable, and he is not to blame. But if he has 
 not taken due pains to obtain information, or to 
 improve his moral nature, he has no right, at least 
 in ordinary cases, to urge the plea of an erroneous 
 conscience. In fact, men seldom do so : which is 
 a proof that, when we do evil, our conscience 
 seldom fails to inform us, that it is evil which we 
 are doing. 
 
 534. It has been the opinion of some respectable 
 writers, that no action or affection is morally good, 
 unless it have a benevolent tendency. And it is 
 true, that every virtue tends to public as well as 
 private good ; and that whatever is done with a 
 view to promote happiness, without doing injury, 
 is well done, and a proof of goodness in the agent. 
 It is also true, that every act of virtue, even the 
 most secret that we can perform, tends eventually 
 to the good of others ; either by diffusing happi-
 
 586 ELEMENTS GF FART II*. 
 
 ness immediately, or by improving our nature, and 
 consequently making us more useful and more 
 agreeable members of the community. But there 
 are in the world many men, whose minds, from 
 natural weakness, or other unfavourable circum-* 
 stances, have always remained in an uncultivated 
 state ; and who, therefore, must be very incom- 
 petent judges of public good, as well as of the 
 tendency of their actions to promote it. Yet, if 
 such men are industrious and sober, honest in 
 their dealings, and regardful of their duty, it 
 would be very hard to refuse them the character 
 of virtuous men. 
 
 535. Every moralist allows, that there are du- 
 ties which a man owes to himself : in the deepest 
 solitude we are not exempted from religious and 
 moral obligation. For if a man were in the con- 
 dition in which, according to the fable, Robinson 
 Crusoe is said to have been, and confined for 
 many years in a desert island, without having it in 
 his power to do either good or harm to others of 
 his species, he would, according to the measure 
 of rationality that had been given him, be as really 
 a moral being, and accountable to God and his 
 conscience for his behaviour, as if he were in the 
 most crowded society. In such a solitude, it would 
 be in his power to be in various ways virtuous or. 
 vicious. He might impiously repine at the dispen- 
 sations of providence, or he might acquiesce in 
 them with thankfulness and humility. He might
 
 lGHAP. H. MORAL SCIENCE. 381 
 
 lead a life of industry, or abandon himself to idle- 
 ness and all other sensualities that were within his 
 reach. He might envy the prosperity of others, 
 and amuse himself with laying plans for their de- 
 struction ; or pray for their happiness, and wish 
 for opportunities of promoting it. In a word, be- 
 nevolence is not the only virtue : but I admit, that 
 there can be no virtue without it. 
 
 536. The stoics, who were much given to 
 wrangling, and in many things affected to differ 
 from popular opinion, maintained, that all virtues 
 are equally meritorious, and all vices equally blame- 
 able. As one truth (said they) cannot be more 
 true than another, nor one falsehood more false 
 than another, so neither can one vice or virtue be 
 greater or less than another vice or virtue. As he 
 who is a hundred miles from Rome is not more 
 really out of Rome than he who is one mile from 
 it, so he who has transgressed the bounds of in- 
 nocence is equally a transgressor, whether he has 
 gone a great way beyond them, or a little way* 
 Some crimes, however, they allowed to deserve a 
 heavier punishment than others ; but that, they 
 said, was owing, not to the comparative greatness 
 of one crime above another, but to this considera- 
 tion, that one crime might be more complex than 
 another. For example : he who murders a slave 
 is as really a murderer as he who commits parri- 
 cide : but the former is guilty of one injurious act, 
 fhe other is guilty of many ; the one has killed a
 
 882 ELEMENTS OF PART III. 
 
 man ; the other has killed a man, has killed his 
 parent, has killed his benefactor, has killed his 
 teacher.* 
 
 537. Such a tenet may be useful to declaimers ; 
 as one may argue long, and plausibly, in behalf 
 of it : but plausible declamation is of no weight, 
 when counterbalanced by the general opinion of 
 mankind, as warranted by conscience and reason. 
 What would be thought of a lawgiver who should 
 declare every violation of the law a capital crime ; 
 fcr who, because some transgressions are venial, 
 should grant pardon to every transgressor ? The 
 best man on earth is every day guilty of sins of in- 
 firmity ; but who will say, that all the sins of this 
 sort, which a good man commits in the course of 
 a long life, are equal in guilt to one single act of 
 treachery or cruelty ! Every vice is, indeed, 
 blameable ; and every virtue, which it is in our 
 power to perform, we ought to perform : but it 
 may be presumed, that the possible degrees of 
 guilt, which one may incur eyen by single acts of 
 transgression, are as many as the possible degrees 
 of punishment ; and that the possible degrees of 
 virtue are as various as the possible degrees of re- 
 ward. Though all men are sinners, yet some are 
 highly respectable on account of their goodness : 
 and there are crimes so atrocious, perjury for ex- 
 ample, that one single perpetration makes a man 
 
 * Cic. Paradox. See Hor. Sat. i, 3.
 
 CHAP. II. MORAL SCIENCE. 383 
 
 infamous. The Scripture expressly declares, that, 
 in the day of judgment, it will be more tolerable 
 for some criminals than for others ; and not ob- 
 scurely insinuates, that the future examination of 
 the righteous will be in proportion to their 
 virtue. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 OF THE NATURE AND FOUNDATION OF PARTI- 
 CULAR VIRTUES. 
 
 Every duty has an object ; and the objects of 
 duty are, the Deity, our fellow-creatures, and our- 
 selves. Into three classes, therefore, man's moral 
 duties may be divided. 
 
 SECTION I. 
 
 Of Piety , or the Duties we owe to God. 
 
 538. The first part of piety is, to form right 
 notions of God, as the greatest, wisest, and best 
 of beings. All men, who are capable of reflection, 
 must be sensible, that this is a matter of infinite 
 importance : for if our opinions concerning him 
 are erroneous, our sentiments of the duty we owe
 
 584 ELEMENTS OF PART HI. 
 
 him will be so too, and our whole moral nature 
 must be perverted. Every considerate person, 
 therefore, will be careful to obtain the fullest in- 
 formation possible with respect to the divine ex- 
 istence and attributes. To be indifferent about 
 this, which is beyond comparison the most- im- 
 portant part of knowledge, is inexcusable ; and 
 the ignorance is criminal which proceeds from such 
 indifference. And if ignorance of God was with- 
 out excuse in some ancient heathen nations, as the 
 Scripture warrants us to believe, it must be highly 
 criminal in us, who, both from reason and from 
 revelation, have the best means of knowing what 
 God is, and what he requires us to believe con- 
 cerning him. How far the deplorable condition 
 of many of the human race, with respect to false 
 religion, barbarous life, and an exclusion hitherto 
 unsurmountable from all the means of intellectual 
 improvement, may extenuate, or whether it may 
 not, by virtue of* the great atonement, entirely 
 cancel the imperfection of those to whom, in this 
 world, God never was, or without a miracle could, 
 be known, we need not inquire. It is enough for 
 us to know, that for our ignorance we can plead 
 no such apology ; and that the righteous judge of 
 all the earth will never impute to his creatures 
 misfortune and misery, which they neither did bring 
 upon themselves, or could avert when brought ; 
 especially that greatest of all misfortunes, invin- 
 cible ignorance of God and their duty.
 
 CHAP.III, 1. MORAL SCIENCE. 385 
 
 539. The second part of piety is, to cherish 
 right affections suitable to those right notions of 
 the divine nature. These affections are, venera- 
 tion of his infinite and incomprehensible greatness; 
 adoration of his wisdom and power ; love of his 
 goodness and mercy ; resignation to his will -, gra- 
 titude for his innumberable and inestimable bene- 
 fits ; a disposition to obey cheerfully all his laws ; 
 fear, in the apprehension of his displeasure ; joy, 
 in the hope of his approbation ; and a desire to 
 imitate him as far as we are able, and, with well- 
 meant, though weak endeavours, to second the 
 purposes of his providence, by promoting the vir- 
 tue and happiness of our fellow-creatures. They 
 who believe in the infinite goodness, greatness, 
 wisdom, justice, and power of the supreme being, 
 will acknowledge, that these glorious attributes do 
 naturally call forth, and ought reasonably to call 
 forth, the pious affections above mentioned ; and 
 that, not to cultivate those affections, or to en- 
 courage evil passions inconsistent with them, must 
 be, in the highest degree, criminal and unnatural. 
 
 540. A third part of piety is worship ; or the 
 outward expression of these pious affections in 
 suitable words and behaviour. Of this great duty, 
 I observe, in the first place, that it is quite natural. 
 Good affections, when strong, as all the pious 
 affections ought to be, have a tendency to express 
 themselves externally : where this does not appear, 
 there is reason to apprehend that the affections are 
 
 vol. i. B b
 
 386 ELEMENTS OF PART III. 
 
 weak, or wanting. If a man is grateful to his be- 
 nefactor, he will tell him so ; if no acknowlege- 
 ments are made, and no outward signs of grati- 
 tude manifest themselves, he will be chargeable 
 with ingratitude. When we admire the wisdom, 
 and love the goodness, of a fellow-creature, we 
 naturally shew him respect, and wish to comply 
 with his will, and recommend ourselves to his fa- 
 vour ; and we speak of him, and to him, in terms 
 of esteem and gratitude : and the greater his wis- 
 dom and goodness, the more we are inclined to do 
 all this. Now, God's wisdom and goodness are 
 infinite and perfect ; and, if we venerate these at- 
 tributes as we ought to do, it will be neither na- 
 tural nor easy for us so to conceal that veneration, 
 as to prevent its discovering itself externally. It 
 is true, that the omniscient being knows all our 
 thoughts, whether we give them utterance or not : 
 but, if expressing them from time to time in words 
 is by him required of us as a duty ; if it is bene- 
 ficial to ourselves ; and if, as an example, it has 
 good effects on our fellow-men j no argument can 
 be necessary to prove the propriety of the prac- 
 tice. 
 
 541. Let it therefore be considered, that wor- 
 ship, properly conducted, tends greatly to our im* 
 provement in every part of virtue. To indulge a 
 pious emotion, to keep it in our mind, to meditate 
 on its object, and with reverence and in due season 
 to give it vocal expression, cannot fail to strengthen
 
 HAP.III, h I MORAL SCIENCE. 387 
 
 it : whereas, by restraining the outward expres- 
 sion, and thinking of the emotion, and its object, 
 seldom and slightly, we make it weaker, and may, 
 in time, destroy it. Besides, the more we eon- 
 template the perfections of God, the more we 
 must admire, love, and adore them, and the more 
 sensible we must be of our own degeneracy, and 
 of the need we have of pardon and assistance. 
 And the wishes we express for that assistance and 
 pardon, if they be frequent and sincere, will in- 
 cline us to be attentive to our conduct, and soli- 
 citous to avoid what may offend him. These con- 
 siderations alone would recommend external wor- 
 ship as a most excellent means of improving our 
 moral nature. But Christians know further, that 
 this. duty is expressly commanded ; and that parti- 
 cular blessings are promised to the devout per- 
 formance of it. In us, therefore, the neglect of 
 it must be inexcusable, and highly criminal. 
 
 54'2. It being of so great importance, we ought 
 not only to practise this duty ourselves, but also 
 by precept and example, avoiding however all os- 
 tentation, to encourage others to do the same. 
 Hence one obligation to the duty of social and 
 public worship. But there are many others. One 
 arises from the nature and influence of sympathy, 
 by which, as formerly observed ( 221), all our 
 good affections may be strengthened. To join 
 with others in devotion tends to make us devout, 
 and should be done for that reason. Besides, 
 
 Bb2
 
 38S ELEMENTS OF PART III. 
 
 public worship, by exhibiting a number of persons 
 engaged, notwithstanding their different conditions, 
 in addressing the great father of all, and imploring 
 his mercy and protection, must have a powerful 
 tendency to cherish in us social virtue, as well as 
 piety. The, inequalities of rank and fortune, 
 which take place in society, render it highly ex- 
 pedient, and even necessary, that there should be 
 such a memorial, to enforce upon the minds of 
 men, that they are all originally equal, all placed 
 in the same state of trial, all liable to the same 
 wants and frailties, and all equally related^ as his 
 accountable creatures, to the supreme governor of 
 the universe. Hence let the mean learn content- 
 ment, and the great humility ; and hence let all 
 learn charity, meekness, and mutual forbearance. 
 ,543. By associating together men are much im- 
 proved both in temper and understanding. Where 
 they live separate, they are generally sullen and 
 selfish, as well as ignorant : when they meet fre- 
 quently, they become acquainted with one an- 
 other's characters and circumstances, and take an 
 interest in them ; acquire more extensive notions, 
 and learn to correct their opinions, and get the 
 better of their prejudices : they become, in short, 
 more humane, more generous, and more intelli- 
 gent. Were it not for that rest which is appointed 
 on the first day of the week, and the solemn 
 meetings which then take place for the purposes 
 of social worship and religious instruction, the
 
 CHAP. III. I. MORAL SCIENCE. 389 
 
 labours of the common people, that Is of the great- 
 est part of mankind, would be insupportable ; 
 most of them would live and die in utter ignor- 
 ance, and those who are remote from neighbours 
 would degenerate into barbarians. Bad as the 
 world is, there is reason to think it would be a 
 thousand times worse, if it were not for this insti- 
 tution ; the wisdom and humanity of which can 
 never be sufficiently admired ; and which, if it 
 were as strictly observed as it is positively com- 
 manded, would operate with singular efficacy in 
 advancing public prosperity, as well as private 
 virtue. 
 
 544. It is our duty to be devout, not at certain 
 times only, but at all times ; that is, to be con- 
 stantly sensible of our dependence on God, of the 
 mercies we every moment receive from him, of 
 the gratitude, obedience, and resignation due to 
 him, and of our being continually in his presence. 
 These sentiments, habitually cherished in our 
 minds, would very much promote our virtue and 
 happiness ; by keeping us at a distance from 
 criminal pursuits, and giving an exquisite relish to 
 every innocent pleasure. Let it not be supposed, 
 that words are essential to devotion. Every day, 
 indeed, they may be necessary to assist devotion, 
 and render pious sentiments so definite and so 
 comprehensive, as to impress upon us with energy 
 the several parts of our duty. But pious emotion 
 may rise in the mind, when there is no time for 
 
 Bb 3
 
 390 ELEMENTS OF PART HI. 
 
 utterance ; or when words, by savouring of 
 ostentation or hypocrisy, might be very unsea- 
 sonable. 
 
 545. The vices, I should rather say, the crimes 
 opposite to piety, and destructive of it, are athe- 
 ism, impiety, superstition, and enthusiasm. On 
 the atrocious nature of the first, I made some re- 
 marks already ( 407). It is either a disbelief of, 
 or an attempt to make others disbelieve, the divine 
 existence and attributes : the former may be called 
 speculative atheism, the latter is practical, atheism : 
 both imply hardness of heart, and perversion of 
 understanding ; the latter implies also incurable 
 vanity, and malignity in the extreme. It has been 
 doubted, whether any rational being can be really 
 an atheist ; and I should be inclined to think 
 speculative atheism impossible, if I had not met 
 with some, and heard of more, instances of prac- 
 tical atheism : which last, though both are very 
 great, is undoubtedly the greater enormity of the 
 two, and, perhaps, the greatest of which man's 
 nature is capable. 
 
 546. Impiety consists in neglecting to cultivate 
 pious affections ; or in cherishing evil passions of 
 an opposite tendency ; or in being guilty of such 
 practices, by word or deed, as may lessen our own 
 or other men's reverence of the divine attributes, 
 providence, or revelation. If we neglect the means 
 of cultivating pious affection, it is a sign that in us 
 piety is weak, or rather wanting j and that we are
 
 CHAP.III, 1. MORAL SCIENC?. 391 
 
 regardless of our own improvement, and Insensible 
 to the best interests of mankind. Want of pious 
 affection is a proof of great depravity. When in- 
 finite goodness cannot awaken our love, nor al- 
 mighty power command our reverence ; when un- 
 erring wisdom cannot raise our admiration ; when 
 the most important favours, continually and gra- 
 tuitously bestowed, cannot kindle our gratitude j 
 how perverse, how unnatural must we be 1 In 
 order to guard against these and the like impieties, 
 we shall do well to meditate frequently on the di- 
 vine perfections, and on our own demerit, de- 
 pendence, and manifold infirmities. Thus, we 
 may get the better of pride and self-conceit, pas- 
 sions most unfriendly to piety ; and form our 
 minds to gratitude, humility, and devotion. But, 
 instead of this, if we cherish bad passions of a 
 contrary nature, or allow ourselves in impious 
 practice ; if, at any time, we think unworthily of 
 our creator ; if we use his name in common dis- 
 course without reverence ; if we invoke him to be 
 the witness of what is false or frivolous ; if we 
 practise cursing and swearing, or any other mode 
 of speech disrespectful to his adorable majesty ; if 
 by serious argument we attempt the subversion of 
 religious principles ; or if, by parody or ludicrous 
 allusion, we endeavour to make scriptural phrase- 
 ology the occasion of merriment. In any of these 
 cases, we too plainly shew, that our minds are
 
 892 ELEMENTS OF PART III. 
 
 familiarized, more or less, to impiety, and in great 
 danger of utter depravation. 
 
 547. Superstition and enthusiasm, as they arise 
 from the same cause, that is, from false opinions 
 concerning Deity, are to be removed by the same 
 means, namely, by correcting those false opinions, 
 and establishing true. They differ in this, how- 
 ever, that the former is more apt to infect weak 
 and timorous minds, and the latter, such as are 
 proud and presumptuous ; and therefore the cure 
 will not be complete, unless there be infused into 
 the distempered soul, animation and comfort in 
 the one case, and humility and modesty in the 
 other. Superstition assumes different appearances, 
 according to the diversity of those false opinions 
 which men may entertain of invisible beings ; and 
 as the varieties of falsehood are innumerable, those 
 of superstition must be so too. 
 
 548. To think that the world is governed by a 
 being, or by beings, capable of deriving gratifica- 
 tion from vengeance, and from making inferior 
 natures unhappy, produces one hideous form of 
 superstition, wholly enslaved to cruelty and fear, 
 which prompts the poor idolater, in order to pa- 
 cify his demons, to the most absurd and unnatural 
 mortifications, or even to the murder of human 
 creatures, under the denomination of sacrifice. To 
 suppose that God takes pleasure in particular doc- 
 trines, that contradict the clearest intimations of
 
 CHAPIII, I. MORAL SCIENCE. 395 
 
 reason, produces a superstitious zeal in promoting 
 such doctrines, with contempt, hatred, or perhaps 
 persecution of those who refuse to say that they 
 believe them. To imagine, that he admires or 
 approves what some vain mortals term magnifi- 
 cence, produces another kind of superstition, that 
 delights in pageantries, processions, and- the like 
 mummeries, which raise the wonder of children, 
 and of men who think like children. To believe, 
 that he governs the world, not by his own eternal 
 rules of rectitude, but by caprice and humour, 
 which are perpetually changing ; and admits other 
 beings, and some of the mcst contemptible that 
 can be conceived, to share with him in that go- 
 vernment ; makes men superstitious in regard to 
 dreams, omens, witches, spectres, enchantments, 
 and other ridiculous things, which can never have 
 any influence on a mind thoroughly convinced, and 
 seriously considering, that he rules all nature, and 
 that without his permission nothing can happen. 
 But it were endless to enumerate the varieties of 
 superstition. The history of man affords too many 
 examples. Let it be our care to fortify our minds 
 by a steady belief in the one true God ; and by 
 cherishing that humble cheerfulness, perfectly con- 
 sistent with pious fear, which arises from being 
 resigned to his will, and satisfied that all his dis- 
 pensations are wise and good. 
 
 549. Enthusiasm, when the word denotes, as it 
 often does, elevation of mind, ardour of fancv, or
 
 S94 ELEMENTS OF PART III. 
 
 keenness of attachment, may be not only innocent, 
 but laudable : seldom has any great undertaking 
 been accomplished without it. The enthusiasm 
 here to be considered, as detrimental to piety, is a 
 presumptuous conceit, which some weak, arrogant, 
 and selfish people have entertained, of their being 
 holier than others, and more the favourites of hea- 
 ven. This turn of mind, which has also been 
 called spiritual pride, is productive of many hate- 
 ful passions and perversities ; of uncharitableness, 
 contempt of virtue, and a spirit of persecution. 
 No man is truly pious but he who is humble, dis- 
 trustful of himself, anxious to do good to others, 
 and willing to think of them as favourably as pos- 
 sible. We cannot be too much on our guard 
 against vice, and can hardly blame it too severely 
 in ourselves ; but our abhorrence of it should 
 never make us abhor our fellow-creatures. We 
 have no right to consider any of them as renounced 
 by heaven. Though their wickedness be great, 
 (and we are not always competent judges of its 
 magnitude), it is our duty to believe that God, 
 while he supports their lives, is willing to be re- 
 conciled to them ; as he allows them the oppor- 
 tunity of repentance. 
 
 550. Many are the considerations that should 
 move us to compassion and charity towards our 
 unhappy brethren who fall into vice. How can we 
 know, at least, in many cases, whether, in the 
 moment of transgression, they enjoyed the full
 
 CHAP. Ill, I. MORAL SCIENCE. 395 
 
 use of their rational faculties ? or how judge of 
 the strength of their passions, or the precise na- 
 ture of the temptation ? Perhaps they have not 
 had the means of so good education as may have 
 fallen to our lot, or of keeping so virtuous com- 
 pany as we have kept. How do we know, in 
 short, whether, if we had been all along in their 
 circumstances, and they in ours, their conduct 
 would not have been as good as ours, or even 
 better, and ours as bad as theirs, or even worse ? 
 As to our own supposed attainments in moral 
 goodness the moment we are conscious of any 
 degree of pride on account of them, we may be 
 assured they are not genuine. The further a man 
 advances in real virtue, the more he will feel and 
 regret his own imperfection, and the more candid 
 and charitable he will become in judging of other 
 men. 
 
 SECTION II. 
 
 Of Social Virtue ; or the Duties which Men owe 
 to one another. 
 
 551. Of our passions, and other active prin- 
 ciples, some prompt us to do harm to one another, 
 and others to do good : social virtue consists in 
 restraining and regulating the former, and cherish- 
 ing the latter. Of the former sort is resentment,
 
 396 ELEMENTS OF PART III. 
 
 or sense of injury ; a passion, innocent it itself, 
 because natural ; and useful, because it makes men 
 stand in awe of one another ; but apt to become 
 criminal by excess, or by being otherwise per- 
 verted. Too keen a sense of injury, to be more 
 offended than it is reasonable we should be, is one 
 abuse of resentment, and frequently arises from 
 pride, in which case it is very blameabl : when 
 owing, as it sometimes is, to a peculiar irritability 
 of nerves, the effect of bad health perhaps, or of 
 misfortune, it is less faulty ; but ought, however, 
 to be guarded against, because it gives pain to 
 others, and makes a man unhappy in himself. A* 
 worse abuse of resentment is revenge ; which, as 
 has been already shewn, would, if generally prac- 
 tised, introduce endless confusion, without answer- 
 ing, at least, in civilized society, any one good 
 purpose. Other abuses of resentment are, pas- 
 sionateness and peevishness, which also have been 
 taken notice of, (see 364). Among Bishop 
 Butler's Sermons there is an exellent one upon re- 
 sentment, to which, for further particulars, I refer 
 the reader. 
 
 552. Opposite to all abuses of resentment are, 
 good nature, an amiable virtue ; and forgiveness, 
 a virtue not amiable merely, but sublime, and god- 
 like. He who is possessed of these virtues will 
 find, that they contribute, in a very high degree, 
 to his peace, interest, and honour, even in this 
 world : v> ithout them, in the next, no happiness is
 
 GHAP.III, 11. MORAL SCIENCE. 397 
 
 to be expected ; our religion having most em- 
 phatically declared, that unless we forgive others 
 we cannot be forgiven. Few tempers are less 
 respectable, than the unforgiving and litigious ; 
 who easily take offence, and would prosecute every 
 injury to the utmost ; or who are gratified by 
 giving others that trouble, for which they think 
 the law will not punish them. A modern poet* 
 has the following sentiment, and is applauded for 
 it by a modern sophister. * Virtue, for mere 
 * good-nature is a fool is sense and spirit with 
 ' humanity.' It might have been said, with equal 
 propriety and precision, ' Virtue is Greek and 
 ' Latin with humanity.' Sense and spirit, Latin 
 and Greek, may no doubt serve as auxiliaries to 
 virtue, but they may also promote the purposes of 
 vice ; and are, therefore, neither moral virtues, 
 nor parts of moral virtue. And if good-nature 
 be folly, what shall we say of ill-nature ? Is it 
 wisdom ? Or what shall we say of good men (for 
 they are all good-natured) ? Are they fools ? It 
 would be difficult to mention a case, in which a 
 man's character, on our being told that he is good- 
 natured, would be lowered in our esteem. The 
 contrary never fails to happen, except, perhaps, 
 among bullies, and other barbarians. 
 
 553. That principle, which restrains malevolent 
 passions, by disposing us to render to every one 
 
 * Armstrong. .
 
 398 ELEMENTS PART HI. 
 
 his own, is called justice : a principle of great ex- 
 tent, and which may not improperly be said to 
 form a part of every virtue ; as in every vice there 
 is something of injustice towards God, our fellow- 
 men, or ourselves. As far as our fellow-men are 
 concerned, the great rule of justice is, ' Whatso- 
 ' ever ye would that men should do unto you, do 
 c you even so to them :' a precept, which, in this 
 its complete form, we owe to the Gospel ; and 
 which, for its clearness and reasonableness, for 
 being easily remembered, and, on all occasions, 
 easily applied to practice, can never be too much 
 admired. Veracity, adherence to promises, dis- 
 charge of trust, and all the duties comprehended 
 in fidelity, or faithfulness, are parts of justice, and 
 are to be regulated by this divine rule. 
 
 554. Of the second class of social duties, which 
 consist in the indulgence of those affections that 
 incline us to do good to others, the first is, to 
 cherish benevolence, charity, or loye, to all man- 
 kind without exception. We are all by nature 
 brethren, placed in the same, or in similar, cir- 
 cumstances, subject to the same wants and in- 
 firmities, endowed with the same faculties, and 
 equally dependent on the great author of our be- 
 ing ; we cannot be happy but in the society of one 
 another ; and from one another we daily receive, 
 or may receive, important services. These con- 
 siderations recommend the great duty of universal 
 benevolence, which is not more beneficial to others
 
 CHAP.IH, II. MORAL SCIENCE." 399 
 
 than to ourselves ; for it makes us happy in our 
 own minds, and amiable in the eyes of all who 
 know us ; it even promotes bodily health, and it 
 prepares the soul for every virtuous impression : 
 while malevolent passions debase the understand- 
 ing, harden the heart, and make a man disagree- 
 able to others, and a torment to himself. A se- 
 cond duty of this class is compassion, or that sym- 
 pathy which prompts us to relieve the distresses of 
 one another : and a third is gratitude, which makes 
 us anxious to requite the favours we may have re- 
 ceived. Of these I have formerly spoken. Good 
 men are entitled to peculiar love and esteem. He 
 who does good to one person, from a benevolent 
 principle, lays an obligation on the whole species ; 
 for he shews that he has the interest of mankind 
 at heart, and he sets a good example. Our love 
 of good men, therefore, partakes of the nature 
 of gratitude : to be destitute of it is a proof of 
 such depravity, as even profligates would be 
 ashamed of. 
 
 555. Patriotism, or love of our country, has, 
 in all ages, under free governments at least, been 
 accounted a sublime virtue. It is natural, and ex- 
 tensively useful ; for, as Cicero well observes, all 
 those charities, all those affections of good- will, 
 which we bear to relations, friends, and benefac- 
 tors, are comprehended in it.* It elevates the 
 
 * De Officiis, i, 17.
 
 400 ELEMENTS OF PART III. 
 
 mind, and promotes generosity, fortitude, benevo- 
 lence, and a sense of honour. Even by the ties 
 of gratitude we are bound to defend, as far as we 
 are able, the government that has protected us and 
 our fathers. The best proof that people in private 
 station can give of love to their country is, to pro- 
 mote peace, and set an example of piety, industry, 
 and moderation. A vicious, selfish, or turbulent 
 man has nothing of this love, however violent his 
 pretensions may be. 
 
 556. It becomes us to have a particular regard 
 for those who are connected with us by kindred, 
 by friendship, by neighbourhood, or as members 
 of the same society. This is natural ; for we are 
 apt to contract attachments to those whom we see 
 often, or with whom we have intercourse : and it 
 is beneficial ; as it promotes the good of small 
 societies, whereof the great community of man- 
 kind is made up. But neither this, nor even the 
 love of our country itself, should ever interfere 
 with the still greater duty of universal benevo- 
 lence. A stranger, nay an enemy, is entitled to 
 our good offices: c If thine enemy be hungry, 
 * feed him ; if thirsty, give him drink.' It is 
 our duty to defend our country, and maintain 
 its laws and liberties ; even as it is incumbent on 
 each individual to take care of himself, of those 
 who depend on him, and of those whom he has 
 it in his power to protect from injury : but 
 neither individuals, nor nations, have any right t
 
 CHAP. 111,-% II. MORAL SCIENCE, 401 
 
 raise themselves, by injuriously pulling others 
 down. 
 
 557. The last of these duties to be mentioned 
 at present (for some of them have come in our 
 way formerly, and others will hereafter), is the 
 natural affection of parents and children ; which 
 in a greater or less degree prevails through the 
 whole of animated nature, with some exceptions 
 in those irrational tribes, where it is not necessary 
 to the preservation of the young. I express my- 
 self improperly, when I mention this as a duty, 
 and at the same time speak of irrational animals 
 as possessed of it : it is a duty in those only who 
 have a sense of duty, that is, who are endowed 
 with a moral faculty. Natural affection is in brutes 
 an instinct merely ; a very amiable one, it must be 
 acknowledged to be, but nothing more : in ra- 
 tional animals it is both an instinct and a duty j 
 and ; when exerted in action, a virtue. Human 
 infants are far more helpless, and much longer so, 
 than any other young animals, and require much 
 more education ; for they must be trained up, not 
 only for animal life, and taught how to support 
 themselves in the world (all which the brutes 
 know by instinct), but also for a right performance 
 of the many duties incumbent on them as rational 
 and immortal beings. In the human species, there- 
 fore, natural affection is, and ought to be, pecu- 
 liarly strong, and to continue through the whole 
 of life. In other animals, it lasts while the young 
 voi . i. C c
 
 402 2LEMENTS OF TART liU 
 
 are unable to provide for themselves, and, for the 
 most part, no longer. 
 
 558. Unless when exerted in unfavourable cir- 
 cumstances, or in a very exemplary manner, (and 
 these peculiarities enhance the merit of any virtue), 
 the performance of this duty is not considered as 
 a proof of great moral goodness j the motives to 
 it being almost irresistible. But, for the same 
 reason, the neglect of it incurs the heaviest cen- 
 sure. An unnatural parent is a character that 
 raises not only disapprobation, but horror ; nor 
 less odious is an undutiful child : indeed it is not 
 easy to determine, which of the two is the more 
 detestable. The former counteracts one of the 
 best and most powerful instincts of animal nature, 
 is at no pains to avert perdition from those whom 
 he has been instrumental in bringing into the 
 world, and manifests a total disregard to the good 
 of society, which would soon become a chaos of 
 misery, if parents were not attentive to the great 
 duty of educating their children. The undutiful 
 child hardens his heart no less against the calls of 
 natural affection ; shews that he can hate his best 
 friends, and be ungrateful for the most important 
 favours ; and is guilty of the most barbarous cru- 
 elty, in wounding the sensibility, and blasting the 
 hopes of a parent, to whom, in the emphatic 
 language of a poet who understood human nature, 
 6 a serpent's tooth is not so sharp as to have a 
 * thankless child.' To which I may take the 1U
 
 CHAP. Ill, II. MORAL SCIENCE. 403 
 
 berty to add, that of the undutiful children whom 
 it has been my misfortune to see, or hear of, not; 
 one ever came to good. 
 
 SECTION III. 
 
 Of the Duties iuhich a Alan owes to himself. 
 
 559. It is every man's duty to avoid idleness, 
 to follow some useful calling, and to take care of 
 his life and health. All this we owe to society, as 
 well as to ourselves : for self-preservation is one 
 of our most natural and most powerful principles ; 
 and without activity there can be no happiness ; 
 and without industry neither individuals nor society 
 can prosper. Industry is always praiseworthy ; 
 common degrees of it, however, are not highly 
 praised : it is generally considered as its own re- 
 ward, its natural effects being competency and 
 convenience. The motives to it, therefore, are so 
 powerful, and withal so obvious to every person 
 of sense, that in complying with them there can 
 be no extraordinary merit. Idleness bekig, in like 
 manner, its own punishment, and generally ac- 
 companied with want, disease, and contempt, is 
 the object of pity, as well as disapprobation ; and 
 when these have the* same object, the former mi- 
 tigates the latter. We blame idleness, we despise 
 the man who is enslaved to it, and keep at a dis- 
 
 C c 2
 
 404 ELEMENTS OF PART 111, 
 
 tance from him ; but, for the most part, do not 
 entertain towards him those emotions of indigna- 
 tion, which rise within us on hearing of cruel, un- 
 grateful, or perfidious behaviour. 
 
 560. Uncommon industry, however, or ex- 
 treme idleness, give greater energy to our moral 
 sentiments. They who labour incessantly, and 
 more than their own wants require, in improving 
 useful arts, are entitled to general admiration and 
 gratitude. To such persons statues have been 
 erected, and other public honours decreed ; and, 
 in the days of idolatry, even divine honours have 
 been paid. Such industry comprehends many vir- 
 tues ; activity, rational self-love, superiority to 
 sensual indulgence, benevolence, patriotism, and a 
 desire to make the best use of the talents, and 
 other blessings, conferred by providence on man- 
 kind. The reverse of all this must be imputed to 
 that man, who, deaf to every call of honour and 
 friendship, of social love and natural affection, 
 abandons himself to sloth ; and can bear to see 
 his dependants miserable, his friends in affliction, 
 and himself infamous and useless, rather than dis- 
 engage himself from that shameful habit. Such a 
 man, though he should not be guilty of those 
 enormities that draw down the vengeance of hu- 
 man law, must have in him so much evil, that it 
 is impossible not to consider him as a criminal of 
 the first magnitude. The compassion, which his 
 wretchedness may extort from us, he does not de-
 
 CHAP. Ill, I II. MORAL SCIENCE. 405 
 
 serve : for it will generally be found, that persons 
 of this character derive from their idleness, and 
 even from their infamy, every gratification they 
 wish for ; and that they rather glory in their vile- 
 ness, than are ashamed of it. 
 
 561. This topic, so interesting to young people, 
 1 cannot dismiss without further illustration. So 
 active a being is the human soul, that, in the opi- 
 nion of many philosophers, it can never rest. 
 Certain it is, that without employment it cannot 
 escape misery ; and that, if it employ not itself in 
 good, it will in evil. To the welfare of both the 
 soul and the body activity is essential. Man was 
 made for labour ; and they who do not take to it 
 from necessity, must either use it for recreation, 
 in the way of hunting, riding, walking ; or must 
 pine in indolence, a prey to melancholy and dis- 
 ease. A sluggish body is always unhealthy ; a 
 lethargic mind is always unhappy. In the higher 
 ranks of life, people who are neither engaged in 
 business, nor anxious to improve their minds by 
 study, are often put to hard shifts in their attempts 
 to kill the time, and keep away troublesome 
 thoughts. They have recourse to feasting, drink- 
 ing, gaming ; they employ themselves in receiving 
 and retailing scandal, and the lies, which they call 
 the news, of the day ; or in a perpetual hurry of 
 visits, that promote neither friendship nor rational 
 discourse ; or in running to shows, and other 
 6cenes of dissipation ; and too frequently, it is to 
 
 Cc3
 
 406 ELEMENTS OP PART III. 
 
 be feared, in pursuits still more criminal, in se- 
 ducing their fellow-creatures to infamy and ruin. 
 I appeal to any man of sense, whether it would 
 not have been better, both for their souls and bo- 
 dies, in this world as well as in the next, if they 
 had laboured all their days to earn a livelihood? 
 and whether the condition of the honest plowman, 
 or industrious mechanic, is not, in every respect, 
 more happy, and more honourable ; more free 
 from danger and disappointment ; and less exposed 
 to the tyranny of unruly passion, and unsatisfied 
 appetite ? 
 
 562. Idleness, at any period of life, is danger- 
 ous to virtue ; but, in youth, is more to be dreaded 
 than at any other season : and, therefore, it is pe- 
 culiarly incumbent on young persons to guard 
 against it. For in youth the active powers are 
 awake and restless, and will prompt to evil, if a 
 sphere of operation is not prescribed them within 
 the limits of innocence. In youth the passions are 
 turbulent, and the love of pleasure strong ; and as 
 experience and knowledge are scanty, and fore- 
 sight superficial, men want many of those mo- 
 nitors to caution and rectitude, which are the usual 
 attendants of riper years, In youth the mind 
 yields easily to every new impression, and to those 
 in particular that promote intemperate emotions. 
 In short, in youth men are headstrong, fickle, 
 vain, self-sufficient, averse to consideration, intent 
 on the present moment, regardless of the future^
 
 CHAP. Ill, II. MORAL SCIENCI. 40? 
 
 and forgetful of the past ; and therefore more in 
 danger from temptation, and from idleness. I 
 mean not to write a satire on youth, or to say that 
 from the above account there are no exceptions : 
 I know there are many. But I need not hesitate 
 to affirm, that idleness in youth is never followed 
 by a respectable old age. Habits then contracted 
 take deep root ; and habits of inattention it is al- 
 most impossible to eradicate. 
 
 .563. Another duty which a man owes both to 
 himself and to society, is temperance, (see 517). 
 Merely to be temperate requires no great effort ; 
 which makes intemperance (considering its conse- 
 quences, whereof no person can be ignorant) the 
 more inexcusable. Men, habitually intemperate, 
 justly forfeit the esteem of their fellow-citizens ; 
 because they disqualify themselves for every duty, 
 and prepare themselves for the violation of every 
 law : for, whether they become stupid by gluttony, 
 or frantic with drunkenness, they shew themselves 
 equally insensible to the dignity of their nature, 
 and to the calls of honour and duty. Savage and 
 half-civilized people are addicted to these vices ; 
 which, as men improve in arts and manners, be- 
 come more and more unfashionable. This, how- 
 ever, is not equally the case in all civilized coun- 
 tries. 
 
 564. The Athenians loved wine and dancing ; 
 the Romans, in their better days, were temperate 
 and sedate. Cicero says, in his oration for Mu-
 
 40S ELEMENTS OF PART 111. 
 
 rena, that no man dances who is not either drunk 
 or mad : and it is remarkable, as the same author 
 in another place observes, that of an entertainment 
 the Greek name (symposium) denotes drinking 
 together, and the Latin name (convivium) living 
 together. In the Symposium of Plato, at which 
 Socrates, and other distinguished characters, are 
 said to be present, it is proposed to enter on some 
 philosophical inquiry, in order to avoid excess in 
 drinking : and, before the end of the compotaiion, 
 Alcibiades comes in very noisy, and very drunk ; 
 and Aristophanes shews, by repeated hiccoughs, 
 that he had both drank and eaten too much. In 
 some Grecian states, however, the laws were se- 
 vere against ebriety. Fittacus of Lesbos ordered, 
 that every crime committed by a drunk man should 
 incur two punishments ; the one due to the crime, 
 the other to the intoxication : which, though not 
 according to the principles of strict morality, was, 
 however, no bad political expedient. In France 
 and Italy, and among the better sort of people in 
 England, drunkenness is hardly known ; and in 
 Scotland we begin to improve in this respect, as in 
 many others, by the example of our southern 
 neighbours. 
 
 565. As habits of intoxication are not soon or 
 easily acquired, being in most constitutions, espe- 
 cially in early years, accompanied with fits of fever 
 and head-ach, young persons may easily guard 
 against them. I have sometimes met with those
 
 CHAP. Ill, II. MORAL SCIENCE. 409 
 
 -who had made it a rule never to drink any thing 
 stronger than water, who were respected on that 
 very account ; who enjoyed health and strength, 
 and vigour of mind, and gaiety of heart, in an un- 
 common degree ; and were so far from consider- 
 ing themselves as under any painful restraint, that 
 they assured me they had no more inclination to 
 taste wine, or strong drink, than I could have to 
 eat a nauseous medicine. If I could prevail on 
 my young friends (for whose sake I scruple not to 
 digress a little now and then) to imitate the ex- 
 ample, I should do much good to their souls and 
 bodies, their fortunes and intellects ; and be hap- 
 pily instrumental in preventing a thousand vices 
 and follies, as well as many of those infirmities 
 which beset the old age of him who has given way 
 to intemperance in youth. 
 
 566. Persons of delicate, or broken constitu- 
 tions, may find it necessary to follow the apostle's 
 advice to Timothy, and take a little wine for their 
 stomach's sake : but how much happier and more 
 independent would they have been, if they had 
 never needed such a cordial ! which might pos- 
 sibly have been the case, if in youth they had been 
 uniformly and rigorously temperate. The apostle 
 seems to intimate, that liquors which may produce 
 inebriation, are to be used as medicines only. Let 
 this be kept continually in view ; and then we 
 6hall make no account of those rants in praise of 
 wine, which we find in Anacreon, and other
 
 4IO ELEMENTS OF PART III. 
 
 drunken poets ; who, that their own follies might 
 be the less apparent, wished to make their readers 
 as foolish as themselves. I shall only add, that 
 habits of intoxication, as well as of idleness, are 
 at every age most pernicious ; bur, if contracted 
 in youth, seldom fail to end in utter profligacy, or 
 early death, or perhaps in both. Older sinners 
 may have a reserve about them, and a caution, 
 that shall perhaps in part prevent, at least for a 
 time, some of the bad effects of their vices. But 
 when the natural fire of youth is inflamed by ha- 
 bitual intemperance, when the imprudence of that 
 period is heightened into frenzy, every principle 
 of honour and modesty may be borne down, and 
 the person become useless, odious, and miserable. 
 
 567- There is one wickedness, which may be- 
 referred to this class ; and which, though it must 
 raise the most lively .compassion, or rather the 
 most exquisite sorrow, in consideration of what 
 the unhappy being must have suffered before com- 
 mitting it, and may suffer after, is yet the object, 
 not only of disapprobation, but of horror : and 
 that is suicide. When self-destruction proceeds 
 from insanity which one has not brought on one's 
 self, it is no more a crime, than a man's throwing 
 himself from a window in the delirium of a fever ; 
 but if it be the effect of intemperance, atheism, 
 gaming, disappointment in any unjustifiable pur- 
 suit, or dissatisfaction with the dispensations of 
 Providence, it is, of all enormities, the most ur
 
 CHAP. Ill, ^ II. MORAL SCIENCE. 411 
 
 natural and atrocious ; being, with respect to God, 
 an act of the most presumptuous impiety, pre- 
 cluding, if the death be sudden, repentance, and 
 consequently the hope of pardon ; with respect to 
 dependents and friends, most cruel and ungene- 
 rous ; and, with respect to the perpetrator, cow- 
 ardly in the extreme. Rebus in adversis facile est 
 contemnere vilam, For titer ille facit qui miser esse 
 potest. It is indeed so shocking to nature, that 
 we can hardly conceive it possible for any person, 
 in his perfect mind, to be guilty of it. And our 
 laws are willing to suppose (for by the laws of 
 most civilized nations it has been prohibited) that 
 in almost all cases it is madness, and cannot take 
 place, till man, by losing his reason, ceases to be 
 an accountable being. 
 
 568. It is our duty to embrace every oppor- 
 tunity of improving our nature in all its parts, for 
 in all its parts it is improveable ; and every im- 
 provement tends to both private and public good, 
 which it is surely every man's business to promote. 
 As far, therefore, as we are able, we ought to 
 keep our bodies so decent in their appearance, as 
 that they may give no offence ; and, by means of 
 temperance and exercise, so healthy, and so active, 
 as that they may be in a condition to obey the 
 mind, and to execute what reason declares to be 
 expedient, and conscience to be incumbent. The 
 faulty extremes to be avoided are, first, a finical 
 attention to dress, complexion, and attitude ; and,
 
 412 1LEMENTS OF PART III. 
 
 secondly, such anxiety about health and the means 
 of it, as may give unnecessary trouble to attend- 
 ants or associates. A manly spirit loves simplicity, 
 and does not mind trifles ; nor seeks to move su- 
 perfluous pity by unseasonable wailing, or by os- 
 tentatious pretences of caution to assume the air of 
 superior sagacity. 
 
 569. The cultivation of our intellectual poiuers 
 is a duty still more important. These, in propor- 
 tion as they are improved, are ornamental to our 
 nature, and qualify us for being serviceable to 
 ourselves, our friends, the community, and man- 
 kind. Let us, therefore, be continually solicitous 
 to acquire knowledge, strengthen our memory, 
 rectify our judgment, and refine our taste ; by 
 reading good books and those only ; by accurately 
 observing what passes in the world around us ; by 
 studying the works of nature, and elegant per- 
 formances in art ; by meditating on the real nature 
 of things, and the causes and consequences of 
 human conduct, as they occur in history and com- 
 mon life ; by avoiding frivolous pursuits, trifling 
 discourse, and unprofitable theory ; and by losing 
 no opportunity of profiting by the conversation 
 and example of wise and good men. To neglect 
 the acquisition of wisdom, when the means of it 
 are in our power, is always followed by a bitter, 
 and generally unavailing, repentance. This is at 
 least the case, where the mind retains any moral 
 sensibility : how it may fare with those whose fa-
 
 eaA'fr.fiMii. moral science. 41.1 
 
 culties have become torpid with idleness or profli- 
 gacy, we need not inquire. 
 
 570. A third duty of this class, still more im- 
 portant, and indeed the most important of all, is, 
 to use every means of improving our moral nature ; 
 that being the business for which we were sent 
 into this world, and on which our happiness, 
 through eternity, will depend. As means of moral 
 improvement, we ought constantly to be, as has 
 been often observed already, attentive to our con- 
 duct, not to our actions only, but also to our 
 thoughts, passions, and purposes ; to reflect upon 
 them daily, with a fixed resolution to reform what 
 has been amiss ; and carefully to avoid temptation 
 and bad company. Of bad company indeed, the 
 fascinations, if we give way to them ever so little, 
 are so powerful, and assault our frail nature from 
 so many quarters at once, that it is hardly possible 
 to escape their influence ; our minds must be 
 tainted by them, even though there should be no 
 apparent impurity in our outward behaviour. For, 
 from our proneness to imitation, we come to act, 
 and even think like those with whom we live ; es- 
 pecially if we have any affection for them : and 
 bad men have often agreeable qualities, which may 
 make us contract such a liking to them, as shall 
 incline us to be partial even to the exceptionable 
 parts of their character. Then, the fear of giving 
 offence, or of being ridiculed for singularity ; the 
 sophistries by which wicked men endeavour to
 
 414 ELEMENTS OF PART III. 
 
 vindicate their conduct ; and the habit of seeing or 
 hearing vice encouraged, or virtue disregarded ; 
 all conspire, by lessening our abhorrence of the 
 one, and our reverence for the other, to seduce 
 into criminal practice and licentious principle. 
 
 571. Merely because it is his duty, a good man 
 will sometimes do good : he will relieve distress, 
 when, perhaps, his compassion is not very strong ; 
 he may be regular in his religious performances 
 when his devotion is not so fervent as it ought to 
 be. Nothing, surely, is mere laudable, than to 
 do what we know to be our duty ; but if we can, 
 at the same time, call up the correspondent good 
 affection, the devotion, for example, or the com- 
 passion, we shall, by so doing, both improve our 
 moral nature, and give double force to the virtuous 
 motive. Yet, let not a man be discouraged, if, 
 on some occasions, the good affection is not so 
 lively as he wishes it to be ; let him do the good 
 action notwithstanding, if conscience command it ; 
 for whatever is thus done is virtue : and frequent 
 repetitions of the action, from this principle, will 
 in time produce, or strengthen, the good affection 
 which he is anxious to cultivate. 
 
 572. In like manner, when we act in compliance 
 with a good affection ; when we relieve distress 
 because pity impels us , requite a favour when 
 prompted by gratitude ; do good to another from 
 a desire of seeing him happy ; still let the per- 
 formance be enforced by this consideration, that
 
 CHAR) g|k IL, MORAL SCIENCE. 415 
 
 such is our duty. But even this is not all : to 
 constitute true Christian virtue, good affections, 
 disposing to good actions, and accompanied too 
 with a sense of duty, are not sufficient without the 
 aid of another principle, and that is piety. The 
 love of God ought continually to predominate in 
 the mind, and give to every act of duty grace and 
 animation. Christians do what is right, not only 
 because good affections prompt them to it, and 
 because their conscience declares it to be incum- 
 bent ; but also because they consider it as agree- 
 able to the will of God, to please whom is ever 
 their supreme desire. 
 
 573. From every occurrence in life let us take 
 occasion to practise some virtue, and cherish some 
 ^ood habit. Few occurrences are so uninteresting 
 as to call forth no affection ; most of them excite 
 either a good or a bad one. Adversity may make 
 us discontented, or it may teach humility and pa- 
 tience ; affliction may dispose either to pious re- 
 signation, or to impious repining ; prosperity may 
 inflame sensuality and pride, or may supply the 
 means of exercising moderation, beneficence, and 
 gratitude to the giver of all good ; injury may 
 provoke hatred and revenge, or call forth the god- 
 like virtues of forbearance and forgiveness ; soli- 
 tude may infuse laziness, or afford leisure lor in- 
 dustry ; and the bustle of busy life may form 
 habits of cunning or candour, of selfishness or 
 generosity. On these, and all other occasions; let
 
 41 6 ELEMENTS OF, SfC* FART III. 
 
 us shun the criminal, and embrace the virtuous* 
 affection. And let us study our own temper, and 
 so anticipate the events of life, as to be always ready 
 to turn in this manner every occurrence to good 
 account, and -make it subservient to the cultivation 
 of our moral nature. To our moral improvement 
 the regulation of the passions and imagination is 
 most essential ; but that subject was already before 
 us. Here, therefore, we conclude Ethics, the first 
 part of Moral Philosophy. 
 
 END OF THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
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