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 SPECIMENS 
 
 OF 
 
 FOREIGN STANDARD LITERATURE. 
 
 VOL. v.
 
 SPECIMENS 
 
 FOREIGN STANDARD LITERATURE. 
 
 EDITED 
 
 BY GEORGE RIPLEY. 
 
 VOL. V. 
 
 CONTAINING 
 
 INTRODUCTION TO ETHICS, 
 
 FROM THE FRENCH 
 OF 
 
 JOUFFROY. 
 
 BOSTON: 
 HILLIARD, GRAY, AND COMPANY. 
 
 M.DCCC.XLI.
 
 As wine and oil are imported to us from abroad, so must ripe 
 understanding, and many civil virtues, be imported into our 
 minds from foreign writings; .we shall else miscarry still, and 
 come short in the attempts of any great enterprise. 
 
 MILTON, History of Britain, Book IIL
 
 If \' \\ I. 
 
 f/i;ilTr:r;!Tv fir 
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 ETHICS, 
 
 INCLUDING A 
 
 CRITICAL SURVEY OF MORAL SYSTEMS, 
 
 TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH 
 OF 
 
 T. JOUFFROY. 
 BY WILLIAM H. CHANNING. 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 BOSTON: 
 HILL1ARD, GRAY, AND COMPANY. 
 
 M.DCCC.XLI.
 
 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1840, 
 
 By BILLIARD, GRAY, AND Co. 
 in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts. 
 
 STEREOTYPED AT THE 
 BOSTON TYPE AND STEREOTYPE FOUNDRY.
 
 no 
 
 f I f; U [ v 
 
 
 TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE. 
 
 THE lectures, of which a translation is now pre- 
 sented, are the first which Jouffroy, who is professor 
 in the Faculty of Literature at Paris, has published. 
 Induced by an earnest request from those who had 
 attended his previous courses, that his interesting 
 instructions should be preserved in a permanent 
 form, he consented to have his extemporary addresses 
 taken down by a stenographer, and afterwards re- 
 vised and corrected them. Their design may be 
 best explained by the following extract from the 
 author's preface : 
 
 " It seemed to me that, in the progressive devel- 
 opment of my ideas upon the grand problem of 
 human destiny, those upon ethics could most readily 
 be separated from the rest ; and I was influenced by 
 this additional consideration, that it was my purpose
 
 Vlii TRANSLATOR S PREFACE. 
 
 before entering upon the science of ethics, to pass in 
 review the various systems which had prevailed in 
 relation to the fundamental principles of morality. 
 This would give me an opportunity to explain my 
 own system, and thus sum up the results of my 
 previous researches. 
 
 " Feeling uncertain whether I shall be able to 
 complete my plan, I shall subdivide my series of 
 lectures into several parts, of which each will form 
 a separate work. The First, under the title of 
 an Introduction to Ethics, will be devoted to a 
 consideration of the fundamental principles of moral 
 science, and will include, beside my own views, a 
 review and criticism of all the important solutions 
 which have been given of these problems. The 
 Second, under the title of Personal Ethics, will 
 contain a system of the duties which a man owes 
 to himself. The Third, under the title of Actual 
 Ethics, will explain the principles of conduct by 
 which man should be governed in his relations to 
 things. The Fourth, under the title of Social 
 Ethics, will embrace the science of rights and 
 duties arising from the various relations in which 
 man stands to man. The' Fifth, and last, under 
 the title of Natural Religion, will have for its sub-
 
 !; F:7 r V 
 
 TRANSLATOR S PREFACE. IX 
 
 ject the relations of man toward God, and a deter- 
 mination of the duties thence resulting." 
 
 These volumes contain a part of the work first 
 mentioned, an "Introduction to Ethics," and consist 
 of a critical review of various ethical systems. Pre- 
 liminary to this survey is a lecture describing the 
 results already attained by previous investigations, 
 and two other lectures upon the facts of man's moral 
 nature, from which some notion may be formed of 
 Jouffroy's own theory, though it would be prema- 
 ture to discuss it, before a full exposition of it is 
 given in a third volume, soon to be published. All 
 that can now with certainty be said of this system 
 is, that it is based upon scrupulous psychological 
 observation, and therefore that it must contain much 
 to interest and instruct, even if it fails to be an ade- 
 quate representation of human nature. For though 
 there is an element of the mysterious and infinite, 
 pervading the spirit of man, and influencing all its 
 operations, which no analysis can enable us to com- 
 prehend, yet the suggestions of every careful student 
 of consciousness are a most important aid to those 
 who seek self-knowledge. We may feel sure, too, 
 that this theory will be developed with the singu- 
 larly lucid method which characterizes the other
 
 X TRANSLATOR S PREFACE. 
 
 writings of this philosopher, and expressed in a style 
 so transparent, as often to hide from a superficial 
 eye the profoundness of the thought. Of the 
 ethical system, partially unfolded in these volumes,, 
 this, then, is not the occasion to speak. 
 
 But an expression of the admiration justly due 
 to these lectures, as criticisms, should not be with- 
 held. From the facts of human nature, which he 
 describes, as his point of view, Jouffroy takes a 
 rapid yet comprehensive survey of all ethical sys- 
 tems, distinguishes and classifies them with great dis- 
 crimination, and then proceeds to discuss, in order, 
 the theories, which seem to him most clearly to 
 manifest the essential principle of their respective 
 classes. It may add new interest to these volumes 
 in the eyes of English scholars, that, in almost every 
 instance, a selection has been made from the works 
 of authors, by the spirit of whose writings the moral 
 atmosphere of England and of our own country is 
 pervaded. The sagacity with which this critic pene- 
 trates to the very essence of these systems, and the 
 iairness with which he recognizes their claims to 
 respect, do equal honor to his head and heart. 
 Most readers of these lectures will probably admit, 
 that they had never rightly understood the principles
 
 TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE. xi 
 
 of Hobbes, of Bentham, of Smith, and of Price, 
 nor comprehended the consequences to which they 
 necessarily tend, until they had seen them illumi- 
 nated by the analysis of this clear and candid 
 Frenchman. The two lectures upon Spinoza are 
 entitled to especial praise, as well for the lucidness 
 of the descriptions and reasonings, as for the humility 
 with which so deep-read a scholar confesses his 
 inability perfectly to comprehend, and his incompe- 
 tency to pass judgment upon this most abstract of 
 all systems. To those who believe that every con 
 scientious seeker discovers some elements of truth, 
 while the whole is not revealed even to the largest 
 minded, such an historical review of opinions, as is 
 here given, must be invaluable. 
 
 Here this preface might with propriety be closed* 
 But such gross misconceptions, as to the character 
 of modern French philosophy, still prevail among us, 
 notwithstanding the full expositions which have been 
 laid before the public, that it seems unjust to let 
 any opportunity pass unused of making known the 
 true position which the writers of this school occupy. 
 This will now be attempted by simply restating, as 
 briefly and clearly as possible, what has often been 
 said at greater length. 
 
 b
 
 Xll TRANSLATOR S PREFACE. 
 
 Within little more than half a century, the world 
 has witnessed the rise of three distinct schools of 
 philosophy the Scottish, the German, and the 
 French. The characteristic principle of the Scottish 
 school, which . originated in 1763 with Reid, is a 
 rigorous application of the inductive method to 
 the science of mind. This Locke had previously 
 attempted, but, preoccupied with his theory, that all 
 ideas are derived from sensation and reflection, he 
 made the monstrous oversight of excluding the most 
 vital of all ideas the first truths, communicated 
 spontaneously by reason. The necessary result 
 of Locke's system was the skepticism of Hume. 
 Appalled by this consequence, Reid was led to 
 detect the fallacy of the modes of investigation, still 
 employed by philosophers, and, discarding hypoth- 
 esis, to adopt psychological observation as the only 
 true method in intellectual and moral science. By 
 this rule the Scottish school has been scrupulously 
 governed ; and though it must be admitted that their 
 observations have been hasty, partial, and confused, 
 and that their inductions have been careless and 
 incomplete, yet the world owes a large debt of 
 gratitude to these writers, for their clear elucidation 
 of the primary importance of psychology.
 
 TBANSLATOR S PREFACE. Xlll 
 
 The German school took its rise from the writings 
 of Kant, in 1781. Kant, like Reid, was impelled 
 to enter upon the profound researches which will 
 immortalize his name, by perceiving that the con- 
 sequences, which Hume had deduced from the 
 principle, that experience is the only source of ideas, 
 were strictly logical. With powers of reflection 
 far surpassing those of any Scottish writer, he 
 applied himself to the work of analyzing the 
 elements of the human mind ; and succeeded in 
 demonstrating, what Reid had assumed, that intui- 
 tive reason suggests primary ideas, which, though 
 first recognized on the occasion of some experience, 
 cannot be derived from it, inasmuch as they enter 
 into the very act of the mind, by which this 
 experience is received. By the psychological 
 information, which he communicated, Kant has 
 conferred a lasting benefit upon his race, and 
 substituted spiritualism in place of sensualism for- 
 ever. But Kant did not stop here. Under the 
 influence of the philosophy of Descartes, the whole 
 energies of his mind were directed towards ascer- 
 taining the certainty of human knowledge; and in 
 the solution of this problem he was brought to the 
 adoption of a system of skepticism far deeper 
 than that of Hume's, which he had refuted. His
 
 Xiv TRANSLATORS PREFACE. 
 
 assertion, that we have no means of proving the 
 existence of objective realities, corresponding to our 
 subjective ideas, determined the movement and char- 
 acter of the German school. The original thinkers, 
 who have succeeded Kant, have turned their attention 
 almost exclusively to logical and ontological ques- 
 tions. A later age may pronounce the methods they 
 have pursued delusive, and distrust the results at 
 which they have arrived ; but it will also probably 
 acknowledge, with respect, that these eloquent writers 
 have awakened a new reverence for the human spirit, 
 and communicated to the minds of their own and 
 other lands, fresh vigor, by the freedom of thought, 
 and depth of sentiment, with which their works are 
 inspired. 
 
 While the Scottish school has thus been absorbed 
 by psychology, and the German school by ontology 
 and logic, the French school, which is their suc- 
 cessor, has imbibed, in some degree, the principles 
 of each, and blended them with a method of its 
 own. It may be said to have commenced, in 1811, 
 with the attempts of Maine de Biran and Royer- 
 Collard to overthrow the systems of sensualism and 
 skepticism, which had so fatally taken possession of 
 the French mind. The efforts of these philosophers
 
 TRANSLATOR S PREFACE. XV 
 
 introduced a profounder study of facts, an acquaint^ 
 ance with the writings of the Scottish school, and a 
 stricter application of the inductive method. They 
 began the work of reform. But it is to Victor 
 Cousin that the French school is indebted for the 
 wide celebrity, which it enjoys throughout continental 
 Europe ; and for the influence which it is beginning 
 to acquire in England and in this country. The 
 clear analysis, the rigorous inductions, the extensive 
 scholarship, and brilliant eloquence of this admirable 
 lecturer and writer, have secured him a sway over 
 the thoughtful minds of his own nation, which 
 promises to substitute rational faith for unbelief, and 
 generous principles of private and political conduct 
 for the maxims of .selfishness. This movement 
 Jouffroy is well fitted to advance, from his habit 
 of patient observation, his liberal spirit, and perfect 
 simplicity of method and of style. 
 
 The leading principles of the French school are 
 three. 
 
 I. PSYCHOLOGY is THE BASIS OF PHILOSOPHY, 
 The facts of human nature, recognized by con-? 
 sciousness, are the only foundation for metaphysical 
 or moral science. Neglect of observation leads
 
 XVI TRANSLATOR S PREFACE. 
 
 to useless hypotheses. Erroneous observation gives 
 rise to systems false in principle and fatal in their 
 consequences. Thorough acquaintance with the fun- 
 damental laws of our minds is of indispensable 
 importance. The first qualification of the philoso- 
 pher, therefore, is the power of profound reflection. 
 Though indebted in part for this principle to Reid 
 and Stewart, the writers of the French school have 
 comprehended it more distinctly, and applied it more 
 strictly, than their teachers, and have arrived at 
 results more definite and complete than theirs. As 
 psychologists, Cousin and Joufixoy have never been 
 surpassed. 
 
 II. THE HTGHEST PROBLEMS OF ONTOLOGY MAY 
 BE SOLVED BY INDUCTIONS FROM THE FACTS WHICH 
 
 PSYCHOLOGY ASCERTAINS. We are not limited to a 
 simple acquaintance with our own consciousness ; but 
 by reasoning upon our ideas, and the phenomena 
 which experience brings before us, we may rise to 
 a knowledge of the Infinite Being. Though the 
 influence of the German school may here be recog- 
 nized, the two methods are, in fact, directly opposite. 
 The Germans begin with the absolute, and descend 
 to man , the French begin with man, and ascend to 
 the absolute. With regard to this principle, it may
 
 TRANSLATOR S PREFACE. XV11 
 
 be remarked, in relation to JoufTroy, that he has 
 imbibed the caution of the Scottish philosophers ; 
 while Cousin, in his bolder generalizations, shows 
 more affinity with the writers of Germany. 
 
 III. PSYCHOLOGY AND THE HISTORY OF PHILOS- 
 OPHY RECIPROCALLY EXPLAIN EACH OTHER. This 
 
 is the principle, which, being more peculiarly charac- 
 teristic of the French school, has given the system 
 its distinctive name of Eclecticism. The principle 
 is a most simple and rational one, though it has been 
 most strangely misunderstood. Eclecticism means 
 exactly the contrary of a commingling of heteroge- 
 neous systems; being intended to designate a dis- 
 criminating selection of the elements of truth which 
 may be found in each system. It may be thus 
 explained : Philosophical opinions and popular be- 
 liefs must correspond to some essential principles of 
 human nature, or else they would never have 
 appeared, nor awakened sympathy. Were the 
 various doctrines, in which men have believed, 
 accurately analyzed, we should have a complete 
 icpresentation of man's spirit. The creeds of men 
 have grown out of some primary law of their minds. 
 There is a portion of truth, then, in every system 
 of opinion and of faith. But how shall we detect
 
 XV111 TRANSLATOR S PREFACE. 
 
 this, and separate it from the errors with which it 
 is combined? Only by a knowledge of the funda- 
 mental faculties and tendencies of our nature. This 
 psychology alone can give. Psychology enables us 
 to recognize in any system the element of our 
 spiritual being which it imbodies. Thus the facts 
 which we observe in human nature enable us to 
 explain, to criticise, and judge, the theories which 
 the history of philosophy describes. But, on the 
 other hand, our psychology may be defective. How 
 shall we test it? By its adequacy to account for 
 the opinions which men have professed. If we 
 meet with systems which we cannot explain, our 
 observations have been partial, our psychology is 
 incomplete, and we must resume our study of the 
 facts of consciousness. 
 
 The following lectures afford a perfect illustra- 
 tion of the manner in which these principles of the 
 French school should be applied. 
 
 This hasty description may be sufficient to show 
 that the writers of the French school are, at least, 
 safe guides in philosophical investigations. The 
 love of truth and liberality, which breathe through 
 their works, are the best antidote for whatever errors
 
 TRANSLATOR S PREFACE. XIX 
 
 they may teach. A familiar acquaintance with them 
 can tend only to make us conscientious observers, 
 strict reasoners, candid critics, and thorough scholars. 
 And now to all fellow-students of philosophy these 
 lectures are presented, with the sincere hope that 
 they may derive from their perusal the instruction 
 and pleasure, which have amply repaid the labor 
 of the translator. 
 
 CINCINNATI, December 23, 1839.
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 VOLUME FIRST, 
 
 LECTURE I. 
 
 Page. 
 
 OBJECT AND DIVISION OF ETHICAL SCIENCE 3 
 
 LECTURE II. 
 THE FACTS OF MAN S MORAL NATURE 24 
 
 LECTURE HI. 
 THE SAME SUBJECT CONTINUED 57 
 
 LECTURE IV. 
 SYSTEM OF NECESSITY. . 83 
 
 LECTURE V. 
 SYSTEM OF MYSTICISM 115 
 
 LECTURE VI. 
 SYSTEM OF PANTHEISM. SPINOZA 145 
 
 LECTURE VII. 
 THE SAME SUBJECT CONTINUED 175
 
 XX11 CONTENTS OF VOLUME FIRST. 
 
 LECTURE VIII. Ptrs% 
 
 SYSTEM OF SKEPTICISM. 200 
 
 LECTURE IX. 
 REFUTATION OF SKEPTICISM 221 
 
 LECTURE X. 
 THE SKEPTICISM OF THE PRESENT AGE. .'..... 248 
 
 LECTURE XI. 
 THE SELFISH SYSTEM. HOBBES 279 
 
 LECTURE XII. 
 THE SAME SUBJECT CONTINUED. 305
 
 JOUFFROY.
 
 JOUFFROY. 
 
 LECTURE I. 
 
 I s ' ;'' ; ' r -(!< ':,'' 
 
 OBJECT AND DIVISION OP ETHICAL SCIENCE. 
 
 ' -'* 
 
 GENTLEMEN, 
 
 THE inquiry, to which our attention will be 
 directed during the present course cf lectures, forms 
 but one chapter of that more general inquiry, which 
 has been the subject of my instructions from this chair 
 for the last three years. It at once presupposes the 
 preceding courses, and prepares the way for those 
 which are to follow. Before describing, therefore, the 
 precise subject to which our attention will now be 
 particularly directed, it may be well to reconsider the 
 grand problem that for three years past has occupied 
 us; to review briefly such portions .of it as we have 
 thus far discussed; and then to set clearly before 
 our minds the part that now presents itself, according 
 to the general plan which we had marked out. This 
 rapid review will not be unprofitable to those who have 
 attended the previous courses, and it will be absolutely 
 necessary for all who have not. 
 
 Human destiny, regarded in its threefold aspect,
 
 JOUFVROY. 
 
 as embracing the destiny of individuals, the destiny 
 of communities, and the destiny of the race, this, 
 gentlemen, is the problem, to the solution of which 
 my instructions have been devoted. When I first pre- 
 sented it to your consideration, I endeavored not only 
 to make you feel how obscure and yet how important 
 a problem it is, but also, by a severe analysis, to 
 resolve it into the several questions which it includes. 
 Having separated and disengaged these elementary 
 problems, I then showed their connection with each 
 other, and the logical order in which they should be 
 discussed. And thus, having settled precisely the 
 divisions of this vast inquiry, and the method to be 
 followed in its pursuit, we began our labors, taking 
 up first the particular question that, according to the 
 plan we had marked out, came first in order. 
 
 This question was as follows : What is the destiny 
 of man in the present life? The connection between 
 the destiny of a being and his nature, is, as you well 
 know, most intimate. Indeed, the different destinies 
 of different beings are determined wholly by their 
 natures. If all beings had the same nature, their destiny 
 would be the same. It is to the nature of a being, 
 therefore, that we must look, when we would learn 
 his destiny ; for it is this which imposes it upon him, 
 and from this it results as necessarily as a consequence 
 from a principle, or an effect from a cause. We have 
 applied this method, dictated as it is by good sense, 
 to man, and, from the examination of his nature, we 
 have inferred his absolute and final end. But, in 
 comparing this final end of man with that to which 
 he actually attains in this life, we have been struck
 
 OBJECT AND DIVISION OF ETHICAL SCIENCE. 5 
 
 with a fact, which has proved to us, that, in order to 
 determine what is his end upon earth, we must have 
 regard to something beside his nature This fact is 
 the difference between the destiny to which man 
 actually here attains, and that which we see traced in 
 plain characters upon his nature. We have easily 
 discovered the cause of this difference. The circum- 
 stances amidst which our nature is here placed, are 
 such as to render the completion of our destiny 
 impossible. The destiny of man on earth is determined 
 not only by his nature, therefore, but by his condition 
 also. And, to decide what it must be, we should 
 consider, first, his nature, and then the circumstances 
 of his present being. It has been by examining the 
 resultant, so to speak, of these two combined forces, 
 that we have arrived at a solution I trust a legiti- 
 mate one of the question proposed. The first year 
 of my instructions was devoted exclusively to the solu- 
 tion of this problem, which is the elementary question 
 of moral philosophy. 
 
 The second question that occupied our attention 
 was this : Is the destiny of man wholly accomplished in 
 this life ? or did it commence before birth, and will it 
 continue after death? And no one, before having 
 determined this question, however profound has been 
 his study of the present life, should flatter himself that 
 he has a complete idea of the destiny of man, or 
 even a clear idea of his destiny here. There is but 
 one mode of solving this question, and it is a sure 
 one. It is to see whether human destiny has in this 
 world a true beginning and completion, or whether 
 it is rather a drama, whose prologue and catastrophe 
 
 A 2
 
 6 JOUFFROY, 
 
 are wanting. It has appeared to us, from examination, 
 that the actual destiny of man in this life is inexpli- 
 cable, except upon the supposition of a life hereafter; 
 and when we- have compared it, such as it now is, 
 with the destiny which seems necessarily to result 
 from his nature, we have been convinced that his 
 destiny is not completed here : hence our conclusion 
 that another scene of being is absolutely demanded 
 to do his nature justice. We have boldly asserted, 
 therefore, the reality of this future life; and we have 
 anticipated its character, by supposing that it will be 
 especially adapted to the completion of his destiny. 
 Thus have we convinced ourselves of the necessity 
 of a life hereafter, and have decided what the destiny 
 of man in that life will be. The same method applied 
 to the problem of a life preceding the present one, 
 has led us to an opposite result, but one quite as 
 much to be depended on. Indeed, we have satisfied 
 ourselves, that, although the last acts of the drama 
 of human destiny are not to be performed on earth, 
 yet still it had its true commencement here ; and that 
 there is no necessity, therefore, for supposing, ante- 
 rior to birth, a prologue to the present life. Two 
 years were devoted to this important inquiry, which 
 forms one branch of natural religion. 
 
 Thus you see, gentlemen, the manner in which 
 the first three years have been occupied, and the 
 result to which we have been led. At the present 
 stage of the inquiry, we have completely solved 
 according to the measure of our weak intelligence 
 the general problem of the destiny of man. We have 
 learned that this destiny is divided into two parts,
 
 OBJECT AND DIVISION OP ETHICAL SCIENCE. 7 
 
 of which the first is accomplished in this life; while 
 the second is to be completed in one or more future 
 scenes of being. We have learned the exact point 
 to which this work of human development is carried 
 here, and the manner in which it will be completed 
 hereafter; and we have learned, further, the reason 
 why it was necessary that it should begin here, and 
 the necessity for its being completed, having been once 
 begun. In a word, not only have we learned what is 
 the actual destiny of man in this world, but have seen 
 that this destiny at once so sad, yet happy, so grand, 
 though limited is to be justified and explained only 
 by a foresight of such a completed destiny as we have 
 been led to contemplate. Here is the precise point 
 in our inquiry at which we have arrived ; and we are 
 now to advance yet further. 
 
 The question that next presents itself, according 
 to our plan, is this : The end to which man is destined 
 being known, what should be his conduct under all 
 possible circumstances 1 or, in other words, What are 
 the proper rules of human conduct 1 The answer to 
 this question forms the subject of the science of ethics. 
 And the course of lectures of this and several succeed- 
 ing years will be occupied in giving this answer. A 
 question so vast must require many years for its full 
 consideration. 
 
 The relations connecting this question with those 
 which have before occupied our attention, and which 
 we have now reviewed, must be evident to you at 
 Once. It would be as absurd to inquire how a being 
 should conduct himself whose end is unknown, as 
 to inquire what is the end of a being whose nature
 
 8 JOUFFROY. 
 
 is unknown. For the same reason, therefore, that 
 man's nature should be determined before we inquire 
 what is his destiny, should the question of his destiny 
 be solved before we consider his duties. The question 
 that we are now to consider becomes, therefore, an 
 appropriate one. And now, having pointed out the 
 relations of this question, and unfolded its meaning, 
 let us proceed to measure its extent and separate its 
 elements, and thence draw out a proper plan for this 
 new inquiry upon which we are about to enter, or, 
 if you please, the chart for our voyage. 
 
 But, in the very outset, we meet with a prejudic^* 
 against the whole science of ethics, which it is 
 neither philosophical nor reasonable to pass by. Upon 
 this prejudice, indeed, are founded the objections 
 of numerous systems to the science ; and, if these 
 objections do rest upon good grounds, the science 
 is destroyed, and the object of our present pursuit 
 proved to be an illusion. The ideas of rules and 
 law, of rights and duties, imply the idea of obligation; 
 and it is plain, that, if there really is nothing obligatory 
 for man if the idea of obligation is but a vain 
 imagination, which the breath of philosophy dissi- 
 pates then all other ideas resting upon it vanish also, 
 and with them the science of ethics, which presupposes 
 them. To seek for rules and laws for human conduct, 
 is to seek for that which man ought or ought not to 
 do for that which it is his duty to accomplish and 
 respect for that which he has a right to require 
 other men to respect. Now, if he is really bound by 
 no duties, and if other men are bound by none in 
 relation to him, then are there no rules; no laws of
 
 OBJECT AND DIVISION OF ETHICAL SCIENCE. 9 
 
 human conduct, to be sought ; and the object of the 
 science of ethics the science itself disappears 
 altogether. It is, then, I repeat, a vital question for 
 the science of ethics, whether there is or is not any 
 thing obligatory for man. Many systems have an- 
 swered this question in the negative. To describe 
 the different ways by which they have arrived at this 
 common conclusion, would be to anticipate the matter 
 of the subsequent lectures. It is sufficient at present, 
 therefore, to say that there are such systems, and that 
 they have obtained celebrity from the authority of the 
 distinguished men who have been their authors. The 
 mere fact, however, that these systems do call in ques- 
 tion the very foundation of those rules for human 
 conduct which we propose to consider, is enough to 
 show that we ought, before entering upon any exami- 
 nation of those rules, first to examine the truth of 
 these systems, and to discuss the grounds of the 
 prejudice on which they are based. We will, there- 
 fore, gentlemen, open the present course of lectures 
 with this examination, and not proceed to a considera- 
 tion of the various branches of human duty, until we 
 have removed this prejudice, and reassured ourselves 
 that there really is a law of human obligation. 
 
 Let us, however, pass, for the present, to a view 
 of the natural subdivisions of human duty, assuming 
 for the time that there really is a law of obligation. 
 
 It might be said that there is, in truth, but one duty 
 for man, which is, to accomplish his destiny. The 
 destiny of man being known, the rules for his conduct 
 are known also. This is true ; but equally true is it, 
 that the relations in which man is placed are so
 
 10 JOUFFROY. 
 
 numerous and complex, that it is not always easy to 
 see how he should conduct in order to accomplish 
 this end. Hence it follows, that although his chief 
 duty does comprise the principles and spirit of all 
 duties, yet it is necessary to set these forth distinctly. 
 To do this requires deep meditation and great sagacity ; 
 for the subject is at once extensive and difficult. It 
 is the object of the science of ethics to determine 
 the rules for conduct. It begins with describing the 
 grand relations which man sustains, and then passes 
 on to a consideration of the various branches of duty 
 appropriate to each. Its great divisions correspond 
 to our grand relations, and its subdivisions embrace 
 the rules of human conduct which these different 
 relations impose. The science is complete, when it 
 omits no relation, and describes every branch of duty. 
 
 It is long since the common sense of humanity has 
 declared, that man sustains, in this life, four principal 
 relations: the first, to God; the second, to himself; 
 the third, to things, animate and inanimate, which 
 people the creation ; the fourth, to his kind. Through 
 all ages, therefore, the inquiry has been, what are 
 the rules for human conduct in these four grand 
 relations; and the science of ethics has been divided 
 into four corresponding branches. 
 
 We will preserve this division, because it is legiti- 
 mate and complete, and it would be in vain to seek 
 a better. Such, then, are the four grand inquiries 
 embraced in the subject of our present course, when 
 taken in its full extent. But it is not enough to 
 indicate merely this general division. We must take 
 a nearer view of the different parts, and settle precisely
 
 OBJECT AND DIVISION OF ETHICAL SCIENCE. 11 
 
 the object, extent, and proper name of each. Let 
 us consider, then, successively, these four grand 
 relations which we have stated, and enter into some 
 more detailed description of the branches of ethical 
 science corresponding to them. 
 
 FIRST RELATION. 
 
 Relation of Man to God. 
 
 One element, by which our judgment as to the 
 proper rules for human conduct, in each of the four 
 grand relations, may be determined, is always given ; 
 I mean the knowledge of man's true destiny of his 
 final end. But another element is also given, peculiar 
 to each relation ; and that is, the nature of the being 
 to whom man is related, and the nature of the relation 
 which thence results. 
 
 In the relation that we are now to consider, we 
 must elevate ourselves to a knowledge of God, and 
 of our relations to him, before we can determine the 
 rules which should direct our conduct towards him. 
 A correct description of these rules will depend, then, 
 not only upon the truth of our conception of man 
 and of his destiny, but also upon the purity of the 
 idea that we form of God, and of our relations to 
 him. Hence arise the diversity and progressive puri- 
 fication of human opinions in relation to this first 
 branch of ethics, which is usually called natural 
 religion. The name, however, is an improper one-; 
 for it corresponds to only one branch of natural
 
 12 JOUFFROY. . 
 
 religion, which, in its full extent, embraces, in 
 addition to this question of our duties towards God, 
 the further questions of God's nature, and of man's 
 future destiny three problems, perfectly distinct, 
 but usually embraced under one common name. Cor- 
 responding in history to this branch of ethics, we 
 find such various modes of worship as have been 
 adopted under different systems of religion. Through 
 all nations and ages, men have endeavored, through 
 positive laws and customs, to express, in a more 
 or less imperfect way, the conception that they had 
 formed of religious duty. Parallel, therefore, to this 
 division of ethical science we have an historical 
 manifestation of man's ideas of it. And to all other 
 divisions we shall find similar historical parallels. We 
 must add, then, to our description of the laws for 
 conduct, which reason announces, a history of the 
 manners and customs by which man has expressed 
 his various conceptions of them. 
 
 SECOND RELATION. 
 
 Relation of Man to Himself: 
 
 The branch of ethics that describes the proper 
 rules of man's conduct towards himself, is called 
 personal morality. A thorough knowledge of human 
 nature, and of the external conditions upon which its 
 development depends, when added to the true concep- 
 tion of our destiny, will enable us to decide upon the 
 rales for the right treatment of both body and soul.
 
 OBJECT AND DIVISION OF ETHICAL SCIENCE. 13 
 
 To refute the opinion of those who deny that there 
 is such a branch of ethics, it is enough to read the 
 works of Epictetus or of Marcus Aurelius; or to 
 suppose a man shut up in solitude in a desert island ; 
 or to examine the opinions of those who pretend, 
 on the other hand, that all other branches of moral 
 duty may be resolved into this. Without adopting 
 this last opinion, a little reflection will soon convince 
 us, that no duties can be more important. We find, 
 in different forms of religious observances, and in 
 the ethical systems of philosophers of all ages, in 
 national laws, especially in those of antiquity, and, 
 above all, in the manners and customs of all times 
 and lands, numberless rules, practices, habits, cor- 
 responding with this branch of ethics, and expressing, 
 with more or less clearness, the absolute rule of duty 
 which man owes to himself. Such laws and obser- 
 vances, taken together, form the historical parallel to 
 this division of ethical science. 
 
 THIRD RELATION. 
 
 Relation of Man to Things, 
 
 Under the name things, I include all surrounding 
 creatures, animate or inanimate, organized or un- 
 organized, with the exception only of our own race. 
 I am justified in giving to them all alike this common 
 designation, by the consideration, that, in my opinion, 
 free will and reason are needed to constitute personali- 
 ty; and it is doubtful whether these are any more to 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 14 JOUFFROY. 
 
 be found in animals, even in those which appear to 
 a certain degree intelligent, than they are in minerals 
 or plants. Will you excuse, then, the use of this 
 expression, which I have adopted for the sake of con- 
 venience, and which will not prevent us from making 
 the proper distinction between the different classes 
 of beings represented by it ? To form a clear and 
 accurate idea of this branch of ethics, to which no 
 name is particularly assigned, we can suppose the 
 case of a man living alone on an island, like Rob- 
 inson. We shall thus avoid all questions referring to 
 the right of property, that is to say, to the right of 
 making use of things, exclusively of other men ques- 
 tions properly arising under the relation in which man 
 stands to his fellow man, and wholly distinct from 
 those which are suggested by the relation of individual 
 man to things. In this supposed case of a man alone 
 in the midst of things, you will perceive that there are 
 questions of duty, peculiar to this relation. They are 
 such as these : Have we a right to convert to our own 
 uses the nature of things ? Are there limits to this 
 right 7 What are these limits ? Are the limits the 
 same in relation to animals as to things inanimate 1 
 The rules which we should form for our own conduct 
 towards things, depend, you will see, upon the solu- 
 tion of these questions ; and this solution depends 
 upon our ideas of our own destiny, of the nature of 
 these creatures, their destination and purpose here, 
 and of the relations between ourselves and them. Such 
 is the true object of this branch of ethics ; and it is 
 divided into two parts the rules of our conduct 
 towards animals, and the rules of our conduct towards
 
 OBJECT AND DIVISION OF ETHICAL SCIENCE. 15 
 
 things, properly so called. To these rules correspond, 
 in the various forms of religion, in the customs, and 
 even in the laws of certain people, various practices, 
 which are their historical counterpart, and represent 
 them more or less distinctly. 
 
 FOURTH RELATION. 
 
 Relation of Man to his Kind. 
 
 The relations which may arise between man and 
 man are so various, that the corresponding division of 
 ethical science is much the largest and most complex. 
 And some writers have, in consequence, appropriated 
 the name ethics exclusively to the rules of proper 
 conduct between man and man. Subdivisions of these 
 rules, too, have received particular names, and have 
 become the objects of distinct sciences. And again, 
 in the third place, some authors have introduced into 
 the science of ethics, thus understood, researches 
 which make no part of it whatever. The phraseology 
 used in relation to this division of ethical science has 
 thus become confused ; and, in order to arrive at 
 precise notions, and consequently at clear and definite 
 expressions, we must analyze with care this grand 
 relation of man to man, and distinguish from each 
 other the different relations, or at least the principal 
 ones which it embraces. This we will now attempt ; 
 and I must ask your candid attention. 
 
 The particular relations, comprehended under the 
 general relation of man to man, admit of one primary
 
 16 JOUFFROY. 
 
 distinction, founded on the circumstance that some 
 of these relations would exist even were there no such 
 state as society, while others arise wholly out of this 
 state, and presuppose it. 
 
 I am far from admitting the idea of that state of 
 nature which some philosophers have dreamed of, 
 who allot to man, as he came first from the hands of 
 his Creator, the life of a solitary animal. All history 
 protests against this fiction ; and, so far from repre- 
 senting this condition as the natural state of man, 
 history proves that it has been by a concurrence of 
 remarkable circumstances, and only in a few rare 
 cases, that any individual of the species has lived thus 
 solitary. History does not contradict, however, but 
 rather confirms the opinion that there has existed, at 
 least in some portions of the earth, anterior to the 
 formation of any society, a state which we might well 
 call, for the sake of distinction, the state of nature; 
 such a state, for instance, as Abraham and his children 
 are described as living in by the Scriptures. This 
 state differs from the state of society in many important 
 respects, the chief of which I will point out. It is 
 this: The state of society is adventitious, founded, 
 though it is, on many principles of our nature, while 
 the patriarchal state is necessary ; in other words, 
 we cannot conceive of man as existing out of the 
 family state, while we can easily conceive of him, and 
 history has often pictured him, as living out of the 
 social state, properly so called. 
 
 When we consider man as existing in this state 
 of nature, which is a possible one, and has certainly 
 preceded the social state, in some parts of the earth,
 
 OBJECT AND DIVISION OF ETHICAL SCIENCE. 17 
 
 and probably in all, we find that there are two relations 
 between man and man, which, equally with the state 
 itself, are independent of the existence of society. 
 These are the relations of man to man as individuals 
 of the same species, and the different relations created 
 by the family tie among its members. From these two 
 kinds of relations arise two branches of duties and 
 of rights the duties and rights of humanity, and the 
 duties and rights of family. These two branches may 
 be called the ethics of humanity, and the ethics of fam- 
 ily ; and, existing, as they do, independent of society, 
 I will call them both by this common name the 
 ethics of nature. 
 
 When society is formed, these two anterior relations 
 of man to man, as such, and of the members of families 
 towards each other, are found already existing ; but 
 society modifies both. In the bosom of society, indi-. 
 viduals who are strangers by blood do not remain in 
 the simple relation of man to man ; they enter into that 
 of fellow-citizens of the same state ; and the members 
 of a family, too, continue no longer to be simply fathers 
 and sons, husbands and wives, brethren by blood, but 
 they are also citizens together in a social state. 
 Society modifies, therefore, the rules of right conduct 
 between man and man, considered as such, and between 
 the members of a family in all the domestic relations. 
 It modifies these so as best to secure the good of the 
 whole. Now, all these rules, thus modified, extended, 
 multiplied, of whatsoever sort they may be, constitute 
 what may be called private ethics, the first branch 
 of social ethics, which in itself embraces the rules 
 
 B3
 
 18 JOUFFROY. 
 
 for every relation that can exist between the citizens 
 of the same state. 
 
 But, independently of such relations as exist pre- 
 vious to the formation of society, and of which it 
 modifies the character, society creates a wholly new 
 relation ; it is that of a citizen to the society of which 
 he is a member, or to the power which represents that 
 society. Hence arise the rules of conduct for citizens 
 towards the state, and for the state towards its citizens, 
 which together form public ethics, so called, the 
 second branch of social ethics. 
 
 Here, however, an objection presents itself, that 
 must be removed before we go further. All rules of 
 private and public ethics are evidently established 
 relatively to the constitution of each particular state 
 of society. It would seem, then, at first view, as if 
 they must be wholly dependent upon this constitution, 
 and as if it belonged rather to positive than to natural 
 law to determine them. This would be true if there 
 were not essential properties common to all possible 
 forms of society, which arise out of the very nature 
 of society, independently of the various forms which 
 it may assume, and thus constitute its fundamental 
 elements. These essential conditions give birth to 
 essential social duties, which are natural and absolute, 
 duties anterior and superior to all positive laws, and 
 which it is the very purpose of social enactments to 
 preserve, under every possible form of society. Here, 
 then, we have the natural ethics of society subdivided, 
 as positive social ethics are, into public duties and 
 private duties.
 
 OBJECT AND DIVISION OF ETHICAL SCIENCE. 19 
 
 You see, then, that, before we can determine the rules 
 of the natural ethics of society, we must have pre 
 viously settled two points 1. The end of all society. 
 2. The essential conditions of all society. These two 
 questions should occupy our attention, therefore, before 
 we proceed to the examination of the rules of the natural 
 ethics of society. And here let it be remarked, that this 
 whole inquiry is distinct from questions as to the best 
 organization, and the best form of society, or as to 
 the best means of securing the material well-being 
 of society. These are not so much questions of duty 
 as of art. They are the object of the two sciences 
 of politics and political economy, which are quite 
 distinct from ethics ; and I should not have alluded 
 to them at all, had not some authors connected them 
 with those which form the proper object of ethical 
 science. 
 
 There is one other relation which arises from the 
 general relation of man to man : k is that of societies 
 to societies. The rules for conduct between one 
 society and another are evidently the same with those 
 between one family and another in the state of nature. 
 They constitute what is called the ethics of nations, 
 the fifth and last branch of this division of ethical 
 science. 
 
 And now, to review our train of thought, we have 
 found that the general relation of man to man divides 
 itself into five kinds of principal relations 1. The 
 relation of man to man as such, which is the object 
 of the ethics of humanity ; 2. That of family, which 
 is the object of the ethics of family ; 3. That of fel- 
 low-citizens of a social state, which is the object of
 
 20 JOUFFROY. 
 
 private ethics ; 4. That of citizens to the state, and 
 of the state to citizens, which is the object of public 
 ethics ; 5. That of societies to societies, which is the 
 object of the ethics of nations. 
 
 These five grand relations may be subdivided into 
 three classes 1. Those existing independently of 
 society, which are the object of the ethics of nature : 
 under this division come the first two relations ; 2. 
 Those arising from the existence of society, which 
 would be the same were there only one social state : 
 these are the object of social ethics, and include the 
 third and fourth relations ; 3. That resulting from 
 the simultaneous existence of several societies, or at 
 least of several families living separately, which is the 
 object of the ethics of nations : this is the fifth and last. 
 
 These different branches of ethical science find 
 their parallels in history : to the ethics of nature cor- 
 respond a multitude of philosophical systems and 
 religious usages; to social ethics, all positive laws; 
 and to the ethics of nations, the customs which have 
 governed the intercourse of nation with nation, in all 
 the different ages of the world. 
 
 Such is the ideal of the complete science of ethics, 
 as it has presented itself to the finest minds which have 
 occupied themselves in its study. But as the word 
 ethics has not been universally used in so wide a 
 sense, it may be well to make you acquainted with 
 such other and different meanings as have been at- 
 tached to it. 
 
 When we consider the meaning of the epithet 
 natural, in the term natural ethics, we shall be led to 
 understand by it fall rules of conduct resulting from 
 
 ft
 
 OBJECT AND DIVISION OF ETHICAL SCIENCE. 21 
 
 the nature of things, in all relations whatever to which 
 reason can attain. ' Hence a very general acceptation 
 of the word, which includes in natural ethics natural 
 religion, personal morality, our duties to things, and 
 all social rights and duties of every kind. But, on the 
 other hand, if we particularly regard the word ethics, 
 we may be conducted to two other quite different 
 meanings of the term. Some writers, taking the word 
 ethics in its philosophical sense, that is to say, as 
 implying rights correlative to duties, are unwilling to 
 employ the term natural ethics, except as designating 
 that portion of the rules for human conduct, which, 
 by imposing a duty on one man, create a corresponding 
 right for another ; and they limit its application, there- 
 fore, to one part only of the rules for the conduct 
 of man to his kind. Hence a second acceptation of the 
 word, according to which natural ethics comprehends 
 neither natural religion, nor personal morality, nor 
 duties to things, and not all the rules of conduct, even, 
 for man to his kind. Others, again, taking the word 
 ethics in a yet narrower sense, give the name natural 
 ethics only to that part of the rules of human conduct 
 discoverable by the reason which correspond to posi- 
 tive laws. This leads them to a definition much less 
 comprehensive than the former. Hence the third and 
 last acceptation of the term. 
 
 For myself, I would say that the use of these words 
 is a matter of indifference, provided a definite signifi- 
 cation is attached to them. I like one definition as 
 well as another. But in the present lectures, I adopt 
 the first mentioned, which gives to the term natural 
 ethics the widest possible signification. Ethics then,
 
 22 JOUFFROY. 
 
 with me, means the science that treats of all the rules 
 for human conduct in the various relations which I 
 have enumerated. This science it is my wish and 
 purpose to describe. It only remains for me to state 
 the order in which I propose to discuss the different 
 portions of so vast a subject. 
 
 I shall begin with personal morality, or the rules for 
 the conduct of man towards himself. I shall then 
 proceed to the rules for man's conduct towards things. 
 Next, I shall pass to those which arise from the 
 relations between man and man, taking up first the 
 ethics of nature, proceeding to the ethics of society, 
 and ending with the ethics of nations. I shall close 
 the whole course with the consideration of natural 
 religion, both because it is the crown of the whole 
 subject, and because, having already directed your 
 attention, during two consecutive years, to one branch 
 of this science, it may be well to pursue it yet further, 
 Of the different parts of this subject you can readily 
 foresee that the third will occupy the most of our 
 time ; and it is pleasing to me to think that this part 
 will interest you most deeply. I will do all in my 
 power to reach it as soon as it can be done without 
 sacrificing to your curiosity the interests of the science 
 which I profess to teach in its strictness, and whose 
 purpose it is, not to delight, but to exhibit truth. This 
 sacrifice I can never consent to make. 
 
 One word more, gentlemen, before I close this lec- 
 ture. Let it be well understood that it is no part of 
 my plan to teach the rules for human conduct in detail, 
 as they would be explained in a catechism. This 
 would be an endless work, and would tend rather to
 
 OBJECT AND DIVISION OF ETHICAL SCIENCE. 23 
 
 confuse than enlighten your minds. My purpose is very 
 different. I wish rather to establish the principles 
 of these different branches of the law of nature, and 
 to communicate to you, if I may say so, their spirit 
 and substance. For it is far less important to know 
 the literal rule for every possible situation in life, than 
 to have a clear and enlarged view of the general end 
 which we should propose to ourselves ; leaving it to 
 conscience to decide what, in view of the great end, 
 the proper course may be in the innumerable relations 
 into which the mutable and uncertain scenes of life 
 may bring us.
 
 24 JOUFFROY 
 
 LECTURE II. 
 
 THE FACTS OF MAN'S MORAL NATURE. 
 
 GENTLEMEN, 
 
 WE have seen, in our former lecture, that 
 the object of the science of ethics is the discovery 
 of the rules for human conduct ; and that, taken in 
 its widest extent, it embraces all rules, of every 
 kind, which should direct man in the present life. I 
 have pointed out to you the different parts into which 
 it is naturally divided. And, lastly, I have stated 
 what branches of the science I shall pass by for the 
 time, and those which I propose to treat at present, 
 as well as the order in which I shall take them up. 
 
 Before entering, however, upon our inquiries, you 
 will remember that there is a question of prejudice, so 
 to speak, which we are to .examine and answer. It is 
 as follows : Is there really any such science as 
 ethics at all 1 For, as you well know, some philo- 
 sophical systems have endeavored to prove that there 
 is no law of obligation, and that morality reduces 
 itself to mere counsels of prudence, to be followed or 
 neglected, at our own risk. 
 
 Now, as these systems deny the very foundation 
 of ethics, or at least so far alter it as to destroy its
 
 THE FACTS OF MAN'S MORAL NATURE. 25 
 
 true character and high importance, it has seemed to 
 me necessary, before entering deeply into the science, 
 first to examine the great fact in our nature on which 
 it rests, and to discuss the numerous systems which do 
 thus deny or alter it. Such a discussion, as you will 
 at once see, properly precedes those inquiries which 
 are the object of the course ; and, besides, what can 
 be more important than for us to know whether there 
 is, in truth, any law of obligation for human conduct ? 
 The consideration of this question as to the law of 
 obligation a question that has occupied the attention 
 of the most celebrated writers in philosophy, politics, 
 and jurisprudence carries us, then, you will see, to 
 the very foundation of all duties and rights. 
 
 I have hesitated between two ways of proceeding in 
 this discussion. I have questioned whether it would 
 be better for me to explain and refute these systems 
 successively, reserving till the end an exhibition of the 
 facts in human nature which they have altered or 
 misconceived ; or whether I should not rather com- 
 mence with an outline of the facts of human nature, 
 and thence, with the light of these facts before us, pass 
 to a judgment of the~ different systems which have given 
 an imperfect view of them, sacrificing to clearness 
 whatever greater interest novelty might give to the 
 former mode of criticism. 
 
 I have determined to adopt the latter method ; for 
 I fear that, with all my efforts to make you comprehend 
 the principles and tendency of each system, I should 
 still fail, unless I had first set before you those facts 
 of our moral nature which are the common foundation 
 on which all systems rest. 
 
 VOL. I. C
 
 26 JOUFFROY. 
 
 I will begin, then, with presenting my own system; 
 and I trust you will find it to be an exact exposition 
 of the principal facts of man's moral nature. Having 
 thus given you a distinct outline of these facts, I will 
 then proceed to an examination of the different sys- 
 tems, and, bringing them successively into comparison 
 with the standard of truth, I will attempt to show 
 what facts they have either overlooked or perverted. 
 In this way we shall be enabled to mark their various 
 degrees of deviation ; and it will become an easy task 
 to refute their errors. 
 
 We will devote this lecture, then, to an exposition 
 of the facts of our moral nature in their leading 
 outlines; and, as this will be little else than a recapit- 
 ulation of a part of my lectures for the last three 
 years, I shall confine myself to a rapid review of the 
 results at which we have arrived, endeavoring at the 
 same time to state them with such clearness as will 
 enable those who have not attended the previous 
 courses, easily to comprehend them. 
 
 Beings are distinguished from each other by their 
 organization. It is this which makes a plant distinct 
 from a mineral, and animals of one species from those 
 of another. Every being has, then, his own peculiar 
 nature; and this nature destines him to a certain end. 
 The destiny of a bee, for example, is different from 
 that of a lion, and a lion's from that of a man, 
 because their natures are different. Every being is 
 organized for a certain end ; and, were we fully 
 acquainted with the nature of a being, we might 
 thence infer his destiny. There is, then, an absolute 
 identity between the true good of any being and his
 
 THE FACTS OF MAN'S MORAL NATURE. 27 
 
 destiny. His highest good is to accomplish his des- 
 tiny to attain the end for which he was or- 
 ganized. 
 
 As every being has a particular end, which is his 
 highest good, because he is organized in a certain 
 manner, and in virtue of this organization, so there 
 is no being unendowed with such faculties as are fitted 
 to accomplish this end. In fact, since the result of a 
 being's constitution is a certain destiny, nature would 
 contradict herself, if, after having appointed him to 
 accomplish this end, which constitutes his good, she 
 had not also bestowed such faculties as would enable 
 him to attain it. To the eye of reason this seems a 
 necessary truth ; and experience is not needed to verify 
 it, though it would be easy at any time to do so, by 
 an examination of the nature of beings, of the end 
 for which they are destined, and of the faculties given 
 to them to accomplish it. Not an exception could 
 be found to this principle. 
 
 Man, then, by being gifted with a peculiar organi- 
 zation, has necessarily an end, the accomplishment 
 of which is his true good; and, being thus organized 
 for a certain end, he has necessarily the faculties fitted 
 to accomplish it. 
 
 From the moment when an organized being begins 
 to exist, (and this remark is equally true of unorgan- 
 ized beings,) its nature tends to the end for which it 
 is destined. Hence arise within that being impulses, 
 which carry it forward, independently of all reflection 
 and calculation, toward certain particular ends, which, 
 taken collectively, make up its final end. We will
 
 28 JOUPFROY. 
 
 call these instinctive emotions, which, even in reason- 
 able beings, have no character of deliberation, which 
 manifest themselves as soon as the child is born, and 
 develop themselves with his growth, the primitive ten- 
 dencies of human nature. These tendencies are com- 
 mon at once to all mankind, and yet peculiarly pro- 
 portioned in each individual ; and the celebrated Dr. 
 Gall has attempted to determine and enumerate them 
 in an exact manner, by showing how they exist, in 
 different degrees of development, in different indi- 
 viduals, and how they result in the formation of each 
 man's character. These tendencies have attracted the 
 attention, also, of a few philosophers, who, though 
 they have not used them as they might, have still been 
 guided by their knowledge of them in the construc- 
 tion of their systems. 
 
 As soon, then, as man exists, his nature aspires, in 
 virtue of his organization, to the end for which he 
 is destined, through impulses carrying him on irre- 
 sistibly towards it. Later in life, we call these im- 
 pulses the passions. 
 
 Contemporaneously with the development of these 
 instinctive tendencies, impelling us to the end which 
 is our true good, the faculties with which God has 
 endowed us, that we may attain it, also begin to act 
 under the influence of these impulses, and thus to 
 seize the objects which they are fitted to grasp. As 
 soon as man exists, there awaken, on the one side, 
 tendencies which manifest his nature, and on the 
 other, faculties given to him for their satisfaction. 
 Such is the commencement and primary source of
 
 THE FA*TS OF MAN*S MORAL NATURE. 29 
 
 human activity ; and so long as life lasts do all the 
 various phenomena of human conduct spring from 
 the same origin. 
 
 I have, I believe, clearly proved, in the previous 
 courses of lectures, that when these faculties which 
 have been placed in us that we may realize the end 
 to which our impulses aspire, first awaken and unfold 
 into activity, they do so in an indeterminate manner, 
 and without a precise direction. 
 
 The cause of the concentration of our faculties 
 for the attainment of their end, which soon takes place, 
 is the fact that, in a life ordered like the present, they 
 meet with obstacles which would otherwise prevent 
 their ever attaining it. I have already shown you 
 that, if this world was made up from the harmonious 
 forces of beings ; and if all these forces, instead of 
 opposing one another, were developed peacefully, 
 it would be enough for a being merely to develop itself 
 to attain its end without effort ; but such is not the 
 structure of the present world. We might rather 
 define it as a conflict of various destinies, and conse- 
 quently of the forces of all beings which compose it. 
 
 It is, then, with our nature, as with all other 
 natures, that, in developing itself for the attainment 
 of its end, it meets with obstacles which arrest and 
 impede it. To enable you to comprehend, in a precise 
 manner, the- fact which I have now pointed out, I 
 will not enter into detail, but give merely a general 
 outline, selecting, as an example from among our 
 faculties, the understanding, whose office it is to 
 satisfy our instinctive desire of knowledge. 
 
 As you well know, the understanding does not
 
 30 JOUFFROY. 
 
 discover at once the truth it seeks. It meets, on the 
 contrary, with difficulty, uncertainty, darkness ; in a 
 word, with obstacles of all sorts to impede it. Now, 
 what happens when the understanding, developing 
 itself in its primitive mode of action, fails to grasp the 
 knowledge which it is fitted to acquire? Spontane- 
 ously it makes an effort to overcome the obscurity it 
 meets with, and the difficulties which retard it. And 
 this effort is a concentration upon one point of forces 
 before diffused. When the understanding develops 
 itself instinctively, it takes no particular direction, but 
 extends itself in all, raying out, as it were, through all 
 the senses; but every where meeting with various 
 kinds of obscurity, it concentrates itself successively 
 upon them. And this occurs spontaneously a fact 
 which it is important in a moral point of view to state, 
 because this spontaneous movement is the first mani- 
 festation of the power which we possess of directing 
 our faculties, the first sign of free will. Remark, 
 now, that this effort of concentration does not result 
 from our nature, but from our circumstances, and that 
 we feel pain whenever we are obliged to make it. 
 Yes, even now, disciplined and exercised as our 
 faculties are, it is always fatiguing to concentrate 
 attention perseveringly upon a particular point. It is 
 not, then, their primitive and natural mode of operation, 
 but one to which they are condemned by the condition 
 of humanity. The moment effort is relaxed, human 
 nature returns with pleasure to the indeterminate 
 mode of action which is natural to it, and finds there 
 repose. In human life generally, and especially in the 
 primitive condition of man, where reason has hardly
 
 THE FACTS OP MAN 5 S MORAL NATURE. 31 
 
 yet appeared, there is a constant alternation between 
 these two modes of the development of our faculties 
 the indeterminate or natural, and the concentrated or 
 voluntary. 
 
 I limit myself now to a simple statement of this fact, 
 though hereafter I shall draw from it important conse- 
 quences. There is another fact of equal interest, and 
 it is this : However great may be the efforts made by 
 our faculties to satisfy the primitive tendencies of our 
 nature, and to supply them with the good they crave, 
 yet are they never successful in obtaining more than 
 an incomplete, and, in truth, an exceedingly incomplete 
 satisfaction. Such is the law of life. Man never 
 triumphs over the hard condition here imposed upon 
 him. In the present life, complete satisfaction of our 
 tendencies, perfect good, is never found a fact as 
 incontestable as those already noticed. 
 
 When our faculties, becoming active, strive to find 
 satisfaction for our tendencies, and gain some portion 
 of the good they seek, the phenomenon which we call 
 pleasure appears. Privation, or the check that our 
 faculties experience when they are prevented from ob- 
 taining what they seek, produces another phenomenon, 
 which we call pain. We experience pleasure and 
 pain, because we are not only active, but sensitive. 
 It is owing to this sensitiveness, that our nature 
 rejoices or suffers according to our success or failure 
 in the pursuit of good. We can conceive of a nature 
 which should be active without being sensitive. It 
 would still have an end a good ; tendencies impelling 
 it towards that good ; faculties fitted to attain it : 
 it would sometimes be successful, sometimes disap-
 
 32 JOUFFROT. 
 
 pointed ; but without sensibility it could never ex- 
 perience pleasure or pain, that is to say, a sensible 
 recognition of good and evil. Such is the true origin 
 and character of pleasure and of pain ; and these 
 phenomena are, as you at once see, subordinate to 
 good and evil. I beg you to remark this attentively, 
 for good is too often confounded with pleasure, and 
 evil with pain ; but they are widely distinct. Good 
 and evil are success or failure in the pursuit of those 
 ends to which our nature aspires ; we could obtain one 
 and suffer the other without pleasure or pain, if we 
 were not sensitive. But being, as we are, sensitive, it 
 is impossible that our nature should not rejoice when 
 it succeeds in attaining its good, and suffer when it 
 fails. This is the law of our constitution. Pleasure, 
 then, is the consequence and the sign of our having 
 reached our good ; pain, the consequence and sign 
 of our failure to obtain it. But the pleasure is not 
 the good, and the pain is not the evil. 
 
 As every being seeks a good, rejoices when it 
 attains it, suffers when it fails, it must love every 
 thing which can aid in procuring it, and feel an 
 aversion to whatever prevents its acquisition. It is 
 thus that, as our faculties develop, and as we meet with 
 objects which advance or oppose our efforts, we feel 
 for the first time affection and love, aversion and 
 hatred. In this way it is that our tendencies, that is 
 to say, the most important of them the true passions 
 of human nature branch out as they advance toward 
 the accomplishment of their end, and become divided 
 into a multitude of particular tendencies, which we also 
 call passions. But these are distinguished from our prim-
 
 THE FACTS OF MAN'S MORAL NATURE. 33 
 
 itive passions by the fact that the latter are developed 
 spontaneously and independently of all external objects, 
 and that they aspire toward their end even before 
 reason has made that end known to us ; while the 
 passions which I call secondary, are first called forth 
 by the external objects which help or hinder the devel- 
 opment of the primitive passions. Whatever assists 
 our tendencies we call useful; whatever interferes with 
 them, injurious. Such is the origin of the secon- 
 dary passions, and of the idea of utility. Among our 
 natural tendencies are some, which, like sympathy, 
 have regard to the welfare of our fellow-beings, while 
 others have not, as curiosity, or the desire of knowl- 
 edge, and ambition, or the desire of power, for example. 
 And although it is true, that in infancy, and before 
 reason makes us acquainted with our nature, all our 
 tendencies are developed without any view to our own 
 good, yet, even then, some among them are adapted 
 to procure mere selfish gratification, while others tend 
 to produce, in addition, the happiness of others. And 
 it is important to be remarked, that even when, at a 
 later period in life, and after reason has begun to act, 
 we are benevolently disposed towards others, it is not 
 owing to the influence of reason alone, but also of our 
 tendencies, that we feel this sympathy, which, inde- 
 pendently of all idea of duty and of all calculations of 
 interest, impels us forward to the good of others, as 
 its proper and final end. The principle is personal ; 
 but the end to which it spontaneously aspires is the 
 good of others. Thus, even when man is moved by 
 instinct only, he already has the benevolent affec- 
 tions.
 
 34 JOUFFROY. 
 
 The facts which I have thus far presented are 
 peculiar to the primitive state of man his infancy. 
 When reason appears, two changes take place in this 
 primitive state, from which two other moral states, 
 entirely distinct, arise. Before describing, however, 
 these two states, let us reconsider, in a few words, 
 the constituent elements of the primitive state. I have 
 said, that, in the very commencement of life, certain 
 tendencies develop themselves, and manifest the end 
 for which man is created ; that contemporaneously 
 appear certain faculties adapted to aid them in obtain- 
 ing satisfaction; that the unaided development of these 
 faculties is naturally indeterminate, but that the obsta- 
 cles which they meet with produce incidentally a 
 concentration, which is the first manifestation, or the 
 earliest stage, of the development of the will. You 
 have seen that human nature, because it is sensitive, 
 experiences pleasure when its tendencies are satisfied, 
 and pain when they are not ; that, further, it feels 
 love for whatever assists, and aversion for whatever 
 prevents, the development of our tendencies ; and that 
 thus our primitive passions branch out into a multitude 
 of secondary passions. Such are the elements of the 
 primitive state. The peculiar distinction of this state 
 is the exclusive dominion of passion. Undoubtedly 
 there is, in the fact of the concentration of our faculties, 
 a commencement of self-control, and of the personal 
 direction of our faculties ; but this power is as yet 
 blind, and entirely obedient to the passions, which 
 determine necessarily the action and direction of our 
 faculties. It is at this period that reason appears, and 
 frees the will from the exclusive empire of the passions.
 
 THE FACTS OF MAN'S MORAL NATURE. 35 
 
 Up to the time when it first begins to exercise its 
 influence, the present impulse, and among these im- 
 pulses -the strongest, has carried the will captive, 
 because as yet there can be no foresight of evil conse- 
 quences. Thus the passion, for the moment active, 
 triumphs over passions which are dormant, and among 
 passions already awakened, the strongest has sway. 
 This is the law of human volition and action in the 
 primitive state. The will already acts, but it is not 
 yet free. We have power over our faculties, but we 
 cannot yet direct them altogether as we choose. Let 
 us now contemplate the change produced when the 
 reason, awakening, leads us out from this condition 
 of infancy. 
 
 Reason, in the simplest definition of it, is the faculty 
 of comprehension ; and we must be careful not to 
 confound it with the faculty of knowing. Animals 
 acquire knowledge, but we see no signs of their being 
 able to comprehend ; and this distinguishes them from 
 men. If they could comprehend, they would be like us, 
 and instead of living as they do now, in the condition 
 in which they are born, they would rise successively, 
 as man does, to the two moral states which reason 
 introduces. 
 
 When reason first begins to exert its power, it 
 finds human nature in full development, its tendencies 
 all in play, and its faculties active. In virtue of its 
 nature, that is to say, of its power of comprehension, 
 it enters into the meaning of surrounding phenomena, 
 and it at once comprehends that all these tendencies 
 and faculties are seeking one common end a final 
 and complete end, which is the satisfaction of our
 
 36 JOUFFROY. 
 
 entire nature. This satisfaction of our nature, which 
 is the sum and resultant of the satisfaction of each 
 separate tendency, is our true end our real well- 
 being and good. Toward this good all passions of 
 every kind aspire ; and it is this good which our nature 
 is impelled, with every unfolding faculty, to seek. 
 Reason comprehends this, and the general idea of 
 good springs up; and although the good, of which we 
 thus acquire the idea, is still a personal good, yet have 
 we made an immense advance from the primitive state 
 when we had no such idea. 
 
 The observation and experience of what is con- 
 stantly passing within us enables reason to comprehend 
 that the complete satisfaction of our nature is impossi- 
 ble, and, consequently, that it is a delusion to expect 
 perfect good ; that therefore we ought not, and cannot, 
 aspire to more than the greatest possible good, that is 
 to say, the greatest possible satisfaction of our nature. 
 We rise, then, from the idea of mere good to the 
 idea of the greatest possible good. 
 
 Reason immediately comprehends, too, that every 
 thing which can conduct us to our highest good is 
 itself good on that very account, and that every thing 
 which would turn us from it is evil ; but it does not 
 confound these two properties of certain objects with 
 good and evil in themselves, that is to say, with the 
 satisfaction or disappointment of our nature. It 
 draws a wide distinction between good in itself and 
 the means proper to produce it ; and, generalizing this 
 property common to various objects, it rises to the 
 idea of the useful. -^ 
 
 Reason does not tail to distinguish also this satis-
 
 THE FACTS OF MAN'S MORAL NATURE. 37 
 
 Faction or disappointment of the tendencies of our 
 nature from the agreeable or disagreeable sensations 
 which accompany them in our sensibility ; and per- 
 ceives that the idea of pleasure is different from those 
 of good and of utility, and the idea of pain from those 
 of evil and of injury ; and as it had before acquired 
 the general idea of good and the idea of utility, so 
 now, by combining all agreeable sensations together, 
 does it form the gener-al idea of happiness. 
 
 Thus these three ideas of good, utility, happiness, 
 are soon deduced, by reason, from the spectacle of our 
 nature in its process of development ideas which, in 
 all languages, are perfectly distinct, because all lan- 
 guages represent that common sense which is the 
 truest expression of reason. Man has now a key to 
 the secret operations which are passing within him. 
 Heretofore he has lived without comprehending them, 
 but now he has become intelligent; he sees the origin 
 and scope of his passions, the direction, bias, and 
 measure of his faculties ; he learns the nature and 
 origin of his love and hatred, the causes of his pleas- 
 ure and his pain ; all becomes plain through the 
 teachings of reason. 
 
 But reason does not stop here. It comprehends, 
 too, that, in the condition in which man is actually 
 placed, self-control, or the direction of the faculties and 
 forces of which he is conscious, is the indispensable 
 condition for his attaining the greatest possible satis- 
 faction of his nature. 
 
 In fact, so long as our faculties are abandoned to 
 the guidance of passion, they obey the passion which 
 is dominant for the moment; and therein is a twofold 
 T*L. i.
 
 38 JOUFFROY. 
 
 disadvantage. For, first, the passions are so variable 
 and transient, that the sway of one is soon displaced 
 for that of another ; there can be, therefore, no pro- 
 gressive or steady action of our faculties, and conse- 
 quently nothing important is accomplished. And, 
 secondly ; a momentary good, gained by the satisfaction 
 of any dominant passion, is often the cause of great 
 evil, while a momentary evil, from not satisfying it, often 
 is a means to great good ; so that nothing is less 
 suitable to produce our highest good than the direction 
 of our faculties by our passions. Reason is not slow 
 in discovering this, and of course concludes that, for 
 the attainment of our highest good, it is not well that 
 human will should be any longer a prey to the mechan- 
 ical forces of passion ; it sees, on the contrary, that, 
 instead of being borne on by impulse to the satisfaction 
 of any passion which may for the instant be strongest, 
 it would be better that our faculties should be freed 
 from this servitude, and directed exclusively to the 
 realizing of what is clearly seen to be for the interests 
 of all our passions, that is to say, the highest possible 
 good of our nature. And the more strongly reason 
 conceives of this end, the more satisfied is it that we 
 have the power to effect it. It depends on ourselves 
 to form the estimate of our greatest possible good ; 
 reason enables us to do it. Equally does it depend on 
 ourselves to set free our faculties, and to employ them 
 for the fulfilment of this idea of our reason. For we 
 have the ~power ; it has been already manifested, and 
 we have recognized it in the spontaneous effort by 
 which, to gratify a passion, we concentrate upon one 
 point all the faculties of the mind. We have but to
 
 THE FACTS OF MAN*S MORAL NATURE. 39 
 
 do voluntarily, what we have already done spontane- 
 ously, and free will is born. The instant that this 
 grand revolution is conceived of, that instant it is 
 accomplished. A new principle of action springs up 
 within us, namely, self-interest, well understood a 
 principle which is not a passion, but an idea, which is 
 not the result of a blind and primitive instinct, but 
 of deliberate and rational reflection a principle 
 which is not, like the passion, a momentum, but a mo- 
 tive. Strengthened by this motive, our natural power 
 over our faculties exerts itself, and, directing them by 
 this idea, shakes off the bondage of passion and develops 
 into full vigor. Henceforth human power is free from 
 the vacillating and turbulent empire of passion, and 
 becomes subject to the law of reason ; it forms an 
 estimate of the greatest possible satisfaction of our 
 tendencies, that is to say, of our highest good, and 
 pursues self-interest, well understood. 
 
 Such is the new moral condition which the action 
 of reason introduces ; self-interest, well understood, is 
 substituted for the partial good to which the passions 
 impelled us, as the end ; and self-direction is made the 
 means. The exclusive dominion of passion, which 
 haracterized the primitive state, is ever. A new 
 power has come in between the passions and our fac- 
 ulties, even reason and free will ; of which the first 
 points out an end, and the second directs our faculties 
 in its pursuit. 
 
 It must not be thought, however, that, after this 
 revolution, the direction of human power in the hands 
 of reason receives no support from passion. The fact 
 is quite otherwise. When reason first perfectly coin-
 
 40 JOUFFROY 
 
 prebends the inconvenience of yielding to passion, yet 
 more when it conceives the idea of interest well 
 understood, and of the importance of giving it a pref- 
 erence in every case over our passing impulses, then, 
 at that very instant, does our nature, in virtue of its 
 laws, become passionately attached to that system of 
 conduct which appears a good means to attain its end, 
 or, in other words, passionately attached to all that is 
 useful ; it loves this system of conduct, deviates from it 
 only with regret, and feels aversion for all that opposes 
 it. Thus passion comes in aid of the government of 
 human power by interest well understood, and harmo- 
 nious action ensues between the passionate and rational 
 elements of the soul. Yet is not this cooperation 
 entire ; for the idea of our highest good, as conceived 
 by the reason, does not stifle wholly the instinctive ten- 
 dencies of our nature ; they still remain active, because 
 they are imperishable, and crave, as before, instant 
 gratification, and strive to employ, for this end, the 
 force of our faculties, and often succeed. The idea 
 of self-interest well understood finds sympathy indeed 
 from our passions; but it encounters also an opposing 
 host. Human power is, then, far from being com- 
 pletely redeemed from the influence of the passions in 
 the second state. They disturb too often, especially 
 in weak minds, the control of self-interest. In a word, 
 where reason introduces the idea of self-interest, a new 
 moral state, a new mode of self-determination, arises. 
 But it does not steadily take the place of the primitive 
 mode of action. Man oscillates between the two, 
 now resisting impulse and following his interest, now 
 yielding to it a free range; a new mode of self-
 
 THE FACTS OF MAN*S MORAL NATURE. 41 
 
 determination is introduced, notwithstanding, into the 
 operations of our spiritual being. 
 
 This new moral state and mode of self-determination 
 is, precisely speaking, the selfish state. The essence of 
 self-love is the knowledge that, in acting, we are promo- 
 ting our own peculiar good. But this knowledge we 
 are unconscious of in the primitive state, and the 
 child therefore cannot be called selfish. In him the 
 instinctive tendencies of nature reign supremely, each 
 aspiring to its particular end, as to a final end ; the 
 child perceives these ends, loves them, strives to attain 
 them, but he sees no further. It is true, to be sure, 
 that the passions are really tending to the satisfaction 
 of the whole nature ; but the child is unconscious of 
 this tendency ; he is not, then, selfish, in the true sense 
 of that word. He is innocent as Psyche, loving withf 
 out knowing what love is. Reason in man is the 
 torch of Psyche. Reason alone can reveal to him 
 the final end of his passions, and thus substitute a 
 rational motive to conduct, for the impulses which 
 before directed him. Reason alone, then, calls forth 
 true self-love ; it cannot possibly exist in the primitive 
 state of infancy. 
 
 As yet we have not reached the state which pecu- 
 liarly and truly deserves the name of moral. It results 
 from a new discovery made by reason a discovery 
 which elevates man from the general ideas which 
 belong to the period of self-love, to universal and 
 absolute ideas. 
 
 This step the moralists, who base their systems on 
 self-interest, do not take. They stop at self-love. In 
 making it, we cross an immense abyss, which separates 
 
 D 2
 
 42 JOUFFROY. 
 
 the selfish from the disinterested school of morals. 
 Let us see, then, how this transition from the second 
 state, which I have just described, to the moral state, 
 properly so called, is effected. 
 
 There is an illogical arguing in a circle concealed 
 beneath the selfish explanation of human volitions. 
 The selfish system gives the name of good to the 
 satisfaction of the tendencies of our nature, and when 
 asked, Why is the satisfaction of these tendencies a 
 good ? it answers, Because it is the satisfaction of the 
 tendencies of our nature. It is in vain that, to escape 
 from this vicious circle of reasoning, the selfish system 
 seeks, in the pleasure which accompanies the satisfac- 
 tion of our tendencies, an explanation of the asserted 
 fact, that this satisfaction and our good are equivalent. 
 Reason finds no more evidence that pleasure is equiv- 
 alent to good, than that the satisfaction of our nature 
 is ; and the reason why this latter is so, remains there- 
 fore unexplained. It is this mystery, which, by pain- 
 fully perplexing us, forces reason to ascend one step 
 higher in moral conceptions. Elevating itself above 
 exclusively personal considerations, it conceives the 
 thought that creatures of all kinds are situated like 
 ourselves; that all having a nature peculiarly their own, 
 aspire, in virtue of this nature, to that particular end 
 which is their highest good; and that each of these 
 separate ends is one element of a complete and final 
 end, which absorbs them all an end which is that 
 of the creation itself an end which is universal order. 
 The realization of this end alone, in the view of 
 reason, merits the title of good, fulfilling the idea, 
 and forming an equivalent to it so evident that it needs
 
 THE FACTS OF MAN 5 S MORAL NATURE 43 
 
 no proof. When reason has ascended to this concep- 
 tion, it has reached, for the first time, the idea of 
 good. It had previously applied the name in a con- 
 fused manner to the satisfaction of our nature ; but it 
 could neither explain nor justify this use of the name. 
 But now, in the light of this new discovery, the ap- 
 plication of the word becomes clear and legitimate. 
 Good true good good in itself absolute good 
 is the realization of the absolute end of the creation 
 is universal order. The end of each element of crea- 
 tion, that is, of each being, is one element of the 
 absolute end. Each being aspires towards this abso- 
 lute end in seeking its own peculiar end, and this 
 universal aspiration is the universal life of creation. 
 The realization of the end of each being is then an 
 element of the realization of the end of creation, that 
 is to say, of universal order. The good of each being 
 is a fragment of absolute good ; and it is on this 
 account that the good of each being is really a good ; 
 thence comes its character ; and as absolute good is 
 worthy of all reverence, and sacred in the eyes of 
 reason, so the good of each being the realization 
 of its end the accomplishment of its destiny the 
 development of its nature the satisfaction of its 
 tendencies, which are all identical, become equally 
 sacred and worthy of reverence. 
 
 The moment the idea of order is conceived, reason 
 feels for it a sympathy so profound, true, immediate, 
 that she prostrates herself before it, recognizes its 
 consecrated and supreme right of control, adores it 
 as a legitimate sovereign, honors it, and submits to it 
 as the natural and eternal law. To violate this law
 
 44 JOUFFROY. 
 
 is an outrage in the view of reason ; to realize order, 
 so far as our weakness is capable of it, is good, is right, 
 is worthy. A new motive of action is made known 
 a new rule, truly a rule a new law, truly a law 
 a motive, rule, and law Belt-legitimated, which are 
 of instant obligation, and need the aid of nothing 
 foreign, of nothing anterior or superior to make them 
 recognized and respected. 
 
 To deny that there is any thing sacred, venerable, 
 obligatory for us rational beings, is to assert one of 
 two things either that human reason cannot elevate 
 itself to the idea of good in itself, of universal order ; 
 or that, after having conceived this idea, reason does 
 not bow to it, nor feel instantly and deeply that it 
 has, for the first time, become acquainted with its 
 true law. But neither of these facts can possibly be 
 misunderstood or questioned. 
 
 This idea, this law, gives light and strength, by 
 showing us that the end of each being is an element 
 of universal order ; it communicates to these ends, and 
 to the instinctive tendencies of all beings, a respect- 
 able and sacred character, which they had not before. 
 Up to this time we have been impelled to the satis- 
 faction of our tendencies by their impulse, or by the 
 pleasure which follows this satisfaction. Reason had 
 judged this satisfaction to be fit, useful, agreeable. 
 It had estimated the best means of gaining it ; but 
 that it is lawful and good in itself, or that it is our 
 duty to pursue it and our right to attain it, this it was 
 as yet unable to perceive. The right and duty of 
 advancing toward the end, which is our highest good, 
 is not revealed, until we see our end to be an element
 
 THE FACTS OF MAN'S MORAL NATURE. 45 
 
 of universal order, and our good a fragment of abso- 
 lute good. Our highest good assumes, then, its char- 
 acter of lawful propriety and absolute goodness ; but 
 not our good alone the good, the end of every 
 creature, equally becomes, to our view, lawful and 
 proper. Heretofore we were able to conceive that all 
 beings had tendencies to be satisfied, and that conse- 
 quently this was as good for them as for ourselves ; 
 and, impelled by sympathy, we could desire instinc- 
 tively their good, could find pleasure in doing so, and 
 thus include the promotion of their happiness in our 
 calculations of self-love. But that it is good and 
 proper in itself that they should attain this end, and 
 that this good, therefore, ought to appear in some sort 
 venerable and sacred to us, this reason could not 
 determine or even conceive of. But when the idea 
 of absolute good is once formed, what was unseen 
 before becomes clear, and the good of others appears 
 to us as sacred as our own ; or, in other words, equally 
 an element of that which alone is venerable in itself 
 order. Thus the idea of obligation attaches itself 
 at one and the same time to the attainment of our own 
 and others' good. And we see no longer any differ- 
 ence between the duty of accomplishing our own good, 
 and of aiding other beings to accomplish theirs; both 
 are parts of absolute good ; and since this is obligatory 
 in itself, it impresses the character of lawfulness upon 
 them. 
 
 All duty, right, obligation, and rules of morality, 
 spring from this one source, the idea of good in 
 itself the idea of order. Destroy this idea, and no 
 longer is there any thing sacred in itself to the eye
 
 46 JOUFFROY. 
 
 ! of reason; consequently nothing obligatory, and no 
 moral difference between our various ends and actions ; 
 the universe becomes a riddle, and all destiny a mys- 
 tery. But restore this idea, and the universe and man 
 become at once intelligible ; an end appears for all and 
 every creature ; a sacred order, which every rational 
 being is bound to respect, and to aid in preserving 
 within and around it, is revealed to us, and with it 
 duties, rights, rules for morals, and a natural code of 
 laws for human conduct. Such are the changes in 
 human nature which follow the conception of order, or 
 good in itself. 
 
 But this idea of order, high as it is, is not the 
 final limit of human thought. Reason takes one step 
 higher, and is elevated to the conception of the God 
 who created this universal order, and who has given 
 to every creature its constitution, and consequently its 
 destiny. Thus allied to the Eternal Being, order appears 
 no longer a mere metaphysical abstraction ; it becomes 
 the expression of the thought of divinity, and morality 
 exhibits its religious aspect. But even were this not 
 seen, the obligatory nature of duty would still be felt. 
 If, supreme above order, reason had never beheld the 
 Deity, order would have been as sacred ; for the relation 
 between reason and the idea of order exists indepen- 
 dently of all religious convictions. Only, then, when 
 God appears to us as the very essence and substance 
 of this order, if I may use the expression, as the will 
 which has established it, the intelligence which con- 
 ceived it, do religious and moral obedience become 
 united in one, and order assume its venerable aspect. 
 There is yet another phenomenon of our nature to
 
 THE FATS OF MAN'S MORAL NATURE. 47 
 
 be noticed. From very infancy, and long before reason, 
 in its development, has risen to the idea of order, we 
 feel a sympathy for all that has the character of beauty, 
 and an antipathy to all that is wanting in this beauty. 
 A profound analysis shows that this presence or 
 absence of beauty is only the expression and material 
 symbol of order or disorder. These two sentiments 
 result, then, only from a confused perception of the 
 idea of order, and are the effect of that deep sympathy 
 which unites all that is elevated in our nature to this 
 grand idea. Later in life, when we have conceived 
 this idea distinctly, we are able perfectly to explain 
 this instinctive sentiment of love for beauty, and of its 
 attractive charm ; and beauty is seen by us to be one 
 face of absolute good. So also is it with truth. Truth 
 is order conceived, as beauty is order realized. In 
 other words, absolute truth the perfect truth, which 
 we imagine in the Deity, and of which we only possess 
 fragments in ourselves is not, and cannot be, any thing 
 more than the eternal laws of that order which all beings 
 tend to fulfil, and all rational beings are bound volun- 
 tarily to advance. As this order, viewed as the end of 
 creation, is absolute good, and, as expressed by the 
 symbol of creation, is beauty, so, considered as a 
 thought in the mind of God or man, it is truth. Good, 
 beauty, and truth, are, then, order under three different 
 aspects; and order itself is the thought, the will, the 
 development, the manifestation of God. But we must 
 not lose ourselves in these lofty views ; and we resume 
 our subject. 
 
 When we have conceived the idea of order, and of 
 the obligation we are under, so far as in us lies, to
 
 48 JOUFFUOY. 
 
 fulfil it, a new mode of self-determination, m addition 
 to the two which have at an earlier period impelled us, 
 appears the moral mode. We may be determined to 
 act, not only by the impulse of passion, as in the primitive 
 state, and by the view of the highest possible satisfac- 
 tion of these passions, as in the state of self-love ; but 
 also by the idea of order, or good in itself, to which 
 reason has attained, and which is seen to be the true 
 law of our conduct. And as soon as this motive begins 
 to sway our actions, a third and wholly distinct mode 
 of self-determination is introduced. 
 
 The characteristics of this new mode are widely 
 different from those of passion or of self-love, although 
 it has this in common with the latter, that it can take 
 place only in a rational being. Both modes are thus 
 so plainly distinguished from that of passion that no 
 one can fail to notice it. 
 
 As self-love and passion may both impel us to the > 
 same acts, so self-love and the moral motive may 
 prescribe to us precisely the same conduct in a mul- 
 titude of cases ; but it is just when they thus do 
 coincide that the differences which distinguish them 
 are most clearly displayed. Self-love counsels, duty 
 commands. The first looks only to the greatest satis- 
 faction of our nature, and remains personal even while 
 prompting us to do good to others ; the second regards 
 order alone, and is forgetful of self, even while it 
 prescribes the search of our own good. We obey 
 ourselves in yielding to the former ; but in obeying the 
 latter, we submit to something above self, and which 
 has no other character in our eyes but that of being 
 good, or, in other words, a law. In the latter case,
 
 THE FACTS OF MAN'S MORAL NATURE. 49 
 
 e .'U, z~ 
 
 then, there is self-devotion to something not ourselves, 
 while in the first there can be no devotion. The 
 devotion of a being to something not itself, which 
 seems to it good, is precisely what we mean by virtue 
 or moral good ; and hence you see that moral good 
 or virtue could never be manifested except in a 
 mind which has attained to the third state, and that 
 it is a phenomenon peculiar to this mode of self- 
 determination. Our acts are moral whenever we x 
 obey, voluntarily and consciously, a law as the rule 
 of our conduct, and immoral whenever we disobey it j "~ 
 purposely and wilfully. Such are moral good and/f *"*"* 
 evil, strictly defined. They are entirely distinct S 
 absolute good and evil, which are order and disorder; } 
 and equally distinct from the kinds of good and evil 
 which we call happiness or misery, and which consist 
 in the accomplishment of man's peculiar end, or 
 the fulfilment of order in relation to him. 
 
 This difference between the moral mode of self- 
 determination and the two others reappears in the 
 phenomena which follow this act of choice. Among 
 these phenomena is one especially characteristic of the 
 moral state. Whenever we comply with the requisi- 
 tions of the moral law, independent of all pleasure 
 which sensibility experiences, we judge ourselves 
 worthy of esteem or reward ; and, in the opposite 
 case, independent of pain, we condemn ourselves 
 as worthy of blame and punishment. This is called 
 the satisfaction of having done well, and the pain 
 of having done ill, or remorse. 
 
 This judgment of merit or demerit necessarily 
 follows every act which has a moral character, whether 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 50 JOUFFROY. 
 
 good or bad. It does not and cannot follow the two 
 first described modes of volition. When we have 
 acted contrary to well-understood self-interest, we may 
 lament our feebleness and want of skill, or, in the 
 opposite case, may congratulate ourselves on our 
 prudence, wisdom, tact. But these phenomena are 
 quite distinct from moral approbation or disapproba- 
 tion. No one feels remorse for having failed in 
 securing his interests. It is only when self-interest 
 is united to the idea of order, and when our conduct, 
 by losing a good, seems in so doing to violate this 
 order, that remorse follows imprudence. It is a 
 consequence of this last consideration only, never 
 of the first. I do not condemn, you see, self-interest; 
 on the contrary, I prove that it is lawful as an 
 element of order, and I make it in many cases a 
 duty. But this character it does not possess in itself; 
 it derives it from absolute good. Such are the 
 phenomena which follow a moral action, whether 
 good or evil. 
 
 This outline would not be complete without adding 
 two observations, which sum up the whole matter. 
 
 To what end do our primitive tendencies, and the 
 passions arising from them, tend ? To the true end 
 of our nature, our true good. How is our conduct 
 directed by self-interest well understood? To the 
 fullest possible realization of the tendencies of our 
 nature ; that is to say, the most perfect accomplishment 
 of our end or good. What does the law of order, 
 when it finally appears in us, prescribe? A respect 
 for absolute good, or order, and an effort to realize 
 it completely. But our good is an element of absolute
 
 THE FACTS OF MAN S MORAL NATURE. 51 
 
 good, of order. The law of absolute order, then, 
 commands the accomplishment of that very good 
 which nature craves and self-love recommends. True, 
 it is not with a view to ourselves, but to universal 
 order, that it commands this; true, it demands not 
 only our own good, but the good of others also. But, 
 on the one hand, our nature loves order, and in- 
 stinctively seeks the good of others; and, on the 
 other, self-love shows us that the enjoyments of beauty 
 and of benevolence are two chief elements of happi- 
 ness, and that respect for the interests of others and 
 for order must enter into the calculations of our own 
 private interest. There is, then, no contradiction, 
 but an entire harmony, between the primitive ten- 
 dencies of our nature, self-interest well understood, 
 and the moral law. These three principles do not 
 impel us in a different, but in the same direction. 
 The moral motive does not enter to destroy the other 
 two, but to explain their object and regulate their 
 course. Indeed, how could man direct himself aright, 
 if he was condemned to the constant conflicts which 
 some philosophers have imagined, if he was com- 
 pelled by an obligatory principle, conceived by the 
 reason, to sacrifice continually, in order that he 
 might be virtuous, both the impulses of natural 
 instinct, and the counsels of prudence 1 None could 
 be virtuous on these conditions. Most true, the end 
 of virtue is distinct from that of self-love and of 
 passion ; but these ends are not opposed to each 
 other : they are entirely in accordance ; and hence 
 may every virtue find an auxiliary in passion and 
 self-interest. And hence, also, in very many cases,
 
 52 JOUFFROY. 
 
 instinct and self-love impel us to the very course 
 which the moral law requires. Thus is it with the 
 child, and even with the majority of men ; and it 
 is through this agreement of passion and self-interest 
 with duty that societies subsist. For, if every act, 
 not performed with direct reference to duty, was, 
 on that account, opposed to the moral law, and at 
 variance with order, communities could not only not 
 endure, but they would never be even established. 
 
 We must renounce, then, these false views, and look 
 at things as they are. Reason only modifies man's 
 obedience to his passions and his interest, and in this 
 manner. As reason, under the influence of self-love, 
 makes known to our nature one general end, which in- 
 cludes the various ends of particular passions, and which 
 consequently deserves the preference thus preventing 
 the former blind obedience of the will to passion ; so 
 reason, under the influence of morality, reveals, beyond 
 our private good, an absolute good, which at once 
 comprises this and the good of all other beings also, 
 and which, therefore, is far to be preferred thus 
 preventing the narrow and exclusive pursuit of our 
 x own well-being. And, as the impulse of passion 
 was seen to be of an inferior order, when that of 
 self-interest well understood appeared, so self-interest 
 falls in the scale, when the motive of moral law 
 reveals itself. But, because the moral motive is 
 better than self-love, self-love is not therefore de- 
 stroyed, any more than passion is rooted out because 
 self-interest is seen to be superior. The desire and 
 pursuit of self-interest still remain after absolute 
 good is made known to us, as the impulse of passion
 
 THE FACTS OF MAN'S MORAL NATURE. 53; 
 
 remains after self-interest is comprehended. When 
 self-love, therefore, cannot see the prospect of private 
 benefit in the course which respect for absolute good 
 demands, as when passion is restrained from seeking 
 its end immediately by the counsels of interest, dis- 
 agreement enters among the various springs of 
 conduct; and, though we still see what it is best 
 for us to do, we are not always prudent or virtuous 
 enough to do it. Behold what these contests between 
 the three moving springs of conduct amount to ! 
 They are, in general, the effect of the blindness 
 of passion, or of the mistakes of self-love ; for, in 
 fact, it is most for the interest of passion to sacrifice 
 itself to self-love, and most for the interest of self-love 
 to sacrifice itself to order. 
 
 Thus far I have spoken of the three states of the 
 moral nature in man, as if they belonged to three differ- 
 ent periods of life as if they were produced in us 
 successively. But this is not exactly a true description, 
 and some further explanation is needed. First, then, 
 no one of these three modes of determination destroys 
 in its development those previously in operation, but 
 only superadds its influence to them ; so that, when 
 once called into action, they henceforth coexist And, 
 secondly, as to the order of their appearance, although 
 it is true that the passionate mode does precede, 
 chronologically, the other two, and reigns supreme 
 in infancy, it would still be difficult to prove a like 
 supreme control of the selfish and moral state suo 
 cessively. 
 
 Reason first shows itself at an early period; but 
 no one would be bold enough to assert that she
 
 54 JOUFFROY. 
 
 rises at once to that high conception of order, which 
 makes the moral law. Yet more; we all know 
 that, in the larger part of mankind, this conception 
 of the moral law is never distinctly formed at all. 
 We are brought, therefore, to the conclusion, that 
 f Vr- there is, no morality in any man until after a certain 
 age, anilTtKht, in the majority of men, there is none 
 at any time. But we must distinguish here a confused 
 from a clear view of the moral law. A confused 
 view of it is contemporaneous with the first appear- 
 ance of reason : it is one of man's earliest concep- 
 tions ; but in most persons the conception remains 
 indistinct through life, and never becomes a vivid 
 idear*? Conscience, as it is called, is nothing more 
 than this obscure notion of order ; and hence, in its 
 effects, it resembles less a conception of the reason 
 than an instinct or a sense. Its judgments have 
 not the appearance of being derived from general 
 principles applied to cases as they arise; but they 
 rather seem to result from a kind of tact, which, 
 in each particular instance, makes rt sensible of good 
 and evil. The character of obligation, however, 
 is never, in the phenomena of conscience, affected 
 by the confused nature of our perceptions of good 
 and evil. However confused our views, conscience 
 still points out good as something which we ought 
 to do, and evil as something which we ought to 
 shun ; and, when we have obeyed or disobeyed it, 
 we feel as sensibly self-approval or remorse as if we 
 had obeyed a more elevated conception and a clearer 
 idea of the moral law. Thus conscience, or the 
 confused view of order, is sufficient to make men
 
 THE FACTS OF MAN'S MORAL NATURE. 55 
 
 practically virtuous or vicious, criminals or heroes ; 
 though he, who conceives most distinctly the law and 
 its sacred obligation, is the most culpable, because he 
 transgresses it most consciously. Not without reason, 
 then, does human justice make distinctions between 
 culprits, and apply punishments proportioned in severity 
 to the supposed development of intelligence, and con- 
 sequently to the degree of knowledge of good and evil. 
 From these details you will see that reason, as soon 
 as it is developed, introduces at one and the same 
 time the motive of self-love and of morality ; and thus 
 that these two modes of self-determination, which I 
 have separated for the sake of accurate description, 
 are really contemporaneous. n the other hand, 
 remember that reason does not abolish the passionate 
 mode, which is supreme in infancy. Dating, then, 
 from the birth of reason, human life is a series of alter- 
 nations from one to the other of these three states 
 of the moral nature, according to the degree in which 
 passion, self-love, or the moral law, gains sway over our 
 will, and presides in our decisions. No period of life 
 is free from these alternations. Men are marked in 
 character by the frequency with which one or the 
 other of these motives triumphs. Some yield to 
 passion habitually, and are passionate men ; others 
 follow interest well understood, and are lovers of self; 
 others again obey the moral law, and are virtuous. 
 According to the prevalence in our habits of mind, of 
 one or the other of these modes of choice, does man 
 assume a moral character. No one obeys, exclusively 
 and constantly, one or the other ; however strong the 
 habitual predominance of either, the other two always
 
 56 JOUFFROY. 
 
 control some of our volitions. Yet more ; in far the 
 greater number of cases all three concur and cooper- 
 ate through the force of that harmony which funda- 
 mentally unites them ; and acts produced by one or 
 the other exclusively are extremely rare. Thus man 
 is never wholly virtuous, nor wholly selfish, nor wholly 
 passionate ; and whichever spring may seem to move 
 his conduct, the secret impulse of the others is more 
 or less blended with it. 
 
 Such is an outline of those facts of man's moral 
 nature which I have in former courses exhibited to 
 you. In the light of these facts, you will easily com- 
 prehend, I trust, the different systems of moral phi- 
 losophy which have denied the existence of a law of 
 obligation, and you will detect without difficulty the 
 sources of their different errors. But so important is 
 it that you should have a clear understanding of the 
 psychology of man's moral nature, that I shall resume 
 the consideration of these facts in my next lecture.
 
 RELIGION. 57 
 
 LECTURE III. 
 
 THE SAME SUBJECT CONTINUED. 
 
 GENTLEMEN, 
 
 As the ideas of right and of duty imply that 
 of law, and as the idea of law implies that of obliga- 
 tion, it is plain that the question, Whether there are 
 any rights or duties, returns to the question, Whether 
 there is any law of obligation, or, to abridge the 
 expression, any law ; for the word law necessarily 
 carries with it the idea of obligation. Before inquiring 
 what our duties and rights are, and in what they 
 consist, it is indispensable, then, first to consider these 
 two questions- "Is there a law of obligation ? and, 
 if so, what is it?" It would still have been proper 
 to decide these questions, even if there had never 
 existed philosophers who have replied to the first in 
 the negative, or who, in their attempts to answer the 
 second, have disagreed as to the nature of this obliga- 
 tory law, whose existence they yet recognized. But 
 since certain .philosophers have denied that there is 
 any law of obligation, and since those who have 
 admitted its existence have given many and diverse 
 accounts of its nature, it is evident that the considera- 
 tion and solution of these questions cannot be dispensed
 
 68 JOUFFROV. 
 
 with. For if the philosophers who deny the existence 
 of the law are right, we need examine no further as to 
 our duties and rights; and we can in no way deter- 
 mine what these rights and duties are, if, after having 
 satisfied ourselves that there is such a law, we still 
 hesitate as to its nature, and make no choice among 
 systems which have arrived at different results, in this 
 attempt to describe it. 
 
 The systems based on false principles of ethics may 
 be divided into three classes. One class maintains 
 that there can be no law of obligation, while a second 
 asserts that there really is none. These two classes 
 deny the possibility of ethical science. A third class 
 destroys the law by altering its nature ; it comprises the 
 systems which, though they admit an obligatory law, 
 yet do not recognize it as it is, but variously disfigure 
 it. The common result of such mutilations is to de- 
 stroy it ; for there can be but one law of obligation, 
 and every system that substitutes another, attributes 
 to this false law the character of obligation, which, 
 according to the nature of our minds, attaches only to 
 the true law. Thus in different ways do these three 
 classes of systems equally destroy the law of obliga- 
 tion, and consequently all duty and all right the 
 whole science of ethics. 
 
 Such, neither more nor less, are the classes of sys- 
 tems to be examined ; and, for the purposes of this 
 examination, we must solve the proposed question 
 " Is there a law of obligation, and, if so, what is it ? " 
 
 It cannot escape you that these are questions of fact, 
 and not abstract ones, to be solved by reasoning. Man 
 exists ; he chooses ; he acts ; he is impelled by such
 
 THE FACTS OF MAN'S MORAL NATURE. 59 
 
 and such motives. Among these motives is there one 
 which has the character of a law? This is the first 
 question. If there is, What is that motive, its nature 
 and character 1 This is the second. Both are ques- 
 tions of fact. 
 
 Hence you will see, that to answer these two pri- 
 mary questions, on which the whole science of ethics 
 depends, or, what amounts to the same thing, to esti- 
 mate rightly the truth of these systems, which have 
 denied or disfigured this science, we must observe 
 the facts of man's moral nature ; and therefore have I 
 attempted to sketch the great outlines, though not the 
 details of these facts. 
 
 .Such was the single object of my last lecture. I 
 owe you, before proceeding further, a short explanation 
 of the expression, the moral facts of human nature. 
 To avoid misapprehension, it is absolutely necessary 
 that we should understand perfectly the expression 
 made use of, and determine precisely the acceptation 
 of the words. 
 
 There is no morality in human nature, unless man is 
 free and subject to a law of obligation. Destroy duty, 
 or the possibility of directing ourselves by it, and you 
 destroy all morality ; for a conformity of the resolves 
 of the will to the obligatory law of duty, is precisely 
 what constitutes morality. Other than this there is 
 none. Thus, in its true acceptation, morality signifies 
 the conformity of our resolves to the law of duty. 
 When this conformity exists in any act, the agent is 
 moral ; when it does not exist, the act and agent are 
 immoral. 
 
 This is the exact meaning of the word morality ; and
 
 60 JQUFFROY. 
 
 from this comes the epithet moral. It is in a rather 
 more enlarged sense, however, that I call the facts 
 which I have exhibited to you, moral. Analogy seems 
 to me to justify my use of the word. If there is any 
 thincr moral in human volitions, it will be found in 
 
 o * 
 
 the phenomena which precede and are associated with 
 them, or, in other words, which concur to produce them. 
 All these facts may, then, in an enlarged sense, be 
 called moral facts, inasmuch as among them are to be 
 found those which especially constitute morality. In 
 my last lecture, I described, as moral facts, all phe- 
 nomena in any way connected with our volitions, not 
 limiting the application of the term to those which 
 constitute, strictly speaking, morality. And it is in 
 this sense, as I have now denned it, that you will 
 please, then, to understand the expression. 
 
 And now, gentlemen, after what I have said in the 
 commencement of this lecture as to the impossibility 
 of solving the two questions " Is there a law of obli- 
 gation ? and, if so, what is it 1 " and the equal impos- 
 sibility of correctly appreciating the systems which 
 have replied in the negative to the first, and wrongly 
 answered the second, without reference to the moral 
 facts of human nature, that is to say, without knowing 
 how the will is really determined in man after this, 
 you will feel that it is highly important to comprehend 
 clearly the whole process of our volitions, and the 
 function of each element which concurs to produce 
 them. Unless you keep this process before your 
 minds, and comprehend clearly all its springs, it is 
 impossible that you should arrive at a satisfactory 
 solution of these questions, or a correct understanding
 
 THE FACTS OF MAN'S MORAL NATURE. 61 
 
 of the systems. I wish, then, to go over again, though 
 in a different manner, the grand outlines of the picture, 
 which I have presented to you in my last lecture. 
 
 When I reflect upon the effect which my rapid 
 sketch may have produced on the minds of those who 
 have not attended my former courses, it seems to me 
 a duty, if I wish to be comprehended, to draw these 
 outlines yet more distinctly. Once agreed upon what 
 really does pass within us in the process of volition, 
 and we shall have no difficulty in distinctly compre- 
 hending the various systems. They will have no 
 obscurity for you. You will see how, in the real facts 
 of our moral nature, pretexts may be found for each 
 and every system ; how each and all have, in some 
 way, mutilated these facts ; and how, in different ways, 
 and through various illusions, they arrive at erroneous 
 results. 
 
 Were the principles of human nature which concur 
 to produce our volitions all developed at birth, and 
 were not some of them delayed, there would be but 
 one moral state for a human soul. But as, among 
 these elements, there are two, which are not developed 
 until an advanced period of life, we do not, upon 
 examination, find man's moral condition always the 
 same ; and thus are we enabled to distinguish different 
 moral periods. 
 
 Hence, in my last lecture, I was led to describe 
 a first, second, and third moral state; in other 
 words, three distinct modes of volition the primi- 
 tive, the selfish, and the moral mode, properly so 
 called ; in which latter, the law of obligation, not 
 
 VOL. I. F 

 
 62 JOUFFROY. 
 
 observable in the two former, first makes its ap- 
 pearance. 
 
 Notwithstanding the differences which distinguish 
 these three states of the moral nature, their elements 
 are neither numerous nor difficult to seize. Four 
 principles of human nature alone concur to produce 
 them, and if we can but disengage the functions 
 of these different elements in each of the three states, 
 we shall gain a sufficiently precise notion of the 
 process of volition. 
 
 These four principles of human nature are, the 
 instinctive and primitive tendencies, as I have called 
 them ; the faculties adapted to these ; will, or the 
 power of directing our faculties ; and, lastly, reason, 
 or the power of comprehension. 
 
 And now I wish you to see, clearly, which of ^these 
 principles are active in each state, and what are the 
 functions they fulfil. To this point, therefore, I now 
 once more invite your attention. 
 
 Human nature, having an organization peculiar to 
 itself, is, by this organization, destined to a peculiar 
 end. Life begins with the instinctive movement 
 which impels human nature towards its end. This 
 instinctive movement is not simple, but complex; 
 in other words, it is made up of several instinctive 
 movements, each of which has its peculiar object, 
 the aggregate of which objects forms the true end 
 of man his highest good. These instinctive move- 
 ments are developed in our earliest existence ; for, 
 should a moment elapse between the commencement 
 of our existence and their development, it would be
 
 
 THE PACTS OF MAN'S MORAL NATURE. 63 
 
 a moment when we were existing indeed, but not 
 living. But man must live as soon as he exists, 
 and it is his life to aspire towards his end. From 
 the first moment of existence, we feel awakening 
 within us all the instincts with which our nature 
 is gifted ; in other words, all the desires which 
 result from our organization; and these instincts 
 and desires seek blindly each its peculiar object. 
 Such is the action of the instinctive tendencies of 
 our nature ; and not for one moment of existence 
 is this development, which commences with life, 
 suspended ; it remains even in sleep ; the moving 
 springs of human activity are the same whether we 
 sleep or wake; their action is unintermitted. 
 
 Thus, as I have said, are the primitive tendencies 
 the moving springs of our activity ; they constitute 
 our moving force. In fact, it is by them that our 
 nature is prompted, and its faculties put in operation ; 
 for the final end of the activity of our faculties is the 
 satisfaction of the permanent and primitive desires, 
 at once instinctive and blind, which manifest in the 
 form of passion the cravings of ur nature, explain 
 its characteristic properties, and reveal the end for 
 which it is destined. 
 
 It cannot be, then, that the element of our primitive 
 and instinctive tendencies should be wanting in either 
 of the three moral states described. It appears in all, 
 though supreme only in the first. 
 
 Such is the first of the four principles which concur 
 in producing our volitions ; we may call it the main 
 spring the moving force within us. 
 
 The second element or principle of our nature which
 
 64 JOUFFROY. 
 
 influences our volition is that to which I have given 
 the general name of faculties. Had the Creator 
 assio-ned man an end, and implanted an irresistible 
 desire to attain it, without having placed in human 
 nature the faculties needed as instruments for its 
 satisfaction, and fitted to realize the end, it would have 
 been a contradiction of his own work. There is an 
 absolute necessity, therefore, that, beside the primitive 
 tendencies impelling us to our end, we should possess 
 certain faculties or instruments enabling us to gain 
 it. These faculties constitute the second of the 
 four elements to which I am now directing your 
 attention. 
 
 We must not confound the faculties which are the 
 executive power within us, with the free will which 
 controls this power, guiding its direction. There is 
 a period in the life of man, and perhaps a prolonged 
 one, when there is no sovereign power within him, 
 if I may say so; that is to say, when the self-direction 
 of our faculties, which constitutes liberty, does not as 
 yet exist. During the early years of childhood, we 
 exercise no government at all over our faculties, and 
 ^^ to those succeed others, when we can hardly be said to 
 
 govern them. These instruments are still, however, 
 vitally acting ; only they act independently of us, or, 
 what amounts to the same thing, without our will's 
 impressing upon them any direction, .and under the 
 sole impulse of our tendencies. Quite distinct, then, 
 are our faculties, or the executive force, as I have 
 called it, from the power of will, whose function it is to 
 direct them. The faculties exist independently of the 
 will in the early period of life ; and this independence
 
 THE FACTS OF MAN ? S MORAL NATURE. 65 
 
 is more or less manifested in every era of human 
 existence. 
 
 The faculties of human nature never sleep ; never 
 cease to act. As our instinctive tendencies constantly 
 impel us to act, so our faculties are always in some sort 
 of movement and action. But it is not thus with the 
 will. Not only do we not .govern our faculties in the 
 early period of life, but we often intermit our control 
 at all periods. Not seldom it happens, then, that even 
 in the mature man, nothing intervenes between the 
 passions which impel, and the faculties or executive 
 part of our nature ; but the first acts directly upon 
 the second. This phenomenon occurs in many cases 
 when strong passions appeal suddenly to the faculties, 
 or when our will, tired of its efforts, suspends for a, 
 time its oversight and government. The will is an 
 intermittent power, while the faculties act incessantly 
 with various degrees of energy or feebleness. 
 
 You see, therefore, that our faculties, or the execu-? 
 tive part of our nature, like OUT primitive tendencies, 
 are ever in movement ; but their power may take two 
 different directions, according as they are acted upon 
 immediately by the passions, as in the primitive state, 
 or by the will the sovereign part of our nature, 
 which is not developed till later, and whose action, 
 even then, is sometimes intermitted. Free will pre- 
 supposes reason, and comes only with reason ; and 
 when these two principles are introduced between the 
 instinctive impulses of our nature and our faculties, 
 our moral condition is wholly changed. 
 
 It remains now to be seen what part these two prin- 
 ciples act in the process of volition ; for, adding these 
 
 F 2
 
 66 JOUFFROY. 
 
 two principles to our instinctive impulses and to our 
 faculties, we have all the elements .which concur to 
 produce our acts of will. 
 
 We do not know d priori that we are endowed with 
 the power of governing and directing our faculties. 
 We are, indeed, wholly ignorant of it, and we should 
 never learn the fact without experience. In the early 
 period of life there are no signs .of our capacity of 
 self-control. Our faculties, as I have before said, are, 
 then, wholly under the direction of impulse, which, 
 craving certain objects, and aspiring to certain ends, 
 impels them in the direction that will gratify their 
 desire without our intervention. As one of our 
 passions or another may be strongest, and may sway 
 the others, so all our faculties take the direction 
 which it prescribes ; but the moment another, yet 
 stronger, rises, our faculties quit their first direction, 
 and obediently follow a new one. 
 
 In the conduct of chHdren, this vacillation is 
 constantly noticed. Nothing is more variable than 
 the relative force of .our different passions; and, 
 as our faculties fall necessarily under the sway of 
 the strongest, there cannot but be, in the choice of 
 children, this unceasing fluctuation. It manifests 
 itself in their looks, gestures, thoughts, and gives 
 them their peculiar charm and character. Yet in 
 this primitive life is it that our power over our facul- 
 ties is first revealed, and in "the manner described in 
 jny last lecture, which I will now recapitulate. 
 
 Whatever the object towards which instinctive 
 tendency impels us, and which our faculties are 
 constrained to seek, it cannot be obtained without
 
 THE FACTS OF MAN'S MORAL NATURE. 67 
 
 difficulty ; always some obstacle prevents the imme- 
 diate gratification of the passion. What then? Our 
 faculties, finding themselves made powerless by this 
 obstacle, concentrate themselves spontaneously to 
 overcome it ; or, in other words, their united power 
 is brought to bear on this one point, where they 
 have encountered resistance. 
 
 Hence is the revelation of our power of control 
 over our faculties. When, in the depths of our 
 nature, we become conscious that our diffused powers 
 are uniting and concentrating upon a single point, 
 we feel at the same time that we can at will reproduce 
 and repeat that concentration. Feeling that we have 
 this power, we exercise it, and our sovereign force, 
 our will, appears. Experience has revealed to us 
 our power ; but for this we should never have 
 learned iU 
 
 In the primitive state, which I have been describing, 
 the power of the will then first shows itself. But 
 this power, not being directed by the reason, which 
 as yet has not awakened, produces only transient 
 and slight effects. When passion demands eagerly 
 its satisfaction, and our faculties find difficulties in 
 obtaining it, then do our powers concentrate them- 
 selves. But when a yet stronger passion summons 
 our faculties, or when the obstacle in the way 
 demands fatiguing exertion for its removal, the 
 spring is relaxed, and concentration ceases. In other 
 words, will, being as yet only instinctive, and having 
 no rational motive on which to rely, is uncertain 
 arid vacillating; it can endure but little; its efforts
 
 68 JOUFFROY. 
 
 are small; it does scarcely more than show itself; 
 and, that it may be developed and produce great 
 results, reason must come to its aid. 
 
 Here, then, are three principles concurring to 
 produce volition ; first, the motive power, or the 
 primitive tendencies of our nature ; second, the 
 executive power, or our faculties ; third, the govern- 
 ing power, or the will, that is to say, the power 
 of directing our faculties. 
 
 A fourth principle is that which I call reason, or 
 the power of comprehension. 
 
 I have said, gentlemen, that, when reason first 
 appears, it finds in us the three other principles 
 already active. From the first moment of existence, 
 man is conscious of desires, instincts, and passions, 
 developing within him ; his faculties begin to act 
 under the impulse of his desires, and, whenever 
 they encounter resistance, are concentrated sponta- 
 neously thus betraying, by their involuntary action, 
 the fact that they may be governed. But, thus far, 
 they have been combated only by the passions ; 
 they have been enslaved by the strongest impulse J 
 nothing has modified or limited the empire of the 
 instincts over them. When reason appears, this 
 slavery ceases ; -for in place of an impulse of passion 
 is substituted, not a new impulse, but observe the 
 word, which in all languages is the same a motive. 
 Heretofore, our actions have been determined by a 
 blind and mechanical impulse; but, from the moment 
 when reason appears, whether, it gives counsel or 
 imposes laws, man acts from a motive. A new
 
 THE FACTS OF MAN'S MORAL NATURE. 69 
 
 principle comes in to take part in, and modify, the 
 process of volition. The operation of this principle 
 I will now proceed to show. 
 
 Reason does two things. In the first place, ob- 
 serving what passes within us, it comprehends 
 that all our tendencies, as they develop, demand 
 satisfaction ; and, generalizing the idea of this satis- 
 faction, it comprehends that this is our good, n 
 the other hand, it remarks that, when abandoned 
 to itself, our nature succeeds but ill in attaining 
 the highest possible satisfaction of our instincts ; 
 both because it obeys all the various impulses of our 
 passions, and because it does not persevere sufficiently 
 in the effort to satisfy them. Reason must introduce 
 rules, then, into the conduct of our faculties, by 
 ascertaining the supreme end which they should seek, 
 and the way in which they should proceed to reach 
 it. This reason does; on the one side it rises 
 to the idea of self-interest well understood, and, on 
 the other, judges of the conduct most proper to 
 realize it. In view of this end proposed for its 
 attainment, and of the course to be pursued, the 
 will prepares to act, sets free our faculties from the 
 mechanical impulse of our tendencies, and governs 
 them. Motive takes the place of impulse, rule 
 succeeds to force, and our conduct, from being 
 passionate, blind, instinctive, as it was at first, 
 becomes deliberate and rational. 
 
 Such is the first result of the appearance of reason 
 in the process of volition. 
 
 It is plain, that, if reason had no other function 
 than thus to comprehend the end of our tendencies,
 
 70 JOUFFROY. 
 
 and to decide upon the best mode of accomplishing 
 it, there would be no law of obligation for us. We 
 do not feel ourselves obliged to satisfy our passions. 
 When reason places before us as an end the greatest 
 satisfaction of our tendencies, it counsels our self- 
 interest to obtain this satisfaction ; but its advice 
 has not an obligatory character. In other words, 
 interest well understood, as estimated by reason, is 
 nothing but the satisfaction of our tendencies; and 
 never does self-interest, to any mind, come clothed 
 in the character of obligation. Self-interest is not, 
 indeed, a mechanical impulse of passion. It is a 
 motive ; but it is not a law. 
 
 Reason, however, does not stop at this point of 
 self-interest. It goes further, and introduces a 
 second rational element into our volition. This 
 second motive is the idea of good. Interest well 
 understood is the conception of the good or well- 
 being of the individual, but not of good in itself, 
 absolute good. When reason first perceives that, 
 as there is a good for us, so is there for all creatures 
 whatsoever, and that thus the particular good of each 
 creature is but an element of universal order, of 
 absolute good, then does the idea of good, so dis- 
 engaged and elevated to the sphere of absolute being, 
 appear to our reason as obligatory. A new motive 
 to action, a new principle of conduct, is revealed 
 and introduced. This principle is an obligatory 
 one a law. Unless this principle did thus appear, 
 unless this idea did become thus disengaged in our 
 minds by the effort of reason, the word morality 
 would have no meaning ; there would be no duties,
 
 THE FACTS OF MAN*S MORAL NATURE. 71 
 
 no rights ; the science of ethics would be a vain 
 pursuit ; and our whole object in life would be to 
 pursue the course of conduct best fitted to realize 
 interest well understood. When I examine the 
 opinions of those who assert that this selfish principle 
 is the ultimate and final one, I at once see that it 
 is impossible to deduce from self-interest any duty 
 towards other beings. We cannot, in fact, refer to 
 the idea of personal good an element which it does 
 not include the idea of the good of others; neither 
 can we explain by it the motive which impels us to 
 seek it. 
 
 You see, then, that four principles of our nature 
 cooperate to produce our volitions. You see that, 
 because two of these principles, the will and reason, 
 are developed late, and because reason itself has 
 two separate states, there are in human life different 
 and distinct moral periods. 
 
 During the first of these, but two principles are 
 active the tendencies of our nature, or the moving 
 power, and the faculties, or the executive power. In 
 this period, impulse acts directly upon our faculties, 
 and the latter cannot escape its influence. 
 
 At a later period, the empire over self commences, 
 yet later becoming as strong as we could wish ; and 
 then, between our impulses and our faculties, comes 
 in a power which controls the latter, and forbids 
 them to yield to passion without its consent. But 
 that this power, which is the will, may" be able to 
 refuse its consent to passionate impulse, it must have 
 support. And it finds this support in a fourth prin-
 
 72 JOUFFROY. 
 
 ciple, which now enters ; namely, a motive or reason 
 for acting, which is not an impulse. 
 
 Reason is the source of this new element, thus 
 introduced into the process of volition. But there 
 are two motives successively brought in by reason. 
 The first is only a general idea, a summary of all 
 which the various tendencies of our nature desire, 
 having no authority but theirs, and directing them 
 only because it comprehends their end, and knows 
 the best means to satisfy them. Interest well under- 
 stood is the first motive that aids the will in gaining 
 supreme control, by giving it support against the 
 purely mechanical impulse of passion. 
 
 The second motive introduced by reason, or the 
 second support afforded by it to the will, is much 
 stronger. It is the idea of good in itself, an idea 
 which is not the interest well understood of our 
 impulses, the end of our instinctive tendencies, but 
 an end, an interest, entirely impersonal, the universal 
 end of the creation absolute good, or order. It 
 is only such an idea, such an end, such a good, 
 that can have an obligatory character ; for that 
 which is personal, not being superior to the person, 
 cannot in any way oblige him. The idea of law 
 implies something exterior and superior to the person, 
 something universal, which comprehends and controls 
 the individual. Such is the idea of absolute good, 
 or of universal order, to which reason ascends, and 
 which appears to it instantly as a legitimate and 
 obligatory motive. Henceforth, the will is not only 
 aided to resist the mechanical impulse of passion
 
 THE FACTS OF MAN'S MORAL NATURE. 73 
 
 by interest well understood, but, resting on this idea, 
 finds support in another yet more comprehensive 
 and powerful motive, even that of producing good 
 within and around us, of completing and reverencing 
 order in the development of our own and other 
 natures. In this idea of good is comprehended that 
 of our own and others' good ; and the realizing 
 of these two kinds of good becomes obligatory, on 
 the common ground that each is an element of order, 
 or of that absolute good which is obligatory. Thus 
 the good of another becomes an element in the 
 determination of our volitions, and even our own 
 good assumes a character of impersonality which 
 it had not before. When the will finds this new 
 source of strength, it not only becomes more power- 
 ful against mechanical impulse, but escapes altogether, 
 if it chooses, from all motives of a personal nature. 
 Morality now becomes' possible; for the condition 
 of all morality, which is to act from a motive or 
 impersonal idea, or a law, is given; but, before this 
 time, morality has had no existence whatever. 
 
 And now, gentlemen, unless I have succeeded very 
 ill in analyzing the complex phenomenon of human 
 volition, you must clearly comprehend both its ele- 
 ments and its operation. Such is the phenomenon 
 in its threefold aspect. I have copied these outlines 
 faithfully, I trust, from the facts of human conscious- 
 ness; and, if the picture is not perfect in details, 
 it is yet true, I am confident, in its main features 
 and general air. 
 
 But whether we yield to the impulse of passion and 
 instinct, or act from the motive of self-interest, or 
 VOL. i. o
 
 74 JOUFFROY. 
 
 finally obey the idea of good, we meet constantly with 
 obstacles between ourselves and our end, which can 
 never in this life be wholly surmounted. Hence, in 
 every possible situation, a perpetual conflict is waged 
 between our nature and surrounding circumstances; 
 and this is the fundamental characteristic of the con- 
 dition of humanity. 
 
 But, independently of this fundamental conflict, 
 which is renewed in every possible moral period, each 
 period has a conflict peculiar to itself. In the primi- 
 tive state, where two principles of our nature only 
 exercise their functions, on the one side our tenden- 
 cies, and on the other our faculties, there is a conflict 
 between the different tendencies of our nature ; when 
 one has supreme sway, it oppresses the others, while 
 these in turn rise to power and subdue the first. A 
 violent and perpetual strife goes on of necessity among 
 our different tendencies ; for each is exacting and 
 exclusive, and often can be satisfied only by the 
 sacrifice of the others. 
 
 In the period of self-love, not only is there a contest 
 between our different passions, but yet another between 
 our passions and the motive of self-interest. For we 
 cannot direct ourselves according to the rules of self- 
 interest, except by constraining and repressing the 
 natural action of our different passions. Each moment 
 must we sacrifice the strongest passion to a weaker 
 one a present passion to a future one, and this for 
 the sake of our greatest interest, or an idea of our 
 reason. There is, then, in the selfish state, a contest 
 of motives against impulses ; and we cannot sacrifice 
 one to the other, without regretting it, if it is the
 
 THE PACTS OF MAN'S MORAL NATURE. 75 
 
 motive which is abandoned ; without pain, if it is the 
 passion. 
 
 In the third, or moral period, properly so called, 
 both these conflicts are continued, and a third com- 
 mences between self-interest or personal good, and 
 duty or absolute good. In a multitude of cases we 
 must sacrifice self-interest to good in itself; and in 
 whatever way we may decide to act, we suffer either 
 remorse, if we are influenced by the thought of per- 
 sonal good, or regret, if we sacrifice well-being to 
 duty. The very root of all these conflicts is the fun- 
 damental one of man against nature. Were it not for 
 this, the secondary conflicts would not arise at all ; but 
 this is produced from the very nature of things, and 
 from it spring the others. 
 
 Thus the province of moral volition is, if I may say 
 So, a battle-field, where eternal war is waged. These 
 combats make up our life itself, with all its varied 
 griefs, and its grand fundamental evil, the strife of 
 man with what is not himself. And yet, gentlemen, 
 there is, nevertheless, beneath all this, the profoundest 
 unity and harmony ; and now, having described thf 
 discord and strife of our nature, I will explain to you 
 its accordance and peace. 
 
 Is it not true, then, that if we had the power of 
 always directing ourselves according to the rule of self- 
 interest, supposing this rule to have been perfectly 
 estimated by reason, is it not true that the attainments 
 of such self-interest would comprehend and include 
 the greatest possible satisfaction of all our tendencies, 
 that is to say, of all our passions? Of this there can 
 be no doubt; for whenever we prefer the rule of
 
 76 JOLTFFROY. 
 
 interest, well understood, to the mechanical impulse 
 of passion, it is for the interests of passion itself, for the 
 interests of our true well-being, therefore, and our 
 greatest good. Thus, in yielding to the selfish motive, 
 so far from sacrificing the passions, we do really serve 
 them ; in obeying it, we in fact obey our passions, that 
 is to say, the tendencies of our nature ; and the satis- 
 faction of one implies the satisfaction of the others. 
 There is, then, a harmony between our tendencies and 
 the calculations of self-interest. 
 
 Experience proves that there is a like deep har- 
 mony between obedience to the law of duty and self- 
 interest. Long has it been since philosophers, who 
 admitted in principle the law of duty, in order to 
 conciliate those over whom the considerations of self- 
 interest exercised great power, have demonstrated, by 
 experience and reasoning, that the best mode of being 
 happy is to be faithful, in every case, to the law of duty. 
 And, on the other hand, it has been long since those 
 who have misconceived the nature of the law of duty 
 have endeavored to explain it to such as denied it, by 
 showing that the very conduct which men of elevated 
 intelligence and consummate experience had deter- 
 mined to be for man's true self-interest, is precisely 
 that which the moral law prescribes. Thus the parti- 
 sans of self-interest, and those of the law of duty, have 
 both agreed in recognizing the profound and ultimate 
 agreement which there is between the counsels of the 
 one and the rules of the other. And, in fact, it is 
 impossible that it should be otherwise ; for what does 
 the law of duty advise ? Its wish is, that we should 
 fulfil our own destiny, and yet not hinder, but rather
 
 THE FACTS OF MAN'S MORAL NATURE. 77 
 
 aid others in fulfilling theirs. Now, this is just what 
 our passions demand. Our passions are not all per- 
 sonal ; they have not all for their object our private 
 good ; but we have also sympathetic, benevolent 
 passions, which have for their end the good of others. 
 When the good of others, then, is not attained 
 when others suffer we suffer with them. Thus, when 
 the emotion of pity arises in my heart, if the object 
 of it is not solaced, I suffer ; I too am unhappy. 
 When I experience sympathy for a person lively sym- 
 pathy if that person is unhappy, I suffer also, as with 
 a grief of my own. Many of our primitive tendencies, 
 then, aspire to the good of others and to the accom- 
 plishment of their destiny, as a final end. Self-interest 
 includes, then, as a condition of our own good, the 
 good of others. From all this you may see how 
 profound is the harmony between the conduct which 
 the law of duty, or the idea of absolute good, prescribes, 
 and that recommended by enlightened self-interest, or 
 the idea of personal good. And thus, as self-interest 
 coincides with the satisfaction of our instinctive ten- 
 dencies, it follows that each of the three motives 
 implies the others, and that, notwithstanding conflicts 
 on the surface, there is, as I have said, a perfect 
 fundamental accordance. But, because they agree, 
 they are not the less distinct ; neither is it a matter 
 of indifference which shall be obeyed. If you yield to 
 passions, you debase yourself to the level of the brutes, 
 for this is peculiarly their mode of volition. The 
 nature of animals, like the nature of man, impels 
 them to their end. They have, like ourselves, facul 
 ties by which to attain it ; but no motive ever inter-
 
 78 JOUFFROY. 
 
 poses itself between the mechanical impulse of their 
 desires and the faculties with which they are endowed 
 for their satisfaction. When man yields to passion, 
 then his mode of volition is wholly animal ; and so 
 long as he acts in this manner is his life that of the 
 brute. It is only when he rises to the idea of self- 
 interest, that he becomes a rational being; then he 
 calculates the consequences of conduct, and becomes 
 master of his faculties ; he subjects them to a plan 
 which he has marked out, and is now a man, though 
 not yet a moral man ; he becomes a moral being when 
 he abandons this idea of personal good for that of 
 absolute good; then he is moral, for he obeys a law; 
 he rises now as much above the selfish state, as before 
 he had done above the animal state ; and, in a word, 
 the phenomena of moral good and evil, for the first 
 time, appear, and with them all that makes the glory 
 and the greatness of our nature. 
 
 And now let us take a rapid review of what has 
 been said of the different kinds of good, and thus fix, 
 in a precise manner, our notions of them ; for distinct 
 notions on this subject are indispensable to a right 
 understanding of all that is to follow. 
 
 I have told you, gentlemen, that good for man, as 
 for every other creature whatsoever, is the accomplish- 
 ment of his destiny ; that his nature commands him for- 
 ever to aspire and tend toward this ; that it is this which 
 alone can satisfy the instinctive passions. My nature 
 is intelligent ; knowledge, then, is a good for me. My 
 nature is sympathetic ; the happiness of others, then, is 
 a good for me. Suppose that a being has neither intel- 
 ligence nor sympathy; then knowledge and the welfare
 
 THE FACTS OP MAN'S MORAL NATURE. 79 
 
 of another would not be good to him. His nature does 
 not seek them ; they do not enter, as elements, into 
 the final end of his being ; for they are not adapted 
 to wants of his constitution. Understand, then, what 
 I mean by real good; you can determine what it is 
 for any being when you have comprehended his nature, 
 and learned what his nature craves. 
 
 Whenever I obtain my real good, I experience a 
 sensible good, that is to say, pleasure. Here is a 
 second kind of good, wholly distinct from the former ; 
 and, to produce it, two conditions must be fulfilled. 
 First, the being must be sensitive ; and, secondly, 
 something which is a real good for that being must 
 be attained. Agreeable sensations, pleasure, sensible 
 good, is a consequence, effect, and sign of real good. 
 Such is sensible good, or, as we usually call it, 
 happiness. 
 
 Finally, there is a third kind of good, which as 
 peculiarly belongs to moral beings as happiness does 
 to sensitive beings ; it is moral good. When my 
 reason has discovered an obligatory motive that is 
 to say, a law and my will conforms to that law, 
 then do I experience moral good; and when, on the 
 contrary, it violates that law, I experience moral evil. 
 Moral good, then, is nothing else than a conformity 
 of the volitions of a reasonable being to the law 
 of obligation which reason prescribes. When I act 
 from enlightened self-interest merely, there is neither 
 moral good nor evil, except in so far as I consciously 
 violate some commandment of the moral law. 
 
 Such are the three kinds of good and evil. You 
 see, now, the fundamental distinctions between real
 
 80 JOUFFROY. 
 
 good and evil, sensible good and evil, moral good 
 and evil, and the peculiar characteristics of each. 
 Human nature is an impenetrable mystery to him 
 who has not separated and distinguished three things 
 so entirely distinct; and the explanation of false 
 systems and erroneous doctrines is to be found in 
 men's having confounded them. 
 
 Into each of the three states which I have described, 
 real good and evil, and 4 consequently, sensible good 
 and evil, enter ; but to the third alone is moral 
 good confined. I will recall to your minds, in 
 passing, the fact that moral good and evil produce 
 a sensible effect, as well as real good and evil ; or, 
 in other words, that we cannot obey a moral law, 
 without experiencing, from that obedience, pleasure ; 
 and cannot disobey a moral law, without, as a con- 
 sequence, suffering pain. Let me add that, as this 
 pleasure and pain are accompanied by a judgment 
 of the reason, which says to the agent not only, 
 "Thou hast done well or ill," but also, "Thou art 
 worthy or unworthy," they are the most vivid 
 which human sensibility is capable of feeling. 
 
 It results from this analysis, that sensible good and 
 evil could not exist without the other kinds of good, 
 and also that moral good and evil could not exist 
 without real good and evil ; for if we had no end, 
 we could have no law. Real good is, then, the 
 condition of all good for us ; real evil, the condition 
 of all evil. It is accompanied by sensible good, if the 
 being is sensitive ; by moral good, if he is rational. 
 
 Such, gentlemen, are the principal facts of our 
 moral nature.
 
 THE FACTS OF MAN*S MORAL NATURE. 81 
 
 After what has now been said, you can easily 
 comprehend how a person, in surveying the rules 
 of human conduct, may allow some of the facts 
 of our nature to escape him. You can comprehend, 
 for example, how a man may overlook the fact that, 
 independently of sensible impulse and enlightened 
 self-interest, reason perceives an obligatory law as 
 a motive to action. Admitting that a philosopher 
 has fallen into this error, the moral period that I 
 have described is not a real one to him. Miscon- 
 ceiving the facts of our nature, he mutilates them 
 in his system, and can come but to the one conclusion, 
 that there is no law of obligation. You can com- 
 prehend, also, how, without entire ignorance of this 
 third mode of volition, a man may yet form an 
 incomplete and inaccurate notion of it, and thus 
 substitute for the true law some other, and thus, 
 by deforming, destroy it. You can comprehend, 
 finally, how a philosopher may form to himself such 
 an idea of the nature of things, or of man, as to 
 make him think it impossible, d priori, that man 
 should be subject to a law of obligation, and there- 
 fore useless to search among the phenomena of his 
 nature for such a law. Thus, for example, Hobbes, 
 not believing in the freedom of the will, ought, 
 a priori, to have declared it impossible that there 
 should be a law of obligation, had he reasoned strictly. 
 Thus, too, Spinoza, considering all things as necessary 
 because emanating from God, whose being and acts 
 are necessary, should have denied, from the high 
 ground of his system, the possibility of duty, or 
 rules, or law, for man.
 
 82 JOUFFROY. 
 
 There are three ways, therefore, in which the 
 law of obligation, which is the foundation of ethics, 
 may be denied; first, by asserting, a priori, and 
 as a necessary consequence, from a high principle, 
 that the existence of such a law is impossible; 
 secondly, by overlooking, in the analysis of the 
 moral facts of human nature, the very facts in 
 which this law is manifested; and, lastly, by mu- 
 tilating the facts, although recognizing them ; thus 
 substituting a false law of obligation for the true one. 
 
 We are now in a position to pronounce judgment 
 upon these systems; for we are acquainted with 
 what really passes within us. I believe that the 
 description I have given you is faithful, although 
 it may have been rudely expressed; for I confess 
 to you I experience great difficulty whenever I at- 
 tempt to describe in words these phenomena of our 
 nature. Words and phrases suggest to the mind 
 images so little resembling the phenomena of which 
 we are conscious, that all description seems feeble 
 and imperfect. No one feels this more deeply than 
 I do ; and yet, gentlemen, I believe that the sketch 
 which I have drawn is, in the main, correct. At 
 least, what I have said will enable you to com- 
 prehend how incomplete views of the moral facts 
 of our nature have given rise to various systems ; 
 and still, how these various systems, taken together, 
 bear witness to the real existence of all these facts ; 
 for, though each system may exhibit only one part 
 while neglecting another, yet, together, they present 
 a complete picture of our nature.
 
 SYSTEM OF NECESSITY. 
 
 LECTURE IV. 
 
 SYSTEMS WHICH IMPLY THE IMPOSSIBILITY OF A LAW OF 
 OBLIGATION. 
 
 SYSTEM OF NECESSITY. 
 
 GENTLEMEN, 
 
 IN a former lecture, I have told you that 
 the philosophical systems which, in their principles, 
 are destructive of ethical science, may be divided 
 into three classes : first, those which, from reasons 
 independent of the consideration of moral phenom- 
 ena, deny that there can be a law of obligation for 
 man ; second, those which, having sought for this 
 law by an examination and analysis of moral phe- 
 nomena, declare that they have not discovered it; 
 and, lastly, those which, though professing to have 
 found it, have yet mistaken its nature, and which, 
 variously disfiguring it, have substituted, for such 
 a law of obligation as reason recognizes, a false 
 law, more or less altered from the true one, and 
 implying no obligation. 
 
 Such are the three kinds of systems, which, directly 
 or indirectly, destroy all right and all duty, and, 
 consequently, the whole science of ethics. 
 
 Having, in my last two lectures, presented a
 
 84 JOUFFROY. 
 
 picture of the different facts which enter into the 
 process of volition, I am now prepared these facts 
 having been stated to examine the three classes 
 of systems which I have pointed out. And I will 
 begin with those which deny that there can be a 
 law of obligation. 
 
 There are four chief systems, which, as a necessary 
 and immediate consequence of their principles, deny 
 the possibility of a law of obligation, and, conse- 
 quently, that there can be any rights or duties in a 
 proper sense. These are pantheism, mysticism, skep- 
 ticism, and finally, systems denying the freedom of 
 the will. 
 
 My design is, to take a survey of these four sys- 
 tems ; and, by a refutation of their principles, to 
 escape their consequence, that is to say, their denial 
 of the possibility of ethical science. 
 
 But before entering into a detailed examination of 
 these four systems, it may be well to point out, in a 
 few words, the way in which they each arrive at this 
 common result. 
 
 It is evident, in the first place, that there can be no 
 law of obligation for a being who is not free ; for it 
 would be a contradiction in terms, to say that any 
 obligation could rest upon a being whose actions are 
 determined by necessity. It is needless to develop so 
 plain a truth ; you will comprehend at once, that any 
 system which denies human liberty, does, in so doing, 
 deny that there is or can be any law of obligation. 
 
 This is equally true, in my opinion, of all systems 
 of pantheism ; whose doctrine is, that there is but 
 one being, self-existent, necessary, whom pantheists,
 
 SYSTEM OF NECESSITY. 85 
 
 equally with deists, call God. If there is but one 
 being, there can be nothing in the universe but 
 different modes of his existence. Men, all things 
 animate or inanimate, which make up the creation, are 
 only various modes and different manifestations of this 
 one being ; all causality is, therefore, in him ; there- 
 fore no causality exists in his creatures; and where 
 there is no causality, of course there is no free- 
 will. 
 
 The consequence, then, of every pantheistic system, 
 is the denial of all free-will in the creation, and of 
 course in man. It is only through an inconsistency, 
 therefore, that some pantheists have believed that they 
 could recognize these two things ; and have professed 
 the twofold doctrine of the unity of being (which is 
 the first principle of pantheism) and of human liberty. 
 
 As to the skeptical systems, they are of two kinds. 
 The one class deny that certainty in knowledge is 
 possible, on the ground that human opinions are every 
 where contradictory ; the other class, passing by this 
 contradictory character of human opinions as a matter 
 open for debate, question whether what appears to us 
 truth is really truth in itself, for the reason that the 
 perceptions and conceptions of our intelligence rtsult 
 from the very organization of that intelligence. They 
 assert that we cannot prove that, if we had been 
 differently organized, our views and conceptions would 
 not have been different from those which we now have, 
 or that what now appears to us true, might not then 
 have seemed false, and vice versa. 
 
 Such are the two forms of skepticism; and both one 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 86 JOUFFROY. 
 
 and the other lead to the same result that man can 
 be certain of nothing. If this is so, then, when we 
 believe that we see, in a conception of our reason, a 
 practical obligation to conform our conduct to it, this 
 view may be as uncertain as any other, and we cannot 
 put faith in it. It is, then, a matter of doubt whether 
 we are obliged to do any thing whatsoever, and whether 
 that which we call good or ill is really so. It is quite 
 a matter of indifference, then, whether we respect this 
 obligation or not. 
 
 Every system of skepticism, from whatever principle 
 it originates, necessarily ends in throwing doubt over 
 every idea of obligation, and consequently in a denial 
 of human obligation. 
 
 Mysticism yet remains to be considered. I admit 
 that there are various kinds of mysticism. But there 
 is one chief mystical system, which is the source of all 
 others : its leading principle is, that man cannot, in 
 this world, attain his end ; that he is, whatever he may 
 attempt, powerless for good ; and that, therefore, the 
 only thing for him to do is to wait till the obstacles 
 which impede him are removed, and till the human 
 soul, set free from its present bonds, be transported 
 into such another order of things as will permit him 
 to accomplish his destiny. For one who thinks thus, 
 all action appears absurd, and a passive state is the 
 only reasonable one. Let man await the time when 
 the hand of God shall deliver him from the bondao-e 
 
 " * * 
 
 of his present condition ; then will there be a sphere 
 for action ; but until then let him live passive, leave 
 things to take care of themselves, and abandon himself
 
 SYSTEM OF NECESSITY. 87 
 
 to the current of fate. Any other course of conduct 
 would be an inconsistency ; and the existence of any 
 obligation, therefore, is impossible. 
 
 Thus you see how the four systems of necessity, 
 pantheism, skepticism, and mysticism, equally deny 
 that there can be any law of obligation for man. 
 
 After this summary review, I will now proceed to 
 take up these systems successively, in order that we 
 may examine more in detail the foundations upon 
 which they rest ; and, by showing you the falseness 
 of the principle, I shall attempt to destroy the conse- 
 quences which have been drawn from them. Let us 
 begin with the system of necessity. 
 
 The number of philosophers who have thought that 
 man is not a free being, is very great ; but they have 
 not all arrived at their conclusion in the same way. 
 They have professed the doctrine of necessity, in view 
 of different principles, and through various courses 
 of reasoning. The common characteristic among 
 these systems of necessity, by which they must be 
 classified, is, as I have shown, that they all end in 
 denying the possibility of any law of obligation. 
 
 I will describe the different reasons which have led 
 philosophers to this strange denial of human liberty, 
 and will endeavor briefly to refute them in succession. 
 You can readily see that, as my wish is to come as 
 soon as possible to a positive exposition of the laws of 
 human conduct, I cannot give- much time to a descrip- 
 tion or a refutation of these doctrines. As I am 
 addressing myself to an intelligent audience, and as 
 the system of necessity is in evident contradiction to 
 the universal faith and the acknowledged facts of
 
 88 JOUFFROY. 
 
 human nature, a simple description of its leading 
 traits will enable me to refute the reasonings of its 
 advocates. 
 
 The first mode of denying human liberty which I 
 shall describe, is one which overlooks our true liberty, 
 and substitutes a fictitious one. This is what has been 
 done by Hobbes. Hobbes confined himself to that 
 signification of the word liberty, in which we all 
 employ it, when we say of a man who was just now 
 chained, but is set free, that he is at liberty. When 
 a man is chained, he can will any act, but he cannot 
 execute his will. The constraint is not on his power 
 of willing, but on his power of acting. In a word, 
 action, which naturally and immediately follows voli- 
 tion, is, for the time, impossible. 
 
 Hobbes understands by liberty, the power of doing 
 what we will ; and well may he say, therefore, that 
 human liberty is limited ; for it is evident enough that 
 we can will a multitude of things which we cannot 
 possibly execute. Within the limits of what we can 
 possibly do, we are free ; but no further. This is 
 liberty, as Hobbes has defined it ; and he asserts that 
 there is and can be no other. 
 
 To support such a doctrine, is to deny, to all intents 
 and purposes, that man is a free being. If by liberty 
 is understood an absence of any such external con- 
 straint as prevents the exercise of any power within 
 the natural limits of that power, then every being 
 endowed with any power whatsoever is equally free 
 with man ; animals are free ; vegetative force is free , 
 rivers as they run, winds as they blow, are free. 
 Now, this, evidently, is not what we mean by the
 
 SYSTEM OF NECESSITY. 89 
 
 freedom of any power. The question of liberty or 
 necessity turns altogether upon the mode in which any 
 power is determined in its action ; not upon the fact 
 that there are limits, wider or narrower, to its exercise. 
 In such a sense of the word, no part of our nature is 
 less free than the power of acting. In truth, the 
 necessary law of our being is, that a resolve of the 
 will, when directed to what can possibly be accom- 
 plished, should be immediately followed by the act 
 which executes it, and realizes the intent of the will. 
 There is a necessary connection between willing and 
 acting, if the thing willed can be done. If, then, by 
 liberty is meant the power of doing what we will, 
 liberty is ascribed to a power, whose very characteristic 
 is necessary action. For the act, by which we fulfil 
 a resolve, is a necessary consequence of that volition. 
 If, then, Hobbes, supposing that he thereby preserves 
 the freedom of the will, demonstrates or thinks that he 
 demonstrates to his own mind, that the will has no 
 liberty to form what resolves it chooses, but that all 
 its resolves are -determined by necessity, you can 
 readily comprehend how, by thus denying liberty where 
 it really exists, and admitting it where it does not, he 
 does actually destroy it altogether. 
 
 I trust that you have a clear conception of this 
 system. There is but one answer to it. Hobbes has 
 placed our freedom where it does not exist, where we 
 are not conscious of it ; where, on the contrary, we 
 are perfectly conscious of necessity. If it is true that, 
 in common language, we do use the word liberty 
 sometimes to denote our power of doing what we 
 purpose, it is merely to describe a state opposed to 
 
 H 2
 
 90 JOUFFROY. 
 
 that in which the power of acting is for the moment 
 suspended by external constraint. Tt is in this sense 
 only that we, by analogy, call this state a state of 
 liberty. But when we enter into ourselves, we feel 
 clearly, that the necessary consequence of every re- 
 solve, when that resolve is directed to any thing 
 within our power, is the act putting that resolve in 
 execution ; and that in this part of x>ur nature there is, 
 therefore, no liberty. If it sometimes does happen 
 that, after having willed an act, we yet do not perform 
 it, observe, it is always because in place of that first 
 resolve is substituted an opposite one, destroying it ; 
 so that doing the act or refraining from it, are im- 
 mediate, necessary, plain consequences of the last 
 resolve we form. Wherein, then, does our liberty 
 really consist ? In our power of forming resolves. 
 When we make a resolution, is it only the necessary 
 consequence of some previous processes in our minds ? 
 or does it arise from the power which we have of 
 forming this or that resolve, just as we choose, after 
 having considered whether it is right or wrong, expe- 
 dient or inexpedient, pleasant or painful ? This is the 
 question, and the real point to be discussed. 
 
 Another system, equally denying human liberty, has 
 arisen from a different confusion of language. It is 
 the system of Hume. Consider for a moment this 
 philosopher's idea of a cause, in which, by the way, 
 may be found the very basis of his skepticism. 
 
 As you well know, it is the object of students 
 of physical science, of medical men and chemists, of 
 all who seek to discover the laws of nature, to deter- 
 mine the circumstances which constantly precede the
 
 SYSTEM OF NECESSITY. 91 
 
 
 
 appearance of any phenomenon or effect. When these 
 circumstances are determined, a law of nature is 
 discovered ; and we can draw from the knowledge 
 of this law many important rules for conduct. We 
 are taught by it, that, whenever the circumstances 
 occur, this event will follow ; and, conversely, that 
 whenever it does happen, these circumstances have 
 preceded it. This is of great importance in determin- 
 ing the direction of our actions, and gives man im 
 mense advantage over the blind forces of nature. As 
 we never can reach beyond ourselves to a perception 
 of the true cause of any effect, because out of ourselves 
 these causes are invisible, we are limited to a statement 
 of the circumstances which have constantly preceded the 
 phenomenon, instead of seeking for the causes which 
 have really produced it ; and as, in the minds of students 
 of physical science, the efficient and unknown cause 
 which produces a phenomenon is not confounded with 
 the circumstances which have been observed to precede 
 and accompany it, for convenience and brevity we are 
 accustomed to say that these circumstances are the 
 cause. The assertion of Hume is, that we have no 
 other idea of a cause than this ; and he supports his 
 assumption thus : 
 
 All our knowledge, according to Hume, originates 
 in experience. If this is admitted, he must go on to 
 explain, by experience alone, the formation of all the 
 notions which are found in human intelligence ; the 
 idea of cause is one. Hume is bound to explain how 
 this idea has entered the mind, whether from the senses 
 or from consciousness. Now, as it is a fact that the 
 senses can never reach beyond phenomena to causes,
 
 92 
 
 JOUFFROY. 
 
 
 
 and as Hume thinks that consciousness also can per- 
 ceive phenomena only, it is plain that, if this meta- 
 physical doctrine is once adopted, it becomes impos- 
 sible to explain the true notion of a cause, such as 
 we find it in our minds. 
 
 But there is. a sense of the word cause before 
 referred to, which this system is competent to explain. 
 Though consciousness and sensation can never per- 
 ceive causes, still, according to Hume, tlrey can at 
 least perceive the circumstances which have preceded 
 the appearance of any effect. Meeting with this 
 sense of the word, explicable by his system, Hume 
 adopts it; and, being unable to account for any 
 other idea expressed by the word according to his 
 hypothesis, he declares that this is the only notion 
 which the word cause really represents to the human 
 mind. Thus, for Hume, a cause is merely the 
 aggregate of circumstances constantly preceding in 
 nature the production of any effect. 
 
 This being so, it is perfectly plain that nobody 
 can in any case be entirely sure of what is the 
 cause of any effect. Hume remarks, in fact, and 
 with much reason, that, however constant may be 
 the concurrence of certain circumstances with a 
 fact, reason always distinctly comprehends that a 
 possible case may arise, where this concurrence will 
 cease, and where, consequently, what now seems to 
 us the cause will cease. This is one reason why 
 we can never be certain that what we call the cause 
 of a phenomenon is the true cause. 
 
 In the next place, Hume remarks, and with as good 
 reason, that observation cannot detect, among the cir-
 
 SYSTEM OP NECESSITY. 93 
 
 cumstances which constantly precede the appearance 
 of a phenomenon, the efficient force which has 
 produced it. We see, in fact, certain circumstances ; 
 we see, next, a phenomenon : but the assumed fact 
 of the production of this phenomenon by the circum- 
 stances which precede it escapes us entirely ; and, 
 if it always thus escapes us, we have no means 
 of knowing whether it really happens. Thus the 
 idea of causation as commonly understood, or, what 
 comes to the same thing, the idea of the production 
 of an effect by a cause, is and can only be an 
 illusion of the human mind. The idea of concur- 
 rence observed between two facts, this, according 
 to Hume, is what the idea of causation in our minds 
 really reduces itself to. Any thing more is an illusion 
 and prejudice. Consequently, there is no such thing 
 as a cause, in the common sense of that word ; and; 
 consequently, no such thing as an effect. There 
 is nothing more in nature than a recurrence of 
 phenomena, which precede and follow each other 
 with some degree of constancy, but which in no 
 case should be considered by us as eternal or ne- 
 cessary. 
 
 You see that the necessary consequence of such 
 a doctrine is to destroy such ideas of cause and 
 effect, and of their relation, as exist in the minds 
 of all men; and that, therefore, any consideration 
 of the question whether human causality, or the me, 
 is free or not, is vain and idle. We may well discuss 
 the question, if we consider human causality a true 
 cause, really producing the acts which the man 
 performs. But, if we assume that the causality of
 
 94 JOUFFROY. 
 
 this me is an illusion, the question becomes absurd; 
 for it amounts to this : Is an efficient cause, which 
 has no existence, free or not free? Hume does not 
 admit the consideration of this question of human 
 liberty at all, then ; to him it is only trifling and 
 foolish. I speak here of his metaphysics only ; for, 
 as to his moral philosophy, it is, like that of many 
 other philosophers, and like that of Spinoza even, 
 the most strict and logical mind of modern times, 
 at variance with his metaphysical system. To con- 
 ceive it possible that there can be any morality at 
 all, we must admit, in the outset, and first of all, 
 the very thing which Hume's metaphysics deny, 
 namely, that we are causes. For, destroy this first 
 and indispensable consideration, and it evidently 
 becomes most absurd to inquire what the laws of 
 human action should be, or what conduct should be 
 recommended for man to pursue. 
 
 Such, gentlemen, in a few words, is the meta- 
 physical doctrine of Hume. It can be answered 
 in a most simple way, by saying that the human 
 mind has ideas of cause and effect, and of their 
 relation, which are wholly irreconcilable with it. 
 The system of Hume, therefore, which pretends to 
 explain all our ideas, is false. 
 
 A second reply to Hume is yet more direct. As 
 a matter of fact, we feel that we are the cause of 
 the acts which we produce. Thus, when I walk, 
 I feel that I cause the motion of my limbs ; when 
 I think, when I fix my attention, when I reflect, 
 I feel that I cause these acts of thought, attention, 
 and reflection, which I perform. It is true that we
 
 SYSTEM OF NECESSITY. 96 
 
 have no idea of cause, if consciousness perceives 
 nothing more within us than sensation does in that; 
 for it is certain that, out of ourselves, we cannot go 
 beyond phenomena we cannot reach to causes. 
 But, when we attend not to what passes without, 
 but to what passes within, we discover in ourselves, 
 by consciousness, a cause, which does produce effects ; 
 and we have, whenever we experience this inward 
 feeling, the feeling of cause, the feeling of effect, 
 and the feeling of the production of the effect by 
 the cause. Thus, for example, when I pay attention, 
 I have the feeling of the me, which pays attention, 
 of the phenomenon of attention thence resulting, 
 and, finally, I feel that it is I, myself, who, as the 
 cause, have produced this effect of attention. It is 
 clear that a system, which denies all these facts, 
 cannot explain the idea of cause. But, to conclude 
 from this that the idea does not exist in the human 
 mind, is to submit the mind to the laws of a false 
 system, which philosophy has invented. The mina 
 has the idea of cause ; and for this reason, that 
 it experiences in itself the feeling of a cause which 
 does produce effects. 
 
 If only such opinions as these, which I have 
 now refuted, had been brought against the faith 
 in human freedom, the question would never have 
 been seriously agitated by many minds. We must 
 renounce the most familiar notions of good sense 
 and experience, before we can admit these opinions 
 of Hume and Hobbes which I have described ; and, 
 therefore, they are only partially dangerous. The 
 strongest objections against human liberty come from
 
 96 JOUFFROY. 
 
 a system whose leading principle is wholly different. 
 This system is complicated enough ; that is, it opposes 
 many objections to the doctrine of human liberty. 
 These objections, however, are all connected with 
 one main idea, which is this that the motives from 
 which the will makes up its volitions, really constrain 
 the will to choose, and consequently destroy its 
 freedom; in other words, the doctrine which I am 
 now about to exhibit to you does not admit that 
 man is a free being, because it thinks that acts of 
 will are, in every case whatsoever, the necessary 
 effect of motives preceding the volition. 
 
 The principal propositions of the supporters of 
 this system are as follows : In the first place, they 
 assert, as a fact, that every volition has a motive. 
 In the second place, they say that, if the motive 
 which acts upon the will is a simple and single one, 
 the motive will necessarily determine it ; but, if there 
 are several motives operating at the same time, the 
 strongest will determine it. Such, gentlemen, is the 
 argument of the friends of this system. To point 
 out the fallacy of such reasoning, we must take up 
 and answer separately its different assumptions. 
 
 Perhaps one might, with Reid, deny the fact that 
 all the resolves of the will have a motive. Reid 
 states facts to support this position. He says that 
 we often form trifling resolves without the slightest 
 consciousness of having any motive; and, to the 
 objection immediately raised, that the motive has 
 acted insensibly on the will, he answers, that it is 
 not then a motive, as a motive is a reason for acting, 
 conceived beforehand, and acting on the will. A
 
 SYSTEM OF NECESSITY. 97 
 
 motive which is not conceived of, that is to say, 
 of which I have no consciousness, says Reid, is as 
 if it was no motive as if it did not exist. It is 
 a contradiction, then, to say that a motive has acted 
 on my will, and yet that I have been unconscious of 
 it. Again, says Reid, I am placed in situations 
 where different means to a certain end present them- 
 selves means which will equally conduct me to it; 
 now, if, in such a case, I select one rather than the 
 others, it is without any motive whatsoever. For 
 example, I owe a guinea to a person who has come 
 for payment, and there are in my purse twenty 
 guineas; why do I select one rather than another? 
 Reid asserts that there is in such a case no motive 
 whatever. He acknowledges that such actions are 
 of no importance in a moral point of view. But 
 he remarks that the question is simply to know 
 whether it is possible that the will should ever make 
 a choice without any motive ; and, if any such in- 
 stances can be brought forward, however few or 
 trifling, we may still answer the question in the 
 affirmative. 
 
 These are subtle trains of reasoning, and different 
 minds will form different opinions as to their im- 
 portance. For myself, I leave aside this discussion, 
 and prefer, in a consideration of the subject which 
 must be very rapid, to limit myself to decisive 
 arguments. 
 
 I will admit, then, at the outset, that we never 
 do act without a motive. This being granted, the 
 question resolves itself into this : Is a motive some- 
 thing which constrains or compels my volition ? 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 98 JOUFFROY. 
 
 Now, in my opinion, this assumed constraint is 
 contradicted by experience, and by our feeling of 
 what passes within us when we form a purpose. 
 In fact, if there is one familiar feeling, of which 
 we are distinctly and vividly conscious, it surely is 
 that which we experience when we make a choice. 
 Whatever the force of the motive which we obey, 
 we yet perceive a wide distinction between the in- 
 fluence of this motive and any thing which can 
 be called constraint. Indeed, we feel distinctly that, 
 in yielding to this motive, that is to say, in resolving 
 in conformity with it, we are entirely able not to 
 form this resolve. If, for instance, when standing 
 at a window, I determine not to throw myself into 
 the street, I feel that it depends wholly upon myself 
 to form an opposite determination ; only I say I 
 should then be a fool ; and, being rational, I remain 
 where I am. But that I am free to be a fool, and 
 to throw myself down, is to me most evident. If 
 any of my audience are capable of confounding in 
 their minds the fact, that a billiard-ball on a table 
 is put in motion by a stroke, with the fact, that 
 a volition is produced in my mind when I seek to 
 know what is my reasonable course of conduct, and 
 think I discover it, if there are any here, who 
 can see a similarity between the action of one ball 
 on another, and the influence of a motive on my 
 volition, then have I nothing more to say. But 
 no one can imagine a similarity between the two ; at 
 least, no one, who has not taken sides on the question, 
 and given up his mind to some system, of which it 
 is a consequence that some necessity must control
 
 SYSTEM OF NECESSITY. 99 
 
 our volition and acts, can confound two facts in 
 their nature so dissimilar as the action of one ball 
 upon another, and the influence of a motive on the 
 determinations of my will. The law, that every 
 motion in material bodies is proportioned to the 
 moving force which produced it, supposes a fact ; 
 namely, the inertia of matter. To apply this law 
 to the relation which subsists between the resolutions 
 of my will, and the motives which act upon it, is 
 to suppose that my being, that I, myself, am not a 
 cause ; for a cause is something which produces an 
 act by its own proper power. That which is inert 
 is not a cause ; it may receive and transmit an 
 impulse, but it cannot originate it. Are we, or are 
 we not, a cause? Have we, or have we not, a 
 power in ourselves of producing certain acts? It 
 would seem necessary for us to decide this question, 
 before we can rightly apply the law of external 
 phenomena to internal operations. Admitting, then, 
 that every volition has a motive, as the advocate 
 of the scheme of necessity asserts, admitting even 
 with him, that, whenever the will is addressed by 
 only one motive, its volitions are always in conformity 
 with it, it by no means follows that this proves 
 the truth of his system. It proves only this, that 
 our will forms no volition without a reason for forming 
 it; and that, when there is but one reason to be 
 considered, it wills accordingly. But it by no means 
 follows, that, whenever our will yields to a reason, 
 it is compelled to do so by that reason. The whole 
 question, and I beg you again to remark it, 
 depends upon a fact which you must determine
 
 100 JOUFFROV. 
 
 upon the fact whether you know that the influence, 
 which the motive exercises over the will, is a con- 
 straining force or not. For myself, I say that my 
 inward feeling answers in the negative ; and that, 
 under the influence of all motives, I retain, in every 
 case, a distinct consciousness of a power of acting 
 in opposition to what they advise and direct. I can 
 admit, then, without difficulty, the two first propo- 
 sitions of the advocates of necessity. They prove 
 nothing against the liberty of the will. 
 
 But I should not neglect to inform you, that Reid 
 disputes the second of these propositions as he did 
 the first, and does not admit, even in those cases 
 in which only one motive addresses itself to our will, 
 that we always decide conformably to the motive. 
 He draws an argument from common language, and 
 asks whether we have not such words as caprice, 
 obstinacy, wilfulness, and whether they have no 
 meaning. And what do they mean, if not that we 
 resolve, at any given moment, in spite of, and in 
 opposition to, all motives then acting on our will? 
 These words bear witness to the fact that sometimes, 
 under the influence of a single motive, we do not form 
 any volition, or do not will conformably to the motive. 
 But I repeat, I have not the time to enter into these 
 arguments of secondary importance ; I limit myself to 
 the statement of direct and decisive reasonings. 
 
 Let us pass now, gentlemen, to the cases in which 
 many motives act simultaneously upon the will ; and 
 Jet us consider them for a moment, not for the 
 purpose of discovering whether it is true that the 
 strongest motive always determines our volition,
 
 SYSTEM OF NECESSITY. 101 
 
 for even were it true, I have already answered the 
 objection, but to observe and wonder at the false 
 logic, and confused notions, into which the advocates 
 of necessity fall, in attempting to explain what takes 
 place within our minds. 
 
 It is the strongest motive, say they, which deter- 
 mines the will. What is this strongest motive, I' 
 ask, and how do you measure the comparative force 
 of motives? Is that the strongest motive, according 
 to your idea, which determines the volition ? If this 
 is so, you are arguing in a circle ; and, instead of 
 showing that it is the strongest motive which decides 
 the will, you are merely saying that, as the deter- 
 mination of the will is in conformity with such or 
 such a motive, therefore this motive is the strongest. 
 Arguing in this way, there certainly is reason enough 
 for saying that the strongest motive determines the 
 will, since that is designated as the strongest which 
 does determine it. It is impossible, therefore, to 
 judge, from effects in the scheme of necessity, of the 
 relative force of motives. 
 
 But, if we cannot judge from effects, we must 
 find some common measure by which to decide. Let 
 us inquire, then, what this measure can be. 
 
 You understand, gentlemen, after the description 
 given in former lectures, that there are two kinds 
 of moving powers acting upon us ; first, the impulses 
 of instinct, or passion ; and, secondly, the conceptions 
 of reason. Thus, when I am excited to act from 
 sympathy for another, this impulse is a simple natural 
 emotion a momentum; when, on the other hand, 
 1 am led to this act from the consideration that it is
 
 103 JOUFFROY. 
 
 conformable to duty or self-interest, this consideration 
 is a conception of reason a motive, properly speak- 
 ing. That these two kinds of moving powers can and 
 do act efficiently upon my volitions, there can be no 
 doubt ; it is evident that my resolves are often the 
 consequence of a perception of my duty or interest ; 
 it is no less evident that often, also, they are the 
 issue of rny desires, passions, and natural impulses. 
 Suppose, now, that, in a given case, motives of both 
 kinds act simultaneously, and in an opposite direction 
 upon my will, and I say there is not, and cannot be, 
 any common measure between them. 
 
 And, now, on what grounds can we declare, that a 
 conception of the reason, or a conception of interest, 
 which, leads me to any act, is a stronger motive than 
 the present passion, which impels me to do the oppo- 
 site 1 As one of these motives is a passion, and the 
 other an idea, I find a difficulty in comparing them; 
 and I challenge the most ingenious to find a common 
 measure, which can be applied to two things in their 
 nature so different, or which can direct me to a true 
 appreciation of their relative forces. 
 
 Of two impulses, manifestly unequal, it would be 
 easy to determine the stronger : a vehement desire 
 is distinguishable in our consciousness from one less 
 so. And thus, merely from their vivacity and fer- 
 vor, we may often recognize the stronger from the 
 weaker passion. There is, then, if you choose to say 
 so, a common measure between different impulses of 
 our sensitive nature, which are peculiarly distinguished 
 as emotions. On the other hand, of different courses 
 of conduct which reason and self-interest bring into
 
 SYSTEM OF NECESSITY. 103 
 
 contrast, I may see, that one is much more advanta- 
 geous than another. There is, then, if you please, a 
 means of comparing together different suggestions of 
 self-interest : the suggestion which promises the most 
 for my interest should have the most power over me. 
 In the same way, among different duties which may 
 present themselves to my judgment, there may be one 
 which appears more obligatory than another ; for there 
 are duties of different degrees of importance, and in 
 many cases I must sacrifice the lesser to the greater. 
 I perceive, then, that, strictly speaking, there is a pos- 
 sibility of comparing together the relative force of 
 different motives originating from duty, and of differ- 
 ent motives suggested by self-interest, or, finally, of 
 different desires striving within me at a given moment. 
 But between a desire on the one hand, and a concep- 
 tion of interest or of duty on the other, where, I ask, 
 can you find a standard of comparison ? If I assume 
 passion as the measure, then, evidently, passion will 
 appear the stronger motive ; but if, on the other hand, 
 I assume interest or duty as the measure, then desire 
 becomes nothing, and duty or interest seems all in all. 
 It depends, then, wholly upon the measure of compar- 
 ison which I adopt, whether this or the other motive 
 is strongest ; which proves that there is no common 
 measure of comparison to be applied at all times to 
 these different kinds of motives, when we would 
 estimate their relative force. 
 
 Thus, in truth, in almost every case, to say that we 
 yield to the strongest motive, is to say what has no 
 meaning ; for in most cases it is impossible to deter- 
 mine the strongest motive. If I will to be prudent,
 
 . 
 
 104 JOUFFROY. 
 
 I follow the motive of self-interest ; if I will to be 
 virtuous, I follow the motive of duty ; if I will to be 
 neither prudent nor virtuous, I follow passion ; and in 
 proportion as I yield to passion, to enlightened in- 
 terest, or to duty, does the merit of my conduct vary. 
 And here is a marvel for the advocate of necessity, 
 and something which, in the sincerity of his conviction, 
 he well may wonder at. I, who am not free, who, 
 whatever resolution I have taken, have yet been fatally 
 determined to take it by the strongest motive, I feel 
 that I am responsible for this resolution ; and others, 
 too, regard me as responsible ; so that, according as 
 I have been impelled to this or that act, do I believe 
 myself to have merit or demerit, and pass sentence on 
 myself as reasonable or unreasonable, prudent or fool- 
 ish ; and, in a word, apply to myself, although I have 
 yielded necessarily to the strongest motive, certain 
 expressions and names, all implying most decisively 
 and forcibly that I was free to yield or resist, to take, 
 at my option, this or the other course, and, conse- 
 quently, that this, so called, strongest motive did not, 
 after all, determine my act. Here, I repeat, is that 
 which may well excite the astonishment of the advo- 
 cates of necessity, and which they should do their 
 best to explain. 
 
 You see that this doctrine, seemingly so simple and 
 natural that, among many motives acting upon us, 
 the strongest inevitably determines our volition, is so 
 far from being simple," that it really becomes in- 
 comprehensible the moment we examine it more 
 closely. 
 
 When I attempt thus to bring argument against
 
 SYSTEM OF NECESSITY. 105 
 
 argument, for the sake of proving that we are free, 
 and that motives do not exercise a controlling force 
 over us, I feel as uncomfortable as if I were answering 
 one who should deny our power of moving or walking. 
 To employ arguments in refuting such an opinion 
 seems like some game of logic ; for- 1 have to oppose 
 to this opinion a plain and decisive fact :a fact, the 
 consciousness of which I can never lose, and which 
 is in accordance with common forms of speech in 
 all languages, with the universal faith, and with the 
 established practices of mankind. And I smile to 
 think, that, when I can utterly destroy the system of 
 necessity, by merely bringing it in conflict with this 
 fact, I should yet be seeking superfluous trains of rea- 
 soning to oppose it with. This fact, which we cannot 
 escape from, is one which consciousness bears witness 
 to, when placed under the influence of the strongest pos- 
 sible motive, say self-preservation. I feel distinctly that 
 it depends upon myself, and only upon myself, whether 
 I shall yield to or resist this motive, and do or refrain 
 from what it recommends. I can conceive, indeed, that 
 a man may, in good faith, deny this evident fact ; for to 
 what lengths of delusion will not the spirit of theory 
 and system carry us? But I will ask him, am I not 
 justified in not admitting this peculiar opinion of a 
 small body of men, when I see that even they act and 
 speak as if they agreed in my opinion ; when I see the 
 most logical among them form a scheme of ethics, 
 and give rules for conduct; when I find in every 
 tongue the words right and duty, punishment and 
 reward, merit and demerit ; when the whole human 
 race agree in being indignant against him who does
 
 106 JOUFFROV. 
 
 wrong, and in admiring him who does right ; when, 
 indeed, there is not an event in human life, which 
 does not imply necessarily, and in a thousand different 
 ways, this very freedom of will of which I feel so 
 sensibly and deeply conscious? I have certainly some 
 right to feel strengthened in my opinion by so many 
 testimonies to its truth, and by its perfect accordance 
 with what I see about me. And, were there no 
 stronger objections against the doctrine which denies 
 human freedom, than this universal contradiction 
 which it offers to all human belief, conduct, and 
 language, to all judgments and feelings, it would, 
 even then, be more completely answered than it 
 deserves. 
 
 I pass now to another argument against the freedom 
 of the will, which I will endeavor to set before you in 
 the simplest form. 
 
 If, it is said, man is really free; if he is not necessarily 
 determined on every occasion by the strongest motive, 
 all the calculations which we make as to men's 
 conduct would be ridiculous, and there would be no 
 means of anticipating a result. And, in fact, to admit 
 that man is a free being, is to admit that his resolu- 
 tions, and consequently his actions, are not the conse- 
 quence of the motives which influence his will. Now, 
 when I seek to foresee what a man's conduct will be 
 in any given circumstances, I begin with considering 
 the motives which ought to influence his actions ; I 
 calculate the relative force of these motives, and, when 
 I have found, as I think, the strongest, I conclude, 
 without hesitation, that he will pursue the course 
 which this motive prescribes. It is plain that this
 
 SYSTEM OF NECESSITY. 107 
 
 reasoning, so constantly repeated, implies the truth of 
 the doctrine that the motives do determine necessarily 
 the volition, and that, of different motives, the strongest 
 does determine the choice. 
 
 I will begin by the remark, that this reasoning upon 
 the future conduct of men, even when we are perfectly 
 sure of all the motives which will be presented to them 
 when making their decision, carries with it by no 
 means the same feeling of certainty with which we 
 form our calculations as to physical events, whose 
 laws of operation are known. When a law of nature 
 is known, it is with complete certainty that we predict 
 phenomena which will occur under that law ; but 
 instead of this, when we try to form a calculation as 
 to the resolution that a man will come to under certain 
 circumstances, the motives which can operate upon him 
 being all supposed known, our reasoning never goes 
 further than to a judgment on probabilities; and, in 
 fact, nothing is more common in such cases than to 
 find by the event that we. were deceived. I might 
 avail myself advantageously of this uncertainty, as 
 making in favor of my opinion, and account for it in 
 part by the very fact of human freedom, which the 
 advocates of necessity deny. But I will not do this. 
 I prefer rather to ascribe this uncertainty altogether to 
 two most evident and unquestionable causes ; first, 
 that we can never foresee what motive among the 
 many which may influence his conduct, will present 
 themselves to the agent ; and, secondly, that, having no 
 measure of his sensibility, his selfish passions, or con- 
 scientiousness, we cannot calculate what motive will 
 be the strongest. I will admit, then, that these two
 
 108 JOUFPROY. 
 
 causes are the only ones which render our foresight 
 of conduct uncertain. But what follows ? What 
 consequence is to be drawn from this 1 This only, 
 that, if we could know all the motives which will 
 act upon a man's will, and, moreover, which among 
 these motives will be the strongest, we could predict 
 with certainty his conduct; that is to say, to express 
 it as it should be expressed, if we could know all 
 the motives which will act upon him, and the motive 
 that will determine his choice, we should know what 
 his resolve will be. We could predict his resolution 
 beforehand, if we knew what it was ! Upon this 
 condition, uncertainty as to the acts of our fellow- 
 beings would disappear. All this it is easy enough 
 to conceive of; but does it not prove that the attempt 
 to trace a similarity between volitions and events in 
 the physical- world is only a foolish playing upon 
 words and nonsense 1 
 
 Two things are certain, gentlemen : first, that we 
 cannot foresee, except in a limited degree, the voli- 
 tion of our fellow-beings in any given circumstance ; 
 secondly, that such anticipations can never, even in 
 the most favorable circumstances, rise above a high 
 probability. Does this limited power of foresight 
 of actions imply that man is not free ? or is it recon- 
 cilable with the fact of human liberty ? This is the 
 question. Now, suppose a being who is perfectly 
 master of himself, that is to say, who has the power 
 of disposing his faculties, directing them, and, con- 
 sequently, of governing his conduct; place such a 
 being in circumstances where there are two courses 
 to be pursued one evidently unpromising, the other
 
 SYSTEM OF NECESSITY. 109 
 
 encouraging and give him intelligence sufficient 
 to see and comprehend this ; precisely because he 
 is free, is it not probable, and almost certain, that 
 he will use his freedom, that is to say, his power, 
 of governing his conduct, in such a way as to avoid 
 the course which threatens evil, and choose that 
 which promises advantage ? Without doubt. Thus 
 supposing him free, we can form very probable con- 
 jectures as to his conduct. I ask, now, whether all 
 the conjectures which we do or can form as to the 
 actions of our fellow-beings, are not of this kind? 
 They are, then, wholly compatible with a belief in 
 human freedom. More than this, they really imply 
 and suppose it; for they begin always with the 
 supposition that the being is reasonable, and that 
 he will therefore perceive the most agreeable, the 
 most useful, or the most proper course of conduct ; 
 which implies that, after he has thus discovered what 
 it is, he will be free to follow it. For where would 
 be the good in reason's seeing the right, if there 
 was no liberty of acting accordingly 1 I ask, again, 
 is this the way in which we reason, when we attempt 
 to foresee the operation of forces acting from neces- 
 sity, as winds, waters, the atmosphere ? Which, then, 
 do our conjectures as to human actions imply, their 
 liberty or necessity? 
 
 It is a matter of daily experience, that we resist 
 the force of different motives originating in duty, 
 self-love, or passion. Would such resistance, which 
 cannot be denied, be possible in a being whose 
 volitions were a necessary consequence of the action 
 of motives or impulses? Does not this single fact 
 
 VOL. I. K.
 
 110 JOUFFROY. 
 
 of resistance prove, on the contrary, that it is not 
 by motives, as a cause, that volitions are produced, 
 as the effect, but from the me, as a true cause, which 
 deliberates before determining? and that, therefore, 
 I am subject only to the influence, and nowise to 
 the constraining force, of motive? But enough, and 
 too much, on this subject. Let us pass to another 
 form of the argument for necessity the last which 
 I shall offer to your consideration. 
 
 I take up, as you perceive, only the principal 
 arguments by which the scheme of necessity is sup- 
 ported ; because, if I should attempt to consider all 
 the weak as well as strong, the incidental as well as 
 leading ones, the limits of a lecture would be too 
 narrow. I confine myself, therefore, simply to an 
 exposition of the most important of these reasonings, 
 and give to each as brief a discussion as possible. 
 
 There are philosophers who have denied the free- 
 dom of the will, chiefly on the ground that, if men 
 were free, they would be incapable of being subject 
 to control or government ; and, as a matter of fact, 
 say they, how are men governed ? The condition 
 of their being governed is, that the rewards and 
 punishments which excite hope or fear should operate 
 necessarily upon their volition; for, if they do not 
 act necessarily, that is to say, if their wills are free, 
 it is evident that they cannot be governed. Do not 
 complain of the weakness of this argument. 1 find 
 it as weak as you do. It is not my duty, however, 
 to strengthen the positions of the system I am 
 attacking. 
 
 In such reasoning as this, there is a manifest
 
 SYSTEM OF NECESSITY. Ill 
 
 sophistry and confusion of language. Government, 
 as you well know, is of two kinds physical and 
 moral. Physical government acts by constraint, moral 
 government by influence. If I have some puppets 
 before me, and hold in my hand the strings which 
 are attached to their limbs, I may truly be said to 
 govern the puppets ; there is nothing contradictory 
 in the expression ; yet every one feels that the 
 expression is metaphorical. We say, too, that the 
 puppets obey the impulse which I communicate to 
 them ; but we feel here, too, that this word obedience 
 has a metaphorical sense, as the word government 
 had before. 
 
 To pretend that men, before they can be subject to 
 government, must be influenced in their actions by 
 those who govern them, as puppets are by him who 
 pulls the wires, is an opinion as utterly opposed to 
 common sense as can well be imagined. The fact is, 
 that when a legislator threatens with penalties those 
 who infringe a law, or promises rewards to those who 
 obey it, he has no thought of constraining, as with 
 physical force, the will of those to whom he offers this 
 twofold sanction of the law ; his only intention is to 
 give rise to hopes and fears which may, in the case 
 proposed, act as motives on their volition. He takes 
 men as they are ; he shows them, if he is wise and 
 just, what is their true duty, their real interest ; he calls 
 this a law ; and then, to enforce the obligation which 
 this duty imposes, and strengthen the desire which 
 their interests awaken, he superadds promises and 
 threats. Does this imply that he considers men as 
 puppets? Just the contrary. If he thought men ma- 
 
 +-
 
 112 JOUFFROY. 
 
 chines, he would not attempt to enforce the law by 
 exhibiting to them its justice or expediency ; for these 
 conceptions of the reason do not act like material 
 forces, by necessary impulsion. He would not menace 
 them with penalties, he would not promise reward ; for 
 menaces and promises act only through the medium 
 of reason and passion, and not as a constraining force. 
 This is the way in which he who would govern men 
 attempts it ; and when he secures their obedience, he 
 knows that it is in this way he has done it ; and herein 
 is discovered the true and proper meaning of the words 
 government and obedience. These words, in their 
 proper acceptation, imply the liberty of the subject of 
 government ; and it is only in a metaphorical sense 
 that we employ them when we speak of governing the 
 puppets, or of their obeying us. Whoever, then, as- 
 serts that there can be no such thing as government, if 
 man is a free being, places himself in direct opposition 
 to common forms of speech, and to the only true 
 meaning of these very words, government and obedience, 
 which, far from excluding the idea of the liberty of the 
 governed, necessarily implies it, and never could have 
 been invented without this idea of liberty. 
 
 Such is the difference between physical and moral 
 government. No man of common sense can fail to 
 perceive a distinction which is clear as the day. To 
 influence and to compel are two wholly dissimilar 
 acts. To be subject to influence, a being must be 
 supposed to have the faculties of comprehension and 
 of choice in a word, freedom of will. Compulsion 
 supposes nothing of the kind. We compel beings 
 who have no intelligence, no freedom of choice. We
 
 SYSTEM OF NECESSITY. 113 
 
 influence beings who are endowed with these capaci- 
 ties. Suppress the ideas of liberty and of intelli- 
 gence, and the word influence has no legitimate sense 
 in which it can be applied, any more than the words 
 government, or obedience, or a thousand others, with 
 which all languages are filled, and which are all 
 genuine products of our moral nature. 
 
 Do not ascribe this long discussion, into which I 
 have entered, to any fear of disastrous consequences 
 upon the mind of our age from this system of necessity. 
 I am entirely at ease on that subject. And by what I 
 have said, I do not suppose that I have either strength- 
 ened or weakened your clear conviction and profound 
 consciousness of moral freedom. But these ideas, 
 which we have been considering, enter into great sys- 
 tems of philosophy taught by distinguished men ; and 
 therefore it has been impossible wholly to pass them by. 
 As you well know, a warm controversy was raised, 
 at the beginning of the eighteenth century, by the 
 most celebrated philosophers of that era, in which 
 Clarke, Leibnitz, Collins, following Hobbes and 
 Spinoza, whose strange doctrines had disturbed all 
 the notions of common sense, took part. This contro- 
 versy was a great event at the time ; it seemed as if 
 man's moral freedom would perish utterly, if it could 
 not be saved from some empty sophisms. The result, 
 however, was, that facts were so firmly established, the 
 meaning of words so accurately fixed, and questions, 
 before confounded in most minds, so separated and 
 disengaged, that the work of establishing for the 
 freedom of the will the same place in science that it 
 
 K 2
 
 114 
 
 JOUFFROY. 
 
 
 had always held in common sense became compara- 
 tively easy. By the mass of mankind this doctrine 
 is never doubted; their words, acts, and thoughts, 
 prove that they admit it without a question.
 
 SYSTEM OF MYSTICISM. 115 
 
 LECTURE V. 
 
 SYSTEM OP MYSTICISM. 
 
 , " \. 
 
 GENTLEMEN, 
 
 OP the four great systems implying the 
 impossibility of a law of human obligation, I have, 
 in my last lecture, exhibited the first the system 
 of necessity. You have seen this system under three 
 different forms ; that is to say, as arriving, by three 
 different ways, at the common conclusion, that man 
 is not a free being. Hobbes, displacing liberty from 
 its rightful sphere, and denying that it exists where 
 only it is to be found, while falsely affirming its 
 existence elsewhere, preserves the name, while he 
 destroys the reality. Hume gives up both; for, by . *o 
 destroying the idea of an efficient cause altogether, 
 he makes it impossible that the question of liberty 
 
 should be discussed at all. Other philosophers, too,. ^<J - 
 
 numerous to be named, arrive at the same result, 
 by asserting that motives necessarily determine the 
 wil 1 . Such are the three forms, under which I have 
 successively exhibited the system of necessity, and 
 which I have in turn endeavored to refute. I would 
 here leave the consideration of this system, and pass
 
 1 16 JOUFFROY. 
 
 immediately to the system of mysticism, which I 
 proposed as the subject of this lecture, were there 
 not, among the forms under which the doctrine of 
 necessity has been advocated, yet a fourth, sufficiently 
 famous and remarkable to demand some consideration. 
 I will give you a rapid sketch of it, and then pass 
 to the system of mysticism, which, as I have said, 
 will be the subject of the present lecture. 
 
 This fourth form of the doctrine of necessity is 
 that which is based upon the seeming incompatibility 
 of human freedom with divine foreknowledge. This 
 is the argument of its advocates. There is but one 
 alternative: either man is free, and then it must be 
 impossible to foresee his volitions, or else his volitions 
 can be foreseen, and then it is impossible that he 
 should be free. We must sacrifice our belief in 
 human freedom, or our faith in divine foreknowledge. 
 We can choose for ourselves ; but, for themselves, 
 the advocates of this system do not hesitate to give 
 up the idea of human liberty. 
 
 I remark, in the first place, that philosophy is 
 by no means obliged to give a full explanation of 
 all things and for this very good reason, that the 
 human mind being limited, it cannot explain all 
 things. Philosophy does not explain, and is not 
 bound to explain, more than the human mind can 
 comprehend. The boundary of human comprehension 
 is the boundary of philosophy. She has no need 
 of carrying her explanation further. Supposing, then, 
 that the mind cannot reconcile human liberty with 
 the a priori conception of the foreknowledge of God, 
 
 t 
 
 -L^ 
 
 ku 
 
 ,' lr &#tr*~ -'.. 
 .J..M 
 
 f .*^>
 
 SYSTEM OF MYSTICISM. 117 
 
 it by no means follows that the fact of human liberty, 
 or that the conception of the divine foreknowledge, 
 should be sacrificed ; it only follows that the mind, 
 comprehending the idea that God must foresee the 
 future, and finding, on the other hand, the fact that 
 man is free, is not able to explain how these two facts 
 can be reconciled. 
 
 The only condition which can make it necessary for 
 us to sacrifice our faith either in human liberty or 
 in divine foreknowledge, is, that there is an absolute 
 contradiction between these two ideas ; such a contra- 
 diction as there would be between the two propositions, 
 two and two make four, two and two do not make 
 four. In this case, gentlemen, but in this case only, 
 where reason distinctly perceives it to be impossible 
 that what we conceive of God and what we feel in 
 ourselves should both be absolutely true, should we be 
 bound to sacrifice the conception to the fact, or the 
 fact to the conception ; for then, and then only, would 
 all chance of reconciling the conflicting evidence on 
 which they rest be destroyed. 
 
 Suppose, for a moment, that this was really the case ; 
 then, for myself, I say, that, forced in this supposed 
 extremity to choose, I should feel bound to sacrifice 
 ray faith in divine foreknowledge. 
 
 The fact of human liberty is something of which 
 we are much more certain than we can be of divine 
 foreknowledge. Why? For this excellent reason 
 the idea that God foresees the future, is but a conse- 
 quence from our idea of God. Now, the idea which 
 men form of God must evidently be a most incomplete 
 one; for it is impossible that human reason should, in 

 
 118 JOUFFROY. 
 
 its weakness, comprehend God, who is infinite. Should 
 we place an idea, which is but a consequence of a 
 most imperfect conception of a Being who is infinite, 
 in comparison with a fact falling under our immediate 
 observation ? This would not surely be the part of 
 good sense. If, then, we do perceive an absolute con- 
 tradiction between the divine foreknowledge and human 
 liberty, and feel ourselves obliged to give up one or 
 the other, it must be our belief in the divine foreknowl- 
 edge. For we are more sure that we are free beings, 
 than we can be that God foresees the future. No such 
 contradiction, however, really exists; it is but an 
 illusion, as I hope I shall be able to prove. 
 
 To begin, then, with a very simple remark : if we 
 conceive that foreknowledge in the divine Being acts 
 as it does in us, we run the risk of forming a most 
 incorrect notion of it, and, consequently, of seeing a 
 contradiction between it and liberty, that would dis- 
 appear altogether had we a truer notion. Let us con- 
 sider that we have not the same faculty for foreseeing 
 the future as we have of reviewing the past ; and even 
 in cases where we do anticipate it, it is by an induction 
 from the past. This induction may amount either to 
 certainty, or merely to probability. It will amount to 
 certainty when we are perfectly acquainted with neces- 
 sary causes, and their law of operation. The effects 
 of such causes in given circumstances having been 
 determined by experience, we can predict the return 
 of similar effects under similar circumstances with 
 entire certainty, so long at least as the present laws 
 of nature remain in force. It is in this way that we 
 foresee, in most cases, the physical occurrences, whose 
 
 J^ ' *^ 
 
 /
 
 SYSTEM OF MYSTICISM. 119 
 
 law of operation is known to us ; and such foresight 
 would extend much further, were it not' for unexpected 
 circumstances which come in to modify the result. 
 This induction can never go beyond probability, how- 
 ever, when we consider the acts of free causes ; and 
 for the very reason that they are free, and that the 
 effects which arise from such causes are not of neces- 
 sary occurrence, and do not invariably follow the same 
 antecedent circumstances. Where the question is, 
 then, as to the acts of any free cause, we are never 
 able to foresee it with certainty, and induction is 
 limited to conjectures of probability. 
 
 Such is the operation, and such are the limits of 
 human foresight. Our minds foresee the future by 
 induction from the past ; this foresight can never attain 
 certainty except in the case of causes and effects 
 connected by necessary dependence ; when the effects 
 of free causes are to be anticipated, as all such effects 
 are contingent, our foresight must be merely con- 
 jecture. 
 
 If, now, we attempt to attribute to the Deity the 
 same mode of foresight of which human beings are 
 capable, it will follow, as a strict consequence, that, as 
 God must know exactly and completely the laws to 
 which all the necessary causes in nature are subject 
 laws which change only according to his will, he can 
 loresee with absolute certainty all events which will 
 take place in the future. The certain foresight of 
 effects, therefore, which is to us possible only in par- 
 ticular cases, and which, even then, is always liable to 
 the limitation that the actual laws of nature are not 
 modified, this foresight, which, even when most sure,
 
 120 JOUFFROY. 
 
 is limited and contingent, must be complete and abso- 
 lute certainty in God, supposing his foreknowledge to 
 be of like kind with ours. 
 
 But it is evident that, according to this hypothesis, 
 the Deity cannot foresee with certainty the volitions 
 of free causes any more than we can ; for, as his fore- 
 sight is founded, as ours is, upon the knowledge of the 
 laws which govern causes, and as the law of free causes 
 I is precisely this, that their volitions are not necessary, 
 God cannot calculate, any more than a human being 
 can, the influence of motives, which, in any given case, 
 may act upon such causes. Even his intelligence can 
 lead no further than to conjectures, more probable, 
 indeed, than ours, but never amounting to certainty. 
 According to this hypothesis, we jnust, therefore, say 
 either that God can foresee, certainly, the future 
 volitions of men, and that man, therefore, is not a free 
 being, or that man is free, and that God, thereforej 
 cannot, any more than we can, foresee his volitions 
 with certainty ; and thus divine prescience and human 
 free-will are brought into direct contradiction. 
 
 But, gentlemen, why must there be this contradic- 
 tion 1 Merely because we suppose that God foresees 
 the future in the same way in which we foresee it ; 
 that his foreknowledge operates like our own. Now, 
 is this, I ask, such an idea as we ought to form of 
 divine prescience, or such an idea as even the par- 
 tisans of this system, which I am opposing, form 1 
 Have we any reason for thus imposing upon the Deity 
 the limitation of our own feebleness ? I think not. 
 
 Unendowed, as we are, with any faculty of foresee- 
 ing the future, it may be difficult for us to conceive of
 
 SYSTEM OF MYSTICISM. 12i 
 
 such a faculty in God. But yet can we not from anal- 
 ogy form such an idea 1 We have now two faculties 
 of perception of the past by memory, of the present 
 by observation ; can we not imagine a third to exist in 
 God the faculty of perceiving the future, as we per- 
 ceive the past ? What would be the consequence ? 
 This : that God, instead of conjecturing, by induction, 
 the acts of human beings from the laws of the causes 
 operating upon them, would see them simply as the 
 results of the free determinations of the will. Such 
 perception of future acts no more implies the necessity 
 of those actions, than the perception of similar acts in 
 the past. To see that effects arise from certain causes 
 is not to force causes to produce them ; neither is it to 
 compel these effects to follow. It matters not whether 
 such a perception refers to the past, present, or future ; 
 it is merely a perception; and, therefore, far from 
 producing the effect perceived, it even presupposes this 
 effect already produced. 
 
 I do not pretend that this vision of what is to be 
 is an operation of which our minds easily conceive. 
 It is difficult to form an image of what we have never 
 experienced ; but I do assert, that the power of seeing 
 what no longer exists is full as remarkable as that 
 of seeing what has as yet no being, and that the reason 
 of our readily conceiving of the former is only the 
 fact that we are endowed with such a power : to my 
 reason, the mystery is the same. 
 
 But whatever may or may not be in reality the mode 
 of divine foreknowledge, or however exact may be 
 the image which we attempt to form of it, it always, 
 I say, and this is the only point I am desirous of 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 122 JOUFFROY. 
 
 proving, it always remains a matter of uncertainty, 
 which cannot be removed, whether the divine fore- 
 knowledge is of a kind like our own, or not ; and as, in 
 the one case, there would not be the same contra- 
 diction that there is in the other, between our belief 
 in divine foreknowledge and human freedom, it is 
 proved true, I think, that no one has a right to assert 
 the existence of such a contradiction, and the necessity 
 that human reason should choose between them. 
 
 To what conclusion, then, does philosophy come in 
 this grand controversy as to human freedom and divine 
 foreknowledge? To this, gentlemen, that there are two 
 things in which we believe one, on the unquestionable 
 authority of observation ; the other, on the far weaker 
 authority of our reasonings, without our being able 
 clearly to explain Tiow they coexist. And here we 
 ought, by common consent, to leave the subject ; for 
 philosophy should know how to respect its true limits, 
 under penalty of losing all claim to the respect and 
 confidence of men. 
 
 I have now done with the system of necessity, and 
 pass on to the consideration of mysticism. 
 
 Every philosophical system has its foundation and 
 ground-work in human nature ; the only thing difficult 
 is, to have such a knowledge of human nature as will 
 enable us to discover the root and source of each 
 system. With this knowledge, we can understand, 
 thoroughly, each opinion ; and the principle once 
 grasped, we easily gain a clear understanding of its 
 consequences. Vague and obscure as is the system 
 of mysticism, I will yet endeavor to point out the 
 facts in human nature from which it originates and
 
 SYSTEM OF MYSTICISM. 123 
 
 \vhich it attempts to express ; I will invite your close 
 attention, for the trains of thought to be followed are 
 very subtile. 
 
 Mysticism rests on two facts, already described in 
 the sketch that I have given of human nature. Let 
 me recall them to your minds. In the first place, 
 then, I showed how great the difference is between 
 
 * . - . o 
 
 the absolute destiny of man, as it would result from 
 his nature, and the actual destiny which an individual, 
 placed under the most favorable circumstances, attains 
 in this life. In other words, I showed you, that, with 
 all our efforts, we cannot attain to more than a very 
 small part of the good which our nature craves, or 
 accomplish, except in an imperfect degree, our destiny. 
 In the second place, I showed you, that we cannot, 
 in this life, secure even that measure of good which is 
 actually within our reach, except on the condition of 
 substituting for the natural action of our faculties 
 another mode of action, whose characteristic is con 
 centration, and whose consequence is fatigue. 
 
 From these two facts it results, on the one hand, 
 that human life can, at the best, afford but very im- 
 perfect good; and, on the other, that no human being 
 can acquire even this good, without an effort which is 
 not natural, and which is followed by a fatigue that 
 can be relieved only by allowing the bent spring to be 
 relaxed, and our faculties to return to their natural 
 and primitive mode of action. 
 
 From these two facts springs mysticism. If the only 
 means of obtaining any good in this life is an effort 
 which is against nature, and if, even then, a man, 
 the most favored by circumstances, only secures the
 
 124 JOUFFROY. 
 
 shadow of good, is it not plain that the pursuit and 
 acquisition of good is not the end of the present life, 
 and that to hope or search for it implies an equal de- 
 lusion ? What ? can a thing not to be found in life 
 really be the end of life, a thing, whose shadow 
 even we cannot reach, without doing violence to our 
 nature, and submitting all our faculties to an insupport- 
 able constraint? Man has truly an end and destiny to 
 attain ; but to seek it here is folly, for our lot in life 
 is disappointment. To resign ourselves to our weak- 
 ness, to renounce all effort and action, to await 
 death, that it may break our fetters, and place us in 
 an order of things where the accomplishment of our 
 end will be possible, this is our only reasonable 
 course, our only true vocation. 
 
 It may be proved that this is the true origin of the 
 system of mysticism, by the fact that the historical 
 eras, when it has been most fully developed, have 
 been precisely those in which human efforts were 
 most discouraged, by profound experience of their 
 fruitlessness. 
 
 Ages of tyranny, of skepticism, and of moral degra- 
 dation, have been those in which mysticism has been 
 professed most earnestly, and actually appeared in 
 practice on the largest scale. The greatest develop- 
 ment of mysticism was in the age which immediately 
 succeeded the introduction of Christianity ; and you 
 well know what the state of the world then was. A 
 skepticism, the most universal in philosophy, cooper- 
 ated with an utter corruption of morals, and a most 
 degrading tyranny, during this decline of the Roman 
 empire. Truth, virtue, liberty, seemed only words ;
 
 SYSTEM OF MYSTICISM. 125 
 
 every thing united to prove to man the futility of 
 effort, and thus to discourage it. Why, if truth could 
 not be discovered, should he seek it ? Why, if there 
 were no moral distinctions, should he prefer one 
 course of conduct to another ? Why, indeed, should 
 he act at all, if ages of heroism and victory had but 
 served to introduce an era of society wholly wretched 
 and inglorious, under the sway of weak and bloody 
 tyrants ? Such was the lesson to man which this era 
 seemed to utter. On the other hand, a flood of bar- 
 barism roared round the gates of the empire ; and 
 this threatening sign of fatal and inevitable ruin de- 
 clared the vanity of earthly things, the emptiness of 
 human power, yet louder, perhaps, than the voice 
 of the past and the aspect of the present. Add yet 
 further, that the exalted spirituality of the Christian 
 faith gave a new impulse to those minds, already 
 filled with contempt for earth, by its visions of heaven, 
 and you will readily see that, if I have truly pointed 
 out the principle of mysticism, never were circum- 
 stances more favorable for its growth. 
 
 Hence that wonderful passion for seclusion which 
 peopled the deserts, which led to the solitudes of the 
 Thebais one half the population of Egypt, and, de- 
 veloping all the elements of mysticism contained in 
 Christianity, perverted the true spirit of this religion, 
 and merged it in effeminate asceticism. This ascetic 
 spirit did not, indeed, triumph, but it sowed in the 
 bosom of the Christian church, the fruitful seeds of 
 monkish principles seeds so long-lived and prolific, 
 that fifteen centuries have not sufficed to exhaust them, 
 
 L2
 
 126 JOUFFROY. 
 
 and which were developed with redoubled energy in 
 the disastrous era of the middle ages. 
 
 You can conceive how the mystics were led to 
 form the views of life which I have described. 
 Grounds for such misconceptions exist in the facts 
 of our nature, and in the circumstances of our 
 present lot. But they did not rest here. For, with 
 such conceptions of the present life, they had to 
 explain how our lot became what it is ; the mystery 
 was to be penetrated in which a being is involved 
 who thus sees his end and destiny, is endowed with 
 faculties necessary for its attainment, and yet sees 
 himself placed in the midst of external circumstances 
 which present insurmountable obstacles. This state 
 of being is intelligible to those who see in the 
 present life a necessary scene of probation for the 
 creation and education of a moral nature, whose 
 trials, therefore, are to be courageously met, and 
 actively surmounted ; but, for those who see only 
 evil in our lot, without perceiving its use and object, 
 it is but an extraordinary phenomenon, whose cause 
 must be sought in some anterior scene of existence. 
 Thus the doctrine of mysticism brings with it in- 
 evitably either the doctrine of Manicheism, or that 
 of the fall of man. Only one or the other view 
 can explain the evils of life, if we have not embraced 
 the idea that the purpose and effect of these is to 
 produce a moral greatness in man which can exist 
 on no other condition. Thus we see both doctrines 
 strangely allying themselves with mysticism, in the 
 faith of the hermits of the Thebais. The world,
 
 SYSTEM OF MYSTICISM. 127 
 
 in their view, is a place of punishment, where man 
 is placed to expiate the sins committed by his pro- 
 genitors, whom God had destined at first for a life 
 of perfect felicity. Te bear with resignation this 
 chastisement during life, and wait for the hour of 
 deliverance, they thought man's highest duty. But 
 the principle of evil, the devil who tempted Eve 
 in Paradise, was yet laboring to turn him away from 
 this course of patient submission, and to seduce him 
 into the follies of worldly activity, by the promise 
 of all the goods which life presents, and thus was 
 constantly deceiving and tempting our nature. Hence 
 the trials by which the sainted anchorites were beset 
 in the desert, and the state of perpetual warfare in 
 which the legends represent them as living. These 
 two dogmas, so closely associated with the funda- 
 mental principle of mysticism, have maintained their 
 hold with it in the midst of Christendom. By a 
 strange contradiction, they remain side by side with 
 the doctrine of probation, although directly opposed 
 to this great view of Christian truth, which has 
 exerted upon humanity so powerful and useful an 
 influence, and has produced so happy and grand 
 a revolution in the whole science of ethics. 
 
 Such, gentlemen, are the three leading principles 
 of mysticism. Let us look now to its effects on 
 conduct. The principle once established, these con- 
 sequences flow naturally and spontaneously from it, 
 and no sect of mystics has escaped their influence. 
 I will take, as an illustration, the grand school of 
 anchorites, who introduced the monastic life into 
 the practices of the church. You will thus compre-
 
 128 JOUFFROY. 
 
 bend the peculiar characteristic of that singular 
 mode of existence, which presents one of the most 
 remarkable phenomena of Christian civilization, and 
 which we meet with in a greater or less degree of 
 development wherever mysticism has prevailed. 
 
 I have explained at length, in the courses of the 
 preceding years, two classes of obstacles which here 
 impede human nature in its attempts to accomplish 
 its true destiny. This world, far from being a place 
 where all its constituent vital forces work together 
 harmoniously, is, in fact, the battle-ground of their 
 contention. Each force, in its process of develop- 
 ment, finds itself limited and restrained by other 
 forces, and, in turn, restrains them. All develop- 
 ment here is incomplete, and, even in this imperfect 
 degree, it is the result of the contest forever waging. 
 Such is the real condition, in this world, of every 
 power, whether free or necessary^ such is the con- 
 dition of human power, one of the weakest of all ; 
 and hence its limited influence. The very organiza- 
 tion" of this world which surrounds us, the very 
 world itself, in other words, is a source of the evil 
 of the present state, and renders fruitless all efforts 
 to attain our real end. 
 
 But what is it that makes us thus subject to the out- 
 ward world? What is it that causes these various 
 forces to conflict with our will, to restrain and check 
 it? It is the body. Nothing external could exercise 
 any influence over us but through the body. As our 
 body is at once material, and, at the same time, the 
 necessary instrument by which our faculties act, the 
 external world has power over us by influencing the
 
 SYSTEM OF MYSTICISM. 129 
 
 organs which we are obliged to use. The body is 
 doubly an evil, then, by weakening our faculties 
 through the external conditions it imposes, and by 
 giving all other forces in nature control over the 
 development of those faculties. Thus, then, the 
 first source of our want of power is the influence 
 of the external world ; and the second is our bodily 
 organization, by which we are subjected to this 
 influence. The world and the body are the two 
 great principles of evil here below ; these are the 
 two grand obstacles which oppose, in this life, our 
 progress toward that final good for which we are 
 fitted, and which our nature craves. 
 
 Admit this, and what follows ? We must expect 
 to find, in the creed of mystics, an irreconcilable 
 hostility to the world and the flesh. And this is, 
 in fact, the very most prominent and striking charac- 
 teristic of the mystical doctrine and course of life. 
 
 The anchorites, who, in the era which we are 
 considering, peculiarly represented the system of 
 mysticism, used every possible means to destroy the 
 influence of the body; they declared against it a 
 perpetual and merciless warfare; not only would 
 they not gratify its lawful desires, but they macerated 
 it, scourged it, and sought to weaken and prostrate 
 it by every means in their power ; they went further, 
 and yet more to testify the contempt in which they 
 held it, and to show external symbols of their hatred, 
 they clothed themselves in garments which concealed 
 its proportions, as if it were not worthy to appear 
 in the sight of man, or to occupy his attention for 
 an instant. And, in acting thus, the anchorites not
 
 130 JOUFFROY. 
 
 only endeavored to manifest their hostility to the flesh, 
 they sought also to weaken the hold of the world 
 upon the soul, by annihilating, as far as they were 
 able, the medium through which its influence was 
 felt. They believed that the spirit would become 
 freer, and more independent of the fetters which 
 bound it to earth, in proportion as the body was 
 weakened ; while, at the same time, as the carnal 
 appetites were eradicated, one avenue was closed 
 through which the most attractive temptations of the 
 external world gained entrance to the soul. In a 
 word, they endeavored, with all their strength, to 
 burst the ties which, by uniting the soul to the 
 body, produced the evils of the present life ; and 
 the more they succeeded, the more did they feel 
 this separation taking place, and that emancipation 
 of the soul for which they sighed commencing, although 
 it could be completed only in the hour of death. 
 
 This hostility to the body they extended to the 
 world, as the true source of the evil of which the 
 flesh was but the instrument. They therefore sepa- 
 rated themselves from it, now by placing between 
 them and it the impassable barrier of the desert, 
 now by immuring themselves in walls from which 
 there was no escape, thus artificially producing that 
 isolation which they had not the means of seeking 
 in distant solitudes. In the desert even, far from 
 living together, they fled each other's presence ; and 
 the greatest saints avoided all neighborhood of man, 
 and retreated further and further into the wilderness, 
 as they saw neophytes appear in the vicinity of their 
 retreats.
 
 SYSTEM OF MYSTICISM. 131 
 
 Within the monastery, it was the same. Narrow 
 cells separated each from his fellow, and prevented all 
 possible approach or contact with human beings. The 
 monk despised every interest, pursuit, and affection, 
 belonging to that world which he avoided thus anx- 
 iously. Glory, ambition, love, the purest and most 
 natural emotions, all the occupations of life, all ties 
 which bind man to his race, all forms, and laws, 
 and movements of society, were by him detested and 
 proscribed; proscribed as empty and delusive; de- 
 tested as snares for the credulity of imagination, and 
 for (he blindness of instinct. But solitude was not 
 enough ; he sought to increase its horrors in propor- 
 tion as he pushed to the extreme the mystical doctrine 
 of hatred to the outward world, and feared leaving 
 himself open to a single temptation from desire, affec- 
 tion, or activity ; he dreaded lest he might be seduced 
 away from hostility to the present life ; from this 
 painful effort of breaking every tie which bound him 
 to earth, and from that contemplative longing for a 
 better world which seemed to him the only true state 
 t)f being here below. 
 
 Another consequence of the principles of mysticism, 
 not less direct than hatred of the flesh and of the 
 world, was contempt for action for -action in every 
 shape and mode. And the lives of the mystics were 
 as true to their principle in this particular as in the 
 others which I have described. 
 
 We are impelled to action, gentlemen, as you know, 
 by the instinctive tendencies of our nature demanding 
 gratification. Each tendency has its peculiar end, 
 and these different ends determine the different objects
 
 132 JOUFFROY. 
 
 to which human activity is directed. Different modes 
 of action are to be distinguished, then, in our nature 
 Knowledge is one object of pursuit ; hence the first 
 mode of our activity intellectual activity. The ex- 
 ertion of our energy on the external world is another 
 object ; hence physical activity. Union with beings 
 who have life, especially with those of our own race, 
 is an end also ; hence arises a third mode, which 
 we call sympathetic activity. Thus the seeking of 
 knowledge, the exercise of our energies on the external 
 world, and loving, are forms of human activity, as our 
 nature aspires to the end for which it was made, and 
 which it is impelled to pursue in these three direc- 
 tions. Life is passed in this threefold pursuit and 
 effort, in the search for these three kinds of good ; and 
 such is the force of the instincts impelling us, such 
 the natural energy of the faculties with which we are 
 endowed for their gratification, that, however much 
 men strive to subdue them or restrain their action, 
 they cannot wholly succeed. 
 
 And yet this was the wish of the mystics ; for, ac- 
 cording to their convictions, it was not the will of 
 God that these instincts should be satisfied in this 
 life ; and any attempt on the part of man to realize 
 their satisfaction was, therefore, worse than error and 
 folly ; it was rebellion to the commands of the Deity, 
 a concession made to the everlasting adversary of the 
 human race. Complete passivity that is to say, an 
 absolutely impossible state was the ideal of perfection 
 to which they aspired with all their power. With 
 such an end proposed for their pursuit, really more 
 unattainable than the perfect happiness which they
 
 SYSTEM OF MYSTICISM. 133 
 
 rejected, it is curious to observe the practical modes 
 by which the mystics sought its accomplishment. Let 
 us begin with intellectual activity. 
 
 We arrive at knowledge, in our present state, as 
 you well know, by attention ; and attention is the 
 concentration of intellect, that is to say, an intellect- 
 ual effort. Despising the end, the mystic of course 
 despised the means ; and looking upon science as a 
 dangerous deceit, he was bound to take all means to 
 repress both the natural curiosity, which makes us 
 desire it, and the intellectual efforts through which we 
 seek it. But how destroy this faculty of intelligence? 
 It cannot be destroyed. Of all modes of human 
 activity, that of intellect is the most difficult to repress. 
 It acts even when we wish most to check it ; for it 
 must act before we can form such a wish. Fortu- 
 nately, there are two modes of the development of 
 the intelligent faculty. At one time passive, with 
 senses open to impressions from the world, floating on 
 the tide of surrounding influences, giving itself up to 
 passing images, it receives a knowledge which is 
 vague, confused, and uncertain ; at another, becoming 
 active, and uniting all its forces, applying them, as it 
 wills, to different objects, it examines, analyzes, dis- 
 tinguishes, acquiring precise information and clear, 
 consecutive ideas. In the second stage only is there 
 effort. In the contemplative state there is none. 
 Intellect is, then, idly following its natural bent ; 
 active indeed, because activity is its essence, but still 
 as little active as it possibly can be, because no act 
 of the will sustains, directs, or concentrates its ener- 
 gies. It depends upon ourselves to suppress this act 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 134 JOUFFROY. 
 
 of will or not, and, consequently, to confine to the 
 contemplative mode, to which we ourselves contribute* 
 nothing, all action of the intellect. This the mystics 
 attempted and succeeded in. All, especially the an 
 chorites, forbade all intellectual effort, and recom- 
 mended a life of contemplation as the only lawful 
 sphere of mental activity. In other words, a contem- 
 plative life, and contempt for all scientific research, 
 have been the two characteristic traits of every mys- 
 tical sect, without exception. 
 
 Now, to what does contemplation lead ? Abandon 
 yourself for a length of time to this passive state of 
 the intellect; give yourself up to all ideas and images 
 which come confusedly and pass away, and soon you 
 will feel your mind become clouded and perplexed, 
 amid this ever-fluctuating series of impressions; a 
 stupefaction and delirium, in which truth and error, 
 illusion and reality, can no longer be distinguished, 
 will come over you ; and let. this state be prolonged, 
 especially in the night season, when nothing occurs 
 to interrupt it, no motion, sound, or external event, 
 and soon you will be unable to tell whether you wake 
 or sleep, and will become a prey to the phantoms and 
 chimeras which throng our dreams. From the state 
 of contemplation to revery, hallucination, and de- 
 lirium, is but a step ; this step all sects of mystics 
 boldly took. And do not suppose that they disavowed 
 these consequences. It was a principal doctrine of 
 mysticism, that the human mind could, through con- 
 templation, arrive at views of truth and of actual 
 being, which it was quite incapable of, in its ordinary 
 condition, and could thus hold communications with
 
 SYSTEM OF MYSTICISM. 135 
 
 the future, with unseen spirits, with God himself. 
 Theurgy is the daughter of mysticism; and, far from 
 avoiding these hallucinations and ecstatic states, mys- 
 ticism sought them as elevated stages of that contem- 
 plative life which all should strive to attain, and as 
 signal marks of the favor of Heaven extended to the 
 saints. Whence, now, this predilection of mysticism 
 for contemplation 1 The mystic loved it, because, in 
 this state, the mind was as passive as it could in its 
 nature be, and more and more passive the nearer con- 
 templation approached the ecstasy which was its con- 
 summation. On the same ground, and for the same 
 reason, the mystics asserted that their intellects were 
 more clear-sighted when they slept than when they 
 were awake, infinitely nearer to truth and to God ; 
 and hence the respect they paid to dreams, and the 
 care with which they endeavored to interpret them ; 
 whence you see that mysticism ended, necessarily, 
 in substituting the visions of reveries for science, as 
 the result of intellectual action, as it had first substi- 
 tuted contemplation for attention, in its mode of 
 operation. 
 
 Another trait of the mystics, immediately connected 
 with those I have already described, was their con- 
 tempt for precise language ; and this consequence of 
 their principles, if not so immediate and direct, is 
 still a necessary one ; for a precise mode of expres- 
 sion implies precise ideas, and these presuppose in- 
 tellectual effort ; while, on the other hand, in the state 
 of contemplation, all ideas are suggested under the 
 form of images, and images are confused ; their 
 knowledge, then, was rather a sentiment than a clear
 
 136 JOUFFROY. 
 
 view, and sentiment forbids definite statement. Pre- 
 cision of language was, therefore, repugnant to the 
 mystics ; hence the obscurity of style, and the fond- 
 ness for symbolic expression, which is peculiarly their 
 characteristic. This trait, trifling as it may appear 
 to be, deserved, nevertheless, this passing notice. 
 
 Intellectual activity cannot be wholly subdued. The 
 mystics were forced, therefore, to treat with it, and, 
 since they could not wholly expel it, to diminish, as 
 they could, its power. Not so, however, with physical 
 activity. Depending wholly, as this does, on the will, 
 it is only necessary to will its suppression to effect it. 
 Here, then, the system could be put fully in practice ; 
 and the mystics did not fail to do so. Physical inac- 
 tion has been always considered, recommended, and 
 practised by them, as one trait of the ideal life. To 
 escape from the sphere of physical activity, it was 
 necessary only to withdraw to deserts and monasteries, 
 and thus set themselves apart from all the motives to 
 action which prompt men in society. Even in these 
 retreats, it was not without repugnance and regret that 
 they performed even the indispensable acts of life, and 
 usually intrusted the discharge of them to neophytes, 
 who had not reached the state of perfection. The 
 most saintly anchorites jealously sought this glory of 
 pushing to extreme the habit of physical inactivity ; 
 and in the lives of the most famous may be found 
 instances of excesses of this nature which can only 
 be equalled by the Fakirs the mystical sect of India. 
 Together with this inaction, the annals of the desert 
 
 O 
 
 and the monastery show us their habit of performing 
 ihe most painful toils, arbitrarily imposed or volun-
 
 SYSTEM OF MYSTICISM. 137 
 
 tarily undertaken; and they were dictated by the 
 same spirit of desire to weaken the strength of the 
 body and show the vanity of human effort. For this 
 end, the anchorites of the Thebais imposed upon 
 themselves, and upon those who came to unite with 
 them, the duty of traversing vast distances, beneath 
 the burning sun, to draw water from the Nile. And 
 for what object, think you 1 To water a stick planted 
 in the sand, which could not grow. What keener 
 satire on human activity, I ask you, what more 
 striking symbol of the fruitlessness of effort could 
 be given, than this painful toil for an object so 
 frivolous? Thus, even in their activity, did these 
 hermits seek to manifest that contempt for action, 
 which was a necessary consequence of the system 
 of mysticism, and which the lives of its votaries man- 
 ifested in a variety of forms. 
 
 Need I show you how contempt for the sympathies 
 and affections, the other grand spring of human 
 action, equally appeared in their conduct 1 Is it 
 not plain, that, to withdraw from the world, and live 
 alone in the desert or the solitude of a cell, was 
 to burst at once all social ties, and voluntarily to 
 renounce them forever? There, as you know, were 
 none to love ; no parent, spouse, nor child ; no 
 brother, no friend ; and there these affections, thus 
 rendered powerless, were to be utterly extirpated 
 from the heart. This was a condition of mystical 
 perfection ; and they were true greatest saints, who 
 had best succeeded in extinguishing every sympathetic 
 affection in their nature. Is it not plain, too, that 
 this mutilation of their spiritual being was a necessary
 
 138 JOUFFROY. 
 
 consequence of their opinion as to the present life, 
 and the proper course of human conduct? 
 
 And now, gentlemen, sum up what remains of 
 human nature, thus perfected and sanctified by the 
 mystical creed, and you will see that it is all absorbed 
 and condensed into one single state of mind con- 
 templation; and, if I might use the expression, I 
 should say that all issues and outlets of active powers, 
 desires, and faculties in the mind were wholly closed, 
 save this single one of contemplation. And this 
 is left open, only because it is beyond human power 
 |o close it. 
 
 In fact, mysticism, availing itself of the power 
 which God has given us over our faculties by the 
 exercise of will, used this power to condemn them 
 to inaction, that is to say, to suppress all our activity. 
 One faculty only, in one mode of its action, resisted 
 the attempt the intellect; and mysticism, going 
 to the utmost limit of its power, suppressed the one 
 mode of its action which it could reach, and tolerated 
 the other only because it could not accomplish an 
 impossibility in its destruction. Thus was all human 
 activity reduced to one mode of intellectual action, 
 namely, contemplation. But still our faculties are 
 the necessary instruments for the satisfaction of our 
 natural instincts. If, then, you reduce these instru- 
 ments to a state of inaction, all satisfaction of our 
 impulses becomes impossible. But, if one of these 
 instruments is left in action, this, and this one alone, 
 must labor for their gratification. By thus absorbing 
 the whole of human activity in contemplation, mysti- 
 cism forced our whole nature the mind, the affections,
 
 SYSTEM OF MYSTICISM. 139 
 
 even the body to seek in contemplation the gratifi- 
 cation of their desires. All activity, I might say all 
 human vitality, finding this only outlet, and seeking 
 vent in this single act, raised it at once to its highest 
 stage of ecstasy and trance ; and . as, on the other 
 hand, all the desires of human nature sought in it 
 their satisfaction, the state of ecstasy was believed 
 to include all kinds of good to which human nature 
 involuntarily aspires. Ecstasy, to the eye of the 
 mystic, was true science, moral perfection, union with 
 God ; science, virtue, knowledge, all were combined 
 in ecstasy. It satisfied the intellect, by bringing it 
 into communication with the world of truth which was 
 only revealed in the state of trance. It satisfied the 
 activity of our nature, by exhibiting to it the state of 
 perfection to which it aspired. It satisfied the affec- 
 tions, by the communion it offered with God, the Being 
 most amiable and lovely of all beings, a communion 
 to be yet closer in another life. Thus the state of 
 ecstasy satisfied all wants, and mysticism, though 
 appearing to destroy, really destroyed no power ; our 
 activity, the tendencies of our nature, though turned 
 from their natural pursuits, were not eradicated, but, 
 concentrated in contemplation, they put forth all 
 their energy there, and there found the satisfaction 
 they craved. 
 
 The most perfect symbol of mysticism was the 
 anchorite who conceived the idea of living upon 
 the top of a column, and who passed long years 
 there in total inactivity. Maceration of the body, 
 isolation from the world, absolute passivity, entire
 
 140 JOUFFROY. 
 
 absorption of all the faculties and all the energies 
 of the soul in a trance of twenty years, here was 
 mysticism imbodied; and, as if to render the symbol 
 complete, this column was reared upon the very 
 borders of the East, that land which, from all 
 ages, has been the home of mysticism. 
 
 I feel sure, gentlemen, if you have understood what 
 has now been said, that you will find nothing strange 
 in the lives of the mystics, to which you have now the 
 key and the ready explanation. I hasten to consider 
 such consequences of this system as are more pecu- 
 liarly moraL 
 
 What is the strict consequence of this principle, 
 that man cannot accomplish his destiny on earth, 
 and that his highest duty is to be resigned to his 
 condition, and to wait patiently for the hour when 
 God will deliver him ? It follows, necessarily, that 
 man is to submit, and not to act; and, as all actions 
 are equally fruitless, that there is no moral distinction 
 between them. As a matter of fact, this is the 
 consequence to which the mystics, who carried out 
 their opinions fully, did actually come. Plotinus 
 professed boldly this consequence of mystical doc- 
 trines. He affirmed that there was no difference 
 between actions, that there could be no good nor 
 evil, and why? Because man has no end to pursue 
 on earth, and therefore no motive to determine him. 
 What, according to him, should man be? A wholly 
 passive creature, resigned and submissive, surrendering 
 himself to a course of events not controlled by him- 
 self, but emanating from God. Thus you see, that,
 
 SYSTEM OF MYSTICISM. 141 
 
 by the confession of mystics themselves, their system 
 led directly to a denial that man could have any 
 duties in the present life. 
 
 If any further proof is needed of the truth of this 
 assertion, it may be found in the conduct of another 
 class of mystics, which, for the honor of humanity 
 be it said, was infinitely smaller than the austere 
 class. Setting out from the principle that there is 
 no moral difference between actions, these men were 
 led, not to inactivity, but to licentiousness, and 
 scrupled not to gratify every passion, whether bodily 
 or mental, and abandon themselves without restraint 
 to the grossest indulgence. Of what importance, 
 in truth, is the conduct we pursue here on earth, 
 if we have been placed here only to exist for a 
 time, while awaiting a higher life? Why, with such 
 convictions, should we desire a man to resist the 
 invitations of pleasure, and prefer a virtue of which 
 he has no conception, when he feels himself under 
 no obligation, present or future, to do one thing 
 rather than another ? Obligation is destroyed utterly 
 by the principle of mysticism ; and it is therefore 
 one of the most remarkable of the systems of belief 
 through which the human mind has been brought 
 to a misconception of the law of obligation. 
 
 It remains for me to show, in a few words, that, 
 if such are the legitimate consequences of mysticism, 
 the principle itself is false, and consequently inad- 
 missible. 
 
 It is true, then, and once again observe, that 
 every system has some truth for its foundation, 
 it is perfectly true, that man cannot attain the highest
 
 142 JOUFFROY. 
 
 good, and the complete destiny which his nature 
 promises ; and that the degree of good which is 
 accessible must be gained by effort, that is to say, 
 by painful, self-imposed restraint. This is true. But 
 the consequence which the mystics deduce from this 
 is false. Let us suppose that man, as he came from 
 the hands of his Maker, had been placed in circum- 
 stances entirely different from those of the present 
 life, which presented no obstacle to the full satis- 
 faction of his nature, and the complete development 
 of his faculties, in circumstances, that is to say, 
 which would have allowed of his becoming imme- 
 diately and completely happy, without any exertion 
 on his own part, what would have been the con- 
 sequence 1 Man would have always remained a thing, 
 and would never have become what now it is his 
 chief glory to be, for it renders him like to Deity, 
 a person. His condition would be as follows : by the 
 mere fact of existence, his natural tendencies would 
 be developed, and, impelled by them, his faculties 
 would begin to act, and, without effort, would secure 
 for the passions the good they craved. His nature 
 would be happy, I will grant ; it would never know 
 the pain which it now experiences from the privation 
 of good, nor the fatigue which now is the condition 
 of existence; but man would have no part in deter- 
 mining his own destiny. Never would he know its 
 true glory, never deserve its fulfilment. It is this very 
 difficulty which we meet with, in attempting to ac- 
 complish our destiny, that awakens us, makes us 
 comprehend our real end, discover the means of 
 attaining it, take command of ourselves, govern our
 
 SYSTEM OF MYSTICISM. 143 
 
 faculties, and restrain our passions, that we may 
 succeed in the attempt, it is this very difficulty, 
 in a word, which calls out the personality of our 
 being; for all these acts are acts of our personality 
 the elements which constitute us persons. And it 
 is in becoming a person that we become a cause - 
 a cause properly so called a free cause, intelligent, 
 having an end and plan, foreseeing, deliberating, 
 resolving, capable of merit or demerit, and responsible 
 for acts, in a word, something like to God a 
 moral and rational agent a man. If any one 
 prefers, to such a destiny as this which the present 
 life affords, the state of a watch, endowed with 
 sensation, and enjoying the pleasure of feeling within 
 it the operation of unimpeded movements, in which 
 it has no agency itself, I will not dispute the point 
 with him. But, for myself, I cannot hesitate ; I 
 prefer infinitely the first, and thank God that he 
 has allotted it to me. From this view of life, it 
 would appear that our present condition is not one 
 of punishment, in which we are placed to expiate 
 some unknown sin cbmmitted by our sires, but a 
 place of probation, into which we were brought 
 that we might become like God moral persons 
 intelligent, rational, and free. If we could conceive 
 of a condition different from our present one, exempt 
 from its miseries, in which, nevertheless, this moral 
 creation could take place, then might we doubt this 
 explanation of our present lot, and accuse God of 
 severity. But, as it is impossible to conceive how 
 this admirable creation of personality could take 
 place, except under such conditions, the explanation
 
 144 JOUFFROY. 
 
 holds good, and God's ways are justified. If this 
 is so, gentlemen, then are there duties in our present 
 state of being ; life is not intended for rest and inac- 
 tion, but for the creation of personality, by the exer- 
 cise of intellect and energy, that is, by virtue. The 
 system of mysticism is, then, completely erroneous 
 and false, although it had its origin in two actual 
 facts of human nature.
 
 SYSTEM OF PANTHEISM. 145 
 
 LECTURE VI. 
 
 SYSTEM OP PANTHEISM. 
 
 GENTLEMEN, 
 
 I HAVE exhibited to you two of the systems, 
 whose principles imply the impossibility of a law of 
 human obligation the systems of necessity and of 
 mysticism; and have told you that there were two 
 other systems which tend to the same conclusion, 
 namely, pantheism and skepticism. 
 
 In the present lecture, I wish to direct your atten- 
 tion to the first of these the system of pantheism. 
 It has appeared under different forms, both in ancient 
 and modern times, and in every era has received 
 various modifications from the different philosophers 
 who have advocated it It would not be difficult to 
 distinguish, under all these different forms, the es- 
 sential principles of pantheism ; and this, perhaps, 
 would be the proper course; but I cannot resist the 
 temptation of giving you an idea of the form under 
 which the genius of Spinoza has presented it. And 
 I will attempt, therefore, by an exposition of the 
 system of Spinoza, to introduce you to a knowledge 
 of the general principles of pantheism. Two reasons 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 146 JOCFFROY. 
 
 determine me to take this course : first, Spinoza's 
 doctrines, which all speak of, though few have taken 
 the pains to study and comprehend them, are ex- 
 ceedingly obscure ; and, secondly, no one among the 
 philosophers who have professed pantheism, has de-- 
 veloped its principles with such an exact method, 
 and in so original and perfect a shape. 
 
 One work only of Spinoza's was published during 
 his life-time, which bore the title Tractatus theo- 
 logico-politicus. This was not so much an exposition 
 of his system, as it was a half-philosophical, half-his- 
 torical treatise, based on its principles. But after his 
 death, under the title of " Posthumous Works of 
 Spinoza," several of his writings were published ; and 
 in these it is that we find his doctrines fully set forth. 
 His system is particularly unfolded in the Ethica, 
 Ordine Geometrico demonstrata, et in Quinque Paries 
 distincta. This work comprises, in five books, the 
 most rigorous and complete, and, at the same time, 
 the most obscure exposition of pantheism ever given. 
 In the First Book, De Deo, Spinoza has defined 
 the idea which we should form of God. In the 
 Second, De Natura et Origine Mentis, he has 
 deduced, from the idea of God, the idea which we 
 should hold of man. In the Third, De Natura et 
 Origine Affectuum, the philosopher has explained 
 the mechanism of the passions, which, in his view, 
 embraces the operation of all phenomena in human 
 nature. In the Fourth, De Servitute Humana, seu 
 de Affectuum Viribus, taking for his point of de- 
 parture the laws of human nature, which he had
 
 SYSTEM OF PANTHEISM. 147 
 
 before described, he shows the necessary order of 
 its development, and the degree in which necessity 
 influences the will of man. And, finally, in the 
 Fifth Book, De Potentia Intellectus, seu de Libertate 
 Humana, Spinoza has endeavored to show the nature 
 and operation of free-will. This portion of the 
 work is extremely weak, and goes further, if I 
 mistake not, than the principles of his system, ad- 
 mitted in their strictness, will allow. Such is the 
 plan of the work. First, God ; next, man ; then, 
 the laws of his nature ; these established, the in- 
 fluence of necessity first, and, next, the operation 
 of free-will, in this nature; such is the plan of the 
 Ethica. On this foundation he has reared a system 
 of politics and ethics, in a second work, also pub- 
 lished, which is, unfortunately, but a fragment. It 
 is entitled Tractatus Politicus, in quo demonstratur 
 quomodo Socictas, ubi Imperium Monarchicum Locum 
 habet, sicut et ea ubi Optimi imperant, debct institui 
 ne in Tyrannidem labatur, et ut Pax, Libertasque 
 Civium inviolata maneat. In these two works, es- 
 pecially in the first, are we to look for the system of 
 Spinoza. 
 
 Spinoza's method is as follows : He begins, as 
 geometricians do, with the explanation of certain 
 definitions and axioms ; he then proceeds to announce, 
 successively, different propositions, which he demon- 
 strates, and thence passes in course to the scholia 
 and corollaries; as he advances, each new demonstra- 
 tion implies the preceding one, and refers to it ; so 
 that, unless the propositions already proved, and the 
 demonstration of them, are distinctly kept in mind,
 
 J48 JOUFFROY. 
 
 it is impossible to comprehend what follows. This 
 is the cause of the difficulty in understanding the 
 work. And it would be somewhat presumptuous, 
 even after the most attentive study, to assert that 
 we understand Spinoza thoroughly. In this case, 
 as in all cases where the attempt is made to apply 
 mathematical forms of reasoning to subjects for which 
 they are unsuitable, the geometrical method serves 
 only to render the exposition complicated and obscure. 
 In the summary sketch of the system which I am 
 about to give, I can touch upon only the principal 
 points of the system ; it would require a course 
 of many months to give you a thorough and detailed 
 description of it. In thus limiting myself, I cannot 
 promise that what I say will be perfectly clear and 
 exact. Such a promise would imply that there was 
 nothing contradictory in the system itself, which is 
 not my opinion; and it would suppose, also, that 
 I have a perfectly distinct idea of it myself, which 
 is not the case; for I am obliged to confess that, 
 after the most attentive study that I have been able 
 to give it, there are several portions of the system 
 which still leave me in doubt, and to which I must 
 give a yet longer examination. But it will be suffi- 
 cient, for the object we have in view, that you should 
 seize the chief outlines of the system; and I shall 
 have done something towards enabling you to com- 
 prehend its grand and obscure doctrines, if I awaken 
 in you the desire to become acquainted with it, and 
 put you in the right way to approach the study of it. 
 
 Spinoza distinguishes three classes of existences. 
 The first class are those which appear to us to have
 
 SYSTEM OF PANTHEISM. 149 
 
 a real existence, while yet they can subsist only 
 through and in some other being. The qualities 
 of body, and whatever we call attributes, properties, 
 phenomena, effects, compose this first class ; they are 
 never seen isolated, and possessed of independent 
 existence, but always associated and united with 
 something else, through which they have their being, 
 and separated from which we cannot conceive of 
 them as having any being at all. It is not thus 
 with the second class. These do appear to have an 
 existence of their own, and seem independent of 
 other beings ; they ape actual being, as Spinoza 
 says; they are, for example, all bodies which we 
 see around us man himself. But, when we re- 
 flect upon it, we find that all such things have 
 once begun to exist, and that they cease to exist ; 
 in a word, we discover that it is not by themselves 
 and of themselves that they hold and continue their 
 existence. Man, for example, feels that he did not 
 originate his own being ; that he does not preserve 
 it ; that he has not the power of continuing it ; 
 and that, therefore, existence is not essential, but 
 accidental in him. Although, therefore, such things 
 do appear to exist independently, yet it is but an 
 appearance ; and we find that, in truth, the existence 
 which is in them is not of them. 
 
 Existences of these two classes are all which fall 
 within the sphere of our observation. But reason 
 goes beyond them, and, reflecting that the existence 
 of all such beings as we gain a knowledge of through 
 observation is a derived one ; that it is accidental 
 and transient in them ; that none of them possess 
 
 N 2
 
 150 JOUFFROY. 
 
 it as their essence; concludes that somewhere there 
 must be a self-existent being. Hence the idea of a 
 third class, the peculiar characteristic of which is 
 self-existence. 
 
 It is this third class which Spinoza first considers ; 
 and he proves at once that there cannot be more 
 than one such being. For, says he, beings are dis- 
 tinguished by their attributes. Now, what do these 
 attributes manifest ? The essential nature of the 
 being. If, then, two beings had the same essence, 
 they would have the same attributes, of necessity ; 
 they could not then be distinct from one another ; 
 they would not be two, but one. We cannot suppose, 
 therefore, that there are two beings whose essence is 
 self-existence. The being whose essence is existence, 
 then, is one; and, as we can only properly call that 
 M^JLA. ( a substance which is self-existent, there is but one 
 substance, which is God. 
 
 The unity of substance being thus proved, Spinoza 
 demonstrates successively that it is necessary and 
 infinite. It is necessary, because, to conceive of that 
 which is self-existent as not being, is to annihilate it; 
 and it is infinite, because, as it is possessed of all 
 being, nothing can exist beyond itself. To be finite, 
 it must be limited by some other being ; and, as it 
 contains all existence, nothing which does exist can 
 be exterior to it, or limit it. 
 
 Unity, necessity, and infinity of substance, being 
 thus demonstrated, Spinoza proves yet further that 
 being is eternal, since it is necessary and infinite ; 
 e H J ^^, independent, since it is one and infinite ; and, finally, 
 
 that it is simple and indivisible. For, if it was 
 U^ 
 

 
 SYSTEM OF PANTHEISM. 151 
 
 composed of parts, he says, these parts would be 
 of the same nature, or of a different one. If they 
 were of the same nature, then there would be several 
 beings essentially self-existent, which has been proved 
 impossible ; and, if its parts were of a different nature, 
 taken together they would not be equal to the whole, 
 and would not produce it. Spinoza enters fully 
 into a discussion of these essential properties of the 
 one substance, and demonstrates them successively. 
 Obliged as I am to limit myself, I cannot follow him 
 in the developments of his reasoning. 
 
 God being thus self-existent, his essence being 
 existence, and the one substance being endowed with 
 all the properties which I have mentioned, Spinoza 
 next proceeds to inquire whether the being, thus 
 proved to have extension, has also thought ; and he 
 shows that it is impossible to attribute to him ex- 
 clusively either extension or thought. For, he argues, 
 if the self-existent being was in his essence exclusively 
 thought, then it would follow that there could be 
 no extension ; and, on the other hand, if his essence 
 was exclusively extension, it would then follow that 
 there could be no thought. Consequently, thought 
 and extension must be considered as attributes of the 
 same being. Since this being is infinite, all his 
 attributes must be so too ; and thought and extension, 
 therefore, are the infinite attributes of this being. 
 
 Spinoza admits, that it is not according to the 
 common idea to attribute thought and extension to 
 the same being ; but he does not respect this prejudice. 
 What can be more different, he says, than a round 
 form and a square one? And yet both are modes
 
 152 JOUFFROY. 
 
 of the same thing, namely, extension. The idea of 
 substance implies only one property, that of exist- 
 ence ; and existence is as necessarily implied by 
 extension and by thought, as extension is by a round 
 form or a square one. 
 
 We have an idea of these two attributes of being, 
 because our observation embraces extended substances 
 and thinking substances. But these cannot .be the 
 only two attributes of the self-existent being, for as 
 he is infinite he must have an infinity of attributes. 
 It is, then, a characteristic of the self-existent being, 
 that he has an infinity of attributes, which are infinite, 
 each in its own sense, and which all manifest, in a 
 peculiar way, the essence of this being, which is 
 .< existence. Thus a being who is one, simple, eternal, 
 infinite, with an infinity of attributes, which all 
 express in some particular manner, the essential 
 character of this being, existence, and among these 
 attributes, extension and thought, the only two of 
 which we have any knowledge; such a being, ac- 
 cording to Spinoza, is God, in the only idea we can 
 form of him ; and this idea is the fundamental one 
 of his system. 
 
 God being the only substance, and comprehending 
 in himself all existence, it follows that nothing exists 
 except through him and in him ; or, in other words, 
 that he is the inherent cause of all, or rather the 
 substance of all which has being. There is not, and 
 cannot be, then, more than one being, which is God, 
 and the universe is only an infinitely varied manifes- 
 tation of the infinite attributes of this being. Nothing, 
 then, which includes existence, says Spinoza, can be
 
 SYSTEM OF PANTHEISM. 153 
 
 denied of God ; and whatever includes it appertains 
 to him and comes from him. God is not only, then, 
 the cause which originates all existence ; he is also the 
 cause which sustains it in being ; in other words, 
 he is at once cause and substance of all that is. 
 Beside God if any thing can be said to exist beside 
 him are only his attributes ; and beside these attri- 
 butes, there can be nothing except different modes 
 of their manifestation. God, therefore, who is the 
 only substance, the infinite attributes of this sub- 
 stance, and the modes of manifestation of these 
 attributes, are the only possible existences. There 
 is and can be nothing more. 
 
 Spinoza next inquires as to the manner in which 
 this necessary being, whose essence is existence, 
 develops himself; and proves that, being in himself 
 necessary, he can only act through and by the neces- 
 sary laws of his nature, and, consequently, that he 
 cannot be free in the sense in which we understand 
 that word. He ridicules the idea which we form of 
 God, as of a being who acts for a certain end, and 
 because he wills to accomplish that end, but who could 
 yet prefer another, and, consequently, act in another 
 way. He finds this idea wholly incompatible with 
 the idea he has formed of such a being, which he 
 regards as the only legitimate idea ; and he affirms 
 that it inevitably follows, from the necessary nature of 
 such a being, that all the acts and ideas, which are 
 successively developed in him, arise necessarily ; so 
 that nothing which originates from him is produced by 
 free choice ; and the word will, therefore, in its com- 
 mon acceptation, cannot be attributed to him. And
 
 154 JOUFFROY. 
 
 yet Spinoza asserts that, in another sense of the word 
 liberty, the sense in which he always employs it, 
 God is the only free being. In truth, he says, all 
 thoughts, acts, and possible developments of God, 
 emanate from his own peculiar nature, and not from 
 the influence of another nature acting upon him. 
 God is, then, free, in the sense that whatever he does 
 is determined solely by the laws of his own nature 
 and essential character. The nature of man being 
 limited, as we constantly see it, his acts are deter- 
 mined by external causes, and not by -himself ; and 
 those causes depend on others, and yet others, till 
 they are traced back to God, while the acts of God 
 are determined only by his own nature. The acts 
 of God, therefore, are at once free and necessary, 
 and free, for the very reason that God is a necessary 
 being. But, as you readily see, there is no similarity 
 between this liberty which Spinoza attributes to 
 God, and liberty as we have conceived of it. 
 
 It follows, from this view, that in God there can 
 be neither moral good nor evil. For moral good 
 and evil imply a choice between different courses 
 of conduct; and, since God acts through the necessary 
 laws of his nature, he cannot but do what he actually 
 does ; cannot, consequently, act with a view to a cer- 
 tain end, therefore, nor with a purpose to accomplish 
 it; and he cannot, therefore, be either morally good 
 or morally bad ; and, in attributing to him, in an 
 infinite degree, the moral qualities which we are 
 conscious of ourselves, we indulge fancies wholly 
 unworthy of the dignity of God, and incompatible 
 with his nature. God wills not ; acts not from de-
 
 SYSTEM OF PANTHEISM. 155 
 
 sign ; has no desire, passion, nor disposition. God 
 is; and, this once admitted, all that originates from 
 him is a necessary consequence of his being. 
 
 If God's nature is developed thus necessarily, and 
 if nothing exists which does not spring from him, 
 it follows that nothing which is accidental can exist 
 or occur. In other words, all finite existences and 
 their acts, are made and caused by the necessary 
 laws of the divine nature, God producing directly 
 whatever is derived immediately from his nature 
 and infinite attributes, and indirectly the finite modes 
 of being of these attributes. We call that contingent 
 and accidental, says Spinoza, of which we cannot 
 comprehend the necessity ; but all which does happen, 
 must happen, and happen, too, exactly in that way. 
 Hence, from the same principles, it appears that the 
 world .is eternal, and that the idea of creation is 
 chimerical ; for that which at any time did not exist, 
 could never have begun to exist, and there can be 
 nothing beside the being who is one and infinite. 
 
 Perhaps, from this one might be led to suppose 
 that, therefore, the universe is God, and that God 
 is only the universe. This opinion Spinoza earnestly 
 repels. The universe, he says, is not God, but only 
 the necessary modes of being of his attributes. God 
 is one, simple, infinite ; his modes of being are 
 diverse, complex, finite. God is a necessary being 
 in a twofold manner ; because he is self-existent, 
 and because he cannot be conceived of as not 
 existing; his modes of being are necessary, only 
 because they are derived necessarily from his laws ; 
 but in one sense they are contingent, that is, they
 
 156 JOUFFROY. 
 
 can be conceived of either as being or not being. 
 God is equally distinct from his attributes ; God is 
 infinite, in the absolute sense of that word ; his attri- 
 butes, although infinite, each in its own way, are 
 really finite, since they are many, and one limits 
 the other, each expressing, under one face only, the 
 essence of God, which is existence. The modes are 
 to the attributes what the attributes are to God; 
 and as these attributes are only manifestations of God, 
 and finite in relation to him, so the different modes 
 of each attribute express only that attribute, and 
 are finite, not only in relation to God, but also in 
 relation to that attribute. 
 
 It follows, from the relation here described, between 
 God and his attributes, that, as each of them is only 
 a manifestation of God's nature, which is in itself 
 one, God can be conceived of now under one of 
 these attributes, and now under another, but still 
 as remaining himself, simple, and unchanged, amidst 
 the diversity of attributes, which are only different 
 manifestations of one nature, and different develop- 
 ments of one cause. If this is so, there must be a 
 perfect harmony and correspondence between the 
 series of the successive modes of one of these attri- 
 butes, and the series of the successive modes of all 
 the others. This Spinoza affirms, and he demonstrates 
 it in the case of the two attributes of God, with which 
 alone we are acquainted thought and extension. 
 
 The modes of thought are ideas, and the condition 
 of every idea in God, as in us, must be something 
 objective. What can be objective to the thought 
 of God ? Only his own being, that is to say, his
 
 SYSTEM OP PANTHEISM. 157 
 
 essence, and all which necessarily arises from it. The 
 idea of God, then, is one and infinite, considered 
 in relation to the essence of God, which is one and 
 infinite ; but it is manifold in relation to the different 
 attributes of God. Hence the modes of the thought 
 of God, or, in other words, the series of his ideas. 
 As the series of the ideas of God represent the 
 successive modes of his different attributes, the order 
 and connection of the one must be reciprocally the 
 same as that of the other. What God does as a 
 being having extension, he thinks as a being pos- 
 sessed of intelligence ; and what he thinks as an 
 intelligent being, he does as a being having exten- 
 sion ; the series of his acts and that of his ideas 
 being determined by the same necessity, or, to speak 
 more correctly, the idea and the act being only the 
 same phenomenon under a twofold aspect, as thought 
 and extension are one being under two different 
 manifestations. The circle is a mode of God as 
 he is possessed of extension ; the idea of a circle 
 is the corresponding mode of God as thought ; and 
 to these two modes there must be a corresponding 
 mode in every other possible attribute of God. 
 Whether we conceive, therefore, of God's nature 
 under the attribute of extension or of thought, or 
 of any other attribute, there will always be the 
 same series, order, connection, and necessary devel- 
 opment. 
 
 But the thoughts of God have not only the prop- 
 erty of representing all his other attributes and their 
 modes ; they can also represent themselves. God, 
 in other words, thinks not only of his essence, and 
 VOL. i. o
 
 158 JOUFFROY. 
 
 of all which issues from it, but also of his own 
 thoughts ; and this must be so, for otherwise his 
 ideas would be less extensive than his nature, and 
 he would be ignorant of one of his own attributes 
 intelligence. The divine thought, then, is conscious 
 of itself and of its modes, in the same way that it has 
 knowledge of all the other attributes and modes of 
 God. And this property of self-consciousness which 
 belongs to thought it preserves universally. It is 
 essential to its nature. 
 
 These considerations, as to the nature and being 
 of God, and much else on the same subject, which 
 I omit, are exhibited in the First Book of the 
 "Ethics," and, in the first part of the Second Book. 
 I will now proceed, having thus given you an idea 
 of his reasoning as to the laws and necessary nature 
 of God, to show you how all bodies and man are 
 viewed in Spinoza's system. 
 
 We have seen the manner in which Spinoza, ab- 
 stracting the idea of existence from those of extension 
 and of thought, proceeds to the idea that God is a 
 being whose essence is existence, of whom thought 
 and extension are only attributes. By the same 
 process of reasoning, applied to what we call body 
 and spirit, he shows that these two pretended entities 
 are only modes of thought and of extension. 
 
 Let us take, he says, any body ; for example, some 
 wax. It has this, in common with all other bodies, 
 that it is extended ; but, evidently, this is not "its 
 characteristic, and, consequently, not its constituent 
 element ; for then it would follow that whatever 
 is extended is wax. Extension, then, is simply the
 
 SYSTEM OF PANTHEISM. 159 
 
 ground-work of body ; and that which constitutes 
 each particular body, is a certain manner of extension, 
 or of this something which all bodies have in common. 
 A body of any kind, then, is not extension, but a 
 certain mode of extension ; and, as extension is an 
 attribute of God, it follows that all bodies are only 
 different modes of this attribute of God. 
 
 It is exactly the same with spirits. The common 
 property of all spirits is thought; but it is not this 
 which distinguishes and constitutes different spirits. 
 For, if any supposed spirit was thought, and thought 
 only, it would follow that all thought was this spirit, 
 which is not and cannot be true. All spirits, there- 
 fore, are only different modes of thought, which is 
 an attribute of God. 
 
 It is easy now, these positions being once estab- 
 lished, to understand the idea which Spinoza forms 
 of the aggregate of bodies and of spirits, which 
 makes up the world as it falls under our observation 
 The basis of all possible bodies is extension, an attri- 
 bute of God ; the basis of all spirits is thought, also 
 an attribute of God. A body or spirit is, then, 
 only a portion and definite mode of the twofold 
 development of God, as a being of intelligence and 
 a being of extension. A body, in other words, is a 
 portion of the divine extension, or of the infinite 
 series of movements which arise out of it ; and a 
 spirit is a portion of the divine thought, or of the 
 infinite series of ideas developed from it. Extension 
 and thought are two parallel streams, of which each 
 separate body and spirit are the waves ; and as, in 
 streams, each wave is determined by that which impels
 
 160 JOUFFROY. 
 
 it forward, and this by some other, and thus backward 
 to the source, so the series of movements or ideas 
 constituting each body and spirit is determined by 
 anterior movements or ideas, anterior while them- 
 selves depending on others which preceded them, 
 and thus upward to God, who is the sole cause of 
 all that happens, as he is the sole substance of all 
 that is. 
 
 Hence is it, says Spinoza, that, when we attempt 
 to discover the cause of any material change, or 
 of any idea, we find it always in some antecedent 
 change or idea, and this in the degree in which we 
 are enabled to advance, until we reach the point 
 where the succession of effects and causes is lost 
 to view. 
 
 You can readily see the notion of man to which 
 such a doctrine leads. Man is composed of body 
 and of spirit. What is this body? what is this 
 soul ? The reply is easy. That which I call myself, 
 or my soul, is not a substance, as we imagine for 
 there is but one substance ; and if my soul, therefore, 
 is a substance, then all substance is me. And neither 
 is it thought ; or else all thought would be me. It 
 is only, then, and can only be, the succession of those 
 ideas which we are accustomed to say it has, but 
 which really constitute it. My soul, at any one 
 moment, is the sum of the ideas which are then in 
 me. If the wax had the power of perceiving itself, 
 it would believe itself to be the substance sub- 
 jected to different forms, while it is only these very 
 forms. 
 
 My body, in the same way, is neither a substance
 
 SYSTEM OF PANTHEISM. 161 
 
 nor extension, but merely a succession of certain 
 definite modes of extension. It grows from smaller 
 to larger dimensions, from youth to age, and undergoes 
 perpetual changes, like the soul, only not so apparent- 
 ly. It is but the stream and course of these modifi- 
 cations which are moving on, as the soul is but a 
 current of ideas. 
 
 But this body and soul, which are apparently two, 
 really are but one ; in other words, what we call the 
 body and the soul are but two aspects of one and the 
 same thing. As, in God, the series of developments 
 in one of his attributes corresponds perfectly with the 
 series of developments in all the others, so, in that por- 
 tion of the development of the Deity which man is, the 
 series of ideas constituting the soul corresponds exactly 
 to the series of motions constituting the body. Yet 
 more ; one of these series is but the image of the 
 other. There can no more be ideas without an 
 object in us than in God. Now, what is or can be 
 the proper object of human ideas, if not the human 
 body 1 If there is, then, in us a series of ideas 
 constituting our spirits, it is because there is also 
 in us a series of transformations, changes, and aflfeo 
 lions, constituting the body. The idea which is in 
 us at any given moment is nothing more than the 
 intellectual form of the material movement then 
 taking place. Form to yourself an idea of God, 
 as developing himself through the two attributes of 
 thought and of extension, and arrest by thought a 
 definite portion of this infinite development, which 
 may endure for a time, and you have a man. Now, 
 as all the attributes of God are but different mani- 
 
 Q 2
 
 162 JOUPFROY. 
 
 festations of the same thing, and as the development 
 of one is only the development of the other in another 
 form, it follows that it must be the same in that 
 portion of the divine development which constitutes 
 us. We are, then, one simple thing under a twofold 
 aspect the intellectual and material; and that which 
 is an idea under one aspect is always a movement 
 under the other, and the reverse. 
 
 We have seen that, in God, the attribute of thought 
 represents all the real or possible modes of the other 
 attributes of God, and yet more the modes peculiar 
 to thought itself; for it is the very nature of thought 
 to represent its own modes, as well as all other modes. 
 This peculiar nature of thought is preserved in us. 
 As, in God, thought comprehends itself, so, in us, 
 our thought is self-conscious. At the same time, 
 then, that the series of ideas constituting our minds 
 represents the series of our corporeal emotions, do 
 these ideas also represent themselves ; hence our 
 minds have knowledge of themselves, in addition to 
 a knowledge of the peculiar object to which they 
 are -directed that is, the body. This is the phe- 
 nomenon of self-consciousness, by which we become 
 acquainted with ourselves, while, at the same time, 
 we gain knowledge of what is not ourselves ; and 
 this phenomenon is reproduced necessarily among all 
 beings who are modes of the divine thought. 
 
 What, then, gentlemen, are we, according to Spi- 
 noza? We are a mode of the divine thought, corre- 
 sponding to a mode of the divine extension, which 
 determines the thought, and is its proper object. 
 The mode of extension is our bodies; the mode of
 
 SYSTEM OF PANTHEISM. 163 
 
 thought is our minds ; and these two perfectly corre- 
 sponding modes are one and the same phenomenon, 
 which we call man. 
 
 The peculiar characteristic distinguishing man from 
 bodies, properly so called, is, that these latter are 
 modes of divine extension only. The modes of ex- 
 tension do not necessarily include the corresponding 
 modes of divine thought. This we see by the beings 
 around us, which are simply extended. Man, who 
 unites in himself these two modes, has twice as much 
 real being as bodies simply extended, and including 
 bat one mode. 
 
 Having thus explained Spinoza's idea of man, 
 I might leave my consideration of his metaphysical 
 system here, and enter into no further detail of his 
 opinions upon the body and soul. But there are 
 a few more points, which I feel I ought not to leave 
 untouched. 
 
 Our bodies, according to Spinoza, are not simple, 
 but are composed of a number of other bodies, which 
 are all different modes of extension. When several 
 bodies are united together, so as to experience the 
 same impressions and emotions, they form an indi- 
 vidual ; and, so long as the form of the individual 
 exists, the individual exists, however much the parts 
 of which he is composed are changed, increased, or 
 lessened. The human body depends upon the form 
 it assumes rather than upon the elements which 
 compose it. And it is through this form, which 
 is but a result of the union of several bodies, or 
 complex modes of extension, that it is distinguished 
 from other compound bodies.
 
 164 JOUFFROY. 
 
 All changes occurring in our bodies may be 
 resolved, according to Spinoza, into movements ; and 
 these movements are determined by other bodies 
 impressing it ; and these again are put in motion by 
 yet others; and so on. Spinoza calls these move- 
 ments affections ; and says that the nature and 
 number of these affections depend both upon the 
 nature of the body experiencing them, and upon 
 that of the bodies producing them ; so that the 
 nature of each affection indicates the nature both 
 of the subject affected, and of the causes which 
 affect it. 
 
 As our ideas have no other object than the affections 
 of our bodies, it follows that the more susceptible 
 the body is of affections, the more susceptible the 
 mind is of ideas ; and, therefore, that our minds 
 acquire more ideas, in proportion as our bodies are 
 affected by a greater number of external bodies. 
 In other words, the ideas which constitute the human 
 mind are more complex and rich, in proportion as the 
 affections of the body are more and more various. 
 
 Every simple idea is, according to Spinoza, an 
 idea of some corporeal affection ; but this idea includes 
 several other ideas, besides this one of the affection : 
 first, an idea of the body which is affected ; secondly, 
 an idea of the body which has produced the affection ; 
 thirdly, an idea of the mind, since every idea is self- 
 conscious, and forms one element of the mind, which 
 itself is only the succession of ideas. 
 
 We see from this how it was that Spinoza was 
 led to say that we have no immediate knowledge 
 except through bodily affection, and that it was from
 
 SYSTEM OF PANTHEISM. 165 
 
 thfr idea of our bodily affections that all human 
 knowledge took its origin. This idea is, you see, 
 full of instruction, as it leads directly to the ideas 
 of our own minds, of our bodies, and of other 
 bodies. I beg you to notice that this is exactly the 
 opinion of Condillac ; and we need only substitute 
 the word sensation for affection, which represents 
 the same thing, in the following passage from the 
 Ethica, and we should think we were reading from 
 the Traite de Sensations. " We know our own 
 bodies only through its affections, we know external 
 bodies only through the affections of our own, and 
 we know our spirits only through the idea of these 
 affections." This resemblance to Condillac's system, 
 which you may trace in the opinion of Spinoza, that 
 the soul is the sum of the ideas which are brought 
 together at any one moment, will continually strike 
 you as I present other points of his metaphysical 
 system. 
 
 If the whole of intellectual effort was limited to 
 the operation now described, we should, according 
 to Spinoza, have only confused and inadequate ideas. 
 The knowledge that we obtain of our own and other 
 bodies, from the ideas of our affections, is indirect, 
 and, as such, incomplete, and therefore confused ; 
 and, for the same reason, the knowledge that they 
 give us of the affections, which they represent, is 
 equally imperfect and obscure. For an adequate 
 idea of these affections would suppose an adequate 
 knowledge of the subject affected, and of the causes 
 producing the affections. And, finally, since the
 
 166 JOUFFROV. 
 
 idea of the affections of our body is inadequate 
 and obscure, the idea of these ideas, which is the idea 
 of our own minds, must be also obscure and inade- 
 quate. So that if human knowledge remains always 
 in the state in which simple perception, to use the 
 words of Spinoza, gives it to us, we should have only 
 such confused ideas, as all the ideas of our affections, 
 of our minds, of our bodies, and of other bodies, 
 must be. 
 
 Fortunately, according to Spinoza, our ideas are 
 not limited to those which we receive when we are 
 made to perceive (ad percipiendum) by the current of 
 external movements. We obtain ideas having a very 
 different character, when we are determined from 
 within to conceive (ad intelligenduni) of agreements 
 and differences, by a simultaneous contemplation of 
 several ideas. In this case we can arrive at adequate 
 and clear ideas. 
 
 Spinoza admits, then, that, after the particular and 
 immediate ideas of the affections of our body, and 
 all others implied by these, have been introduced, 
 they are submitted to a process by which we are ena- 
 bled to form general ideas, which are adequate and 
 clear. Thus three points are established in the sys- 
 tem of Spinoza: first, that all our knowledge comes 
 from the affections of our bodies; second, that all 
 simple ideas, and all such ideas of our mind, of our 
 own body, or of other bodies, as naturally rise out 
 of these simple ideas, are essentially inadequate and 
 obscure; third, and last, that the only ideas which 
 can be clear and adequate are general ideas, such
 
 SYSTEM OF PANTHEISM. 167 
 
 as we deduce from the former kind of ideas, by an 
 inward effort, subsequent to perception, and distinct 
 from it. 
 
 The nature of this process of mind is the most 
 obscure part of Spinoza's doctrine ; and I think I 
 do not deceive myself in asserting, that here is the 
 source of the whole difficulty which is felt in under- 
 standing his system. All other portions of it become 
 intelligible, if we give them attentive and patient 
 study. 
 
 It has been a question whether Spinoza considers 
 this mental process as a necessary and spontaneous 
 one, or whether he thinks that we must contribute 
 our own efforts to aid it, thus ascribing to man some 
 influence and power in the formation of his own 
 ideas. If we consider only the principles of the 
 system, and the expressions which Spinoza employs 
 to describe this process of the mind, obscure as they 
 are, we shall be led to the first opinion. Since all 
 our ideas are determined by the series of the affec- 
 tions of our body, and since these are determined 
 by external causes, which are determined by God, 
 it is evident that all our ideas must be determined 
 by God. But there is a still greater objection to 
 the idea that they are determined by ourselves. Our 
 minds are only the sum of our ideas; before we can 
 suppose that the mind has any influence over the 
 formation of our ideas, we must suppose it distinct 
 from them ; for it is impossible to imagine that a mind, 
 which is but an aggregate of ideas, can aid in the 
 formation of those very ideas of which it is itself 
 the effect, result, and product. If true, then, to the
 
 168 JOUFFROY. 
 
 principles of his system, Spinoza could not, without 
 a strange contradiction, attribute to the mind any 
 participation in the process to which the simple ideas 
 of perception are subjected ; and, as I said before, 
 in his description of this process, there is no expres- 
 sion which would authorize us to say that he had 
 fallen into this contradiction. But when he comes 
 to the moral part of his system, which I shall describe 
 in my next lecture, we are induced to adopt an oppo- 
 site opinion; for in this portion of his work, Spinoza 
 evidently ascribes to man a certain kind of influence 
 over the formation of his ideas. He there says that 
 liberty is this power exerted by us over our ideas ; 
 he recommends that we should turn away our minds 
 from certain ideas, and fix them upon others ; and he 
 gives an essay upon the proper conduct of the mind ; 
 and it is upon this idea of- their power to direct and 
 form certain ideas, that Spinoza's whole system of 
 ethics is founded. Had Spinoza been a less exact 
 reasoner, we should not hesitate to say, that he had 
 here, like many other philosophers, been inconsistent, 
 and had contradicted his own principles ; but we must 
 be more cautious in making this charge upon such 
 a writer as the author of the " Ethics ; " and when 
 we reflect upon the enormity of such a contradiction, 
 we can hardly escape the impression that this vigorous 
 mind was deceived by some logical illusion, which 
 it would be very desirable to discover. If there was, 
 to his mind, such an illusion any where, it was, 
 doubtless, in his idea of the intellectual process by 
 which general ideas are produced. And it is for this 
 reason, that I call this portion of his system the most
 
 SYSTEM, OF PANTHEISM. 169 
 
 obscure ; for it is here only that we meet with real 
 difficulties in the way of comprehending it. I con- 
 fess, gentlemen, that I have not been able to surmount 
 these difficulties ; the illusion by which Spinoza was 
 deceived, I have not been able to discover. The 
 opinion he seems to have formed, and which I will 
 now describe, of the nature of, the intellectual opera- 
 tion by which the mind is raised from particular and 
 immediate to ultimate and general ideas, is perfectly 
 consistent with the principles of his system, and 
 leaves wholly unexplained the contradiction into 
 which, as I shall show in the next lecture, he has 
 fallen. 
 
 Human knowledge would be reduced to the immedi- 
 ate notions of perception only, if, after these ideas were 
 obtained, there was no mode of preserving or recalling 
 them. But this can be done, and in this way : The 
 action of external causes upon the body has the effect 
 of modifying the state, of those parts of the body upon 
 which they act ; and the impression produced by them 
 does not disappear altogether with the action of the 
 causes ; when this action is strong or frequent, the 
 impression remains after the action, and the parts 
 affected finally acquire a permanent disposition for 
 receiving these impressions. These remaining influ- 
 ences on the affections become ideas in the mind 
 equally with the affections themselves. 
 
 The ideas corresponding to these surviving impres- 
 sions of the affections Spinoza calls images or remem- 
 brances ideas, properly so called, which represent 
 the affections themselves ; and they constitute what 
 he denominates the imagination or memory. 
 VOL. i. p
 
 170 JOUFFROY. 
 
 One other fact in our nature completes the expla- 
 nation of the operation of memory, and that is the 
 analogy existing among the corporeal dispositions 
 which constitute certain affections. By reason of this 
 analogy, whenever we experience one kind of affec- 
 tion, analogous to others which we have often felt, 
 and which have thus left in the body a disposition 
 to reproduce them, the former affection causes the 
 body to replace itself in a condition to receive the 
 latter, so that these last are renewed mechanically ; 
 and, since they in turn may awaken other analogous 
 ones, it follows that one single affection may produce 
 the impression of a thousand different ones ; and 
 hence the mind experiences, subsequent to the recep- 
 tion of an idea, long trains of images and remem- 
 brances ; and this constitutes the phenomena of the 
 association of ideas, of imagination, and of memory. 
 
 Thus our minds, at any one moment, are made up, 
 not only of the ideas of the affections which have been 
 impressed, and of other ideas which these imply, but 
 also of a greater or less number of remembrances, 
 that is to say, of ideas of past affections. 
 
 But these ideas are, as we have said, self-conscious. 
 And consciousness, while comprehending them, com- 
 prehends also the agreements and differences between 
 them, and, consequently, between whatever objects 
 they represent. Hence a new class of ideas ideas 
 of relation, or general ideas ideas which are ultimate 
 and wholly distinct from the immediate ideas acquired 
 from perception. 
 
 Such, gentlemen, is that intellectual effort which 
 T before alluded to : perception gives us the materials,
 
 SYSTEM OP PANTHEISM. 171 
 
 and the operation consists wholly in bringing together 
 these materials, by the influence of memory and 
 making a comparison. 
 
 But this comparison is wholly mechanical, and 
 Spinoza has taken care to state that it is so. There 
 are not ideas recalled and compared on the one side, 
 and a mind recalling and comparing them on the 
 other. The impressions left on the affections are 
 necessarily awakened in the body, and these are 
 necessarily represented by ideas in the mind, and 
 these ideas are necessarily compared by their mere 
 juxtaposition, whence result ideas, necessarily formed, 
 of their agreements and differences ; and this is all. 
 There is nothing here in any way resembling the 
 intervention of the mind. The mind continues to 
 be the sum of our ideas, and this sum is only in- 
 creased by a new class of ideas. This is all. 
 
 I need hardly say that these general ideas, once 
 formed, are subject to the same law with immediate 
 ideas ; that is, they can be recalled like them, and 
 can produce, as they do, when brought together, 
 ideas yet more general, which, in turn, may give 
 rise to others yet more general, and so on ; let it be 
 remarked, however, that all these ideas, however gen- 
 eral, have one characteristic, which is, that they are 
 not immediate, that is, not simple perceptions, but 
 derived, or conceptions, as Spinoza calls them. 
 
 We have seen that Spinoza considers all immediate 
 ideas as essentially inadequate and confused. It is 
 not necessarily so, according to him, with derived 
 ideas, whose formation we have now explained ; 
 these may be clear and adequate, and for this 
 reason.
 
 172 JOUFFROY. 
 
 What is the truth of an idea? asks Spinoza. It is 
 the conformity of the idea to whatever it represents ; 
 but since the condition of the origin of an idea is 
 the existence of the object awakening it, there can 
 be no idea without something of which it is the 
 representation ; every idea has, therefore, some truth ; 
 the only difference between ideas is this, that some 
 represent completely their object, while others do 
 not; the former are adequate ideas, the latter are 
 inadequate ; ideas then are false only from their 
 deficiency in not representing the whole of their 
 object ; so far as they do represent it, they are 
 true ; their truth is positive, their falseness is neg- 
 ative. 
 
 There is an identity, therefore, between an adequate 
 idea and a complete or true idea, on the one side, 
 and between an inadequate and false idea, on the other. 
 But how can we tell whether an idea is adequate or 
 inadequate ? By what sign or criterion shall we 
 judge ? By its clearness, says Spinoza. Whence, 
 then, comes the confusion of some ideas ? Solely 
 from their incompleteness, that is to say, their inade- 
 quate representation of their objects ; for if they 
 represented the whole of their object, they could 
 not be obscure. Every clear idea is, therefore, an 
 adequate one, and every confused idea an inadequate 
 one. It is by their clearness or their confusion, 
 then, that we are to determine whether our ideas 
 are true or false, adequate or inadequate. 
 
 If our immediate ideas cannot be adequate, it must 
 be as Spinoza has proved, because they correspond 
 to particular objects, all the circumstances and details 
 of which we cannot fully know ; and it is in conse-
 
 SYSTEM OF PANTHEISM. 173 
 
 quence of their inadequacy that they are all essentially 
 obscure and imperfectly true. On the contrary, our 
 derived ideas may be adequate, and, consequently, 
 clear, for the reason that they represent not particular 
 objects, and, therefore, very complicated ones, but 
 general ones, much less complex than particulars, 
 and becoming less and less so as they become more 
 general. 
 
 Let us take, for example, the particular facts which 
 we call the affections of the body. We cannot per- 
 fectly know any one of these affections, precisely 
 because it is a particular affection. But suppose 
 several inadequate ideas of many affections brought 
 together by memory ; the agreement of these different 
 ideas will then appear, and create a general idea of 
 whatever is in common among these affections, that 
 is to say, of that particular characteristic which con- 
 stitutes them affections. This common and constitu- 
 ent characteristic is infinitely more simple than either 
 of the particular phenomena in which it is manifested ; 
 and we can, therefore, for this reason, form a much 
 less inadequate idea of it, and, consequently, a much 
 less confused and false one. 
 
 Bring now this general idea of an affection into 
 comparison with other general ideas of the (same 
 kind, analogous to it, and there will evidently arise 
 an idea, the object of which will be still simpler, and 
 which will have still greater chance, therefore, of 
 being adequate, clear, and true. Whence it may be 
 seen that our ideas are more adequate, true and clear, 
 in proportion as the object is more general, and as 
 they, consequently, become more general themselves.
 
 174 JOUFFROY.. 
 
 Such, gentlemen, according to my understanding 
 Of it, is the logic of Spinoza. It is, I should 
 say, and you will easily see that it is, perfect- 
 ly consistent with his ontology. For, if there is 
 but one substance developing itself under an infinity 
 of attributes, of which the particular objects around 
 us are only infinitely varied modes, that which is 
 the most general, that is to say, the whole itself, 
 or God, is also the most simple and real, and that 
 which is the most particular and complex, that is 
 to say, bodies and minds, must also be most complex 
 and phenomenal ; so that what is most simple and 
 real, according to the common notion, is precisely 
 what is least real and most complex, according to 
 Spinoza ; and real being and unity increase, in his 
 view, in the same proportion as abstraction and 
 multiplicity do in ours. The world, to him, is only 
 the multiplied developments of a single being, while, 
 to us, this being is the collection of a multiplicity 
 of individual beings. Real being, to our minds, 
 is in the elements of the whole, while the whole 
 itself is an abstraction. To Spinoza, real being 
 consists in this whole, which is itself being, while 
 all else is only phenomenal, and more and more 
 phenomenal as it is more and more individual. 
 
 I have now said, gentlemen, all that I proposed 
 to say upon the metaphysical portion of Spinoza's 
 system. In my next lecture, I will unfold and exhibit 
 its moral part.
 
 SYSTEM OF PANTHEISM. 175 
 
 LECTURE VII. 
 
 THE SAME SUBJECT CONTINUED. 
 
 GENTLEMEN, 
 
 IN my last lecture, I finished what I had 
 proposed to say of the metaphysical and logical 
 system of Spinoza. I proceed now to attempt to 
 give you some general idea of the moral part of his 
 system. The long developments into which I allowed 
 myself to be led, at our last meeting, warn me to 
 limit myself in this discussion, unless I intend giving 
 an undue place in my course to the doctrine of this 
 philosopher. 
 
 You will remember that, in the view of Spinoza, 
 the human soul is only a succession of ideas, 
 and that these are only the representation of different 
 changes taking place in the human body. You will 
 remember also, that we are not thence to conclude 
 that man is composed of two parts, one of which 
 we call the body, and the other the soul ; for, according 
 to Spinoza's idea, these are but one. Man is one 
 being under a twofold aspect the aspect of mind, 
 or his ideas the aspect of extension, or his body; 
 BO that all which happens to a man appears neces- 
 sarily under the two forms of affections and ideas,
 
 176 JOUFFROY. 
 
 which express, in two different and yet corresponding 
 ways, one and the same phenomenal development, 
 which is man. But you know also, that, in the 
 system of Spinoza, the human body is only a definite 
 mode of extension, which is an attribute of God, 
 and the human mind a correspondent mode of thought, 
 which is another attribute of God. The extension, 
 constituting our body, therefore, and the idea consti- 
 tuting our souls, are only portions of the development 
 of divine thought and extension. You will understand, 
 therefore, these two definitions of Spinoza, that the 
 human mind is God, considered as constituting the 
 soul ; and the human body is God, considered as con- 
 stituting the body. God is at once, then, finite, in 
 so far as he constitutes our body or soul ; and infinite, 
 in so far as he does not constitute it. Under the first 
 view, his power and knowledge are limited ; under the 
 second, they are not. All the mysterious phrases 
 of the Ethica become clear, when we once know 
 that, according to Spinoza, the ideas which consti- 
 tute our minds, and the movements which constitute 
 our bodies, (far body, be it remembered, consists in 
 its form, and not in its material,) are only fragments 
 of a twofold development of God the development 
 of his thought and of his extension. In this point 
 of view, it is speaking truly, to say, that God consti- 
 tutes our bodies and our minds, and that his power 
 and his knowledge are finite, in so far as he does 
 constitute them. We have not all ideas, but only 
 some ideas; and, because we have only these few, 
 most of our ideas are inadequate and confused. 
 God, therefore, in so far as he constitutes us, is
 
 SYSTEM OF PANTHEISM. 177 
 
 limited in his knowledge, and has, consequently, 
 inadequate and confused ideas ; but in himself it is 
 not thus ; for in so far as he does not constitute us, 
 he has all the ideas which we have, and all other 
 ideas which can serve to render these clear and 
 adequate. Again, the power of our bodies is lim- 
 ited by the resistance of other bodies. God, in so 
 far as he constitutes our bodies, is limited in his 
 power ; but he is not thus limited in himself, for 
 all the causes which limit our power are modes 
 of the divine power, even as our power is itself. So 
 far, then, as our- body is finite, God is limited by 
 himself; consequently, he is not limited in his own 
 being, but only in so far as he constitutes our body. 
 It follows from this, that ideas which are inadequate 
 in us, are not inadequate in God, except in so far 
 as he is considered as constituting our minds ; and 
 that our finite power is not finite in God, except in 
 so far as he constitutes our body. These distinctions 
 may seem frivolous to you, but it is absolutely neces- 
 sary that they should be made, if we would understand 
 Spinoza's system. 
 
 As our minds are made up of ideas, it is plain that 
 the more ideas we have, and the clearer and more 
 adequate they are, the more real and living will be 
 our minds. This proposition is proved by arithmet- 
 ical calculation in the system of Spinoza. The soul 
 being at every moment the sum of its then present 
 ideas, of course a soul made up of twenty ideas will 
 have more life, more perfection, more real being, than 
 another composed of six. If the twenty ideas are 
 clear, adequate, and true, the mind will be more per-
 
 178 JOUFFROY. 
 
 feet, real, and living, than if they were inadequate and 
 confused. As the essence of the soul is ideas, it is 
 these ideas which constitute its real being ; and it 
 will be more and more perfect, in proportion as it 
 has more ideas, and as these are more and more clear. 
 Applying this same principle to the body, that is to 
 say, to the mode of extension, which is constantly 
 impressed, restrained, and limited by other bodies 
 acting upon it, we shall find that the body, too, has 
 more and more real being and perfection, in propor- 
 tion as it is less and less limited by external bodies, 
 that is to say, in proportion as it develops itself 
 with the greatest fulness and freedom through its 
 own natural energy. 
 
 In the moral part of his system, Spinoza wholly 
 leaves out of view the body, and makes the soul, 
 that is to say, man, considered under the aspect of 
 thought, the chief object of his attention. The three 
 last books of his work are occupied altogether with 
 his opinions upon the real life, perfection, and well- 
 being of this portion of human nature. 
 
 The laws of its growth or decline, the means by 
 which the real life, perfection, and well-being of the 
 soul are increased or diminished, engages his whole 
 attention ; and it is here that we must follow his 
 course of reasoning most closely, if we would gain 
 an insight into the fundamental ideas of his ethics, 
 politics, and religion. 
 
 Every being has, necessarily, a tendency and de- 
 sire ; and this necessary tendency and desire is to 
 continue in the condition for which its nature fits it. 
 
 The essence of God is existence, and his necessary
 
 SYSTEM OP PANTHEISM. 179 
 
 desire, therefore, is to remain in existence. And, 
 since God includes all existence, and his existence, 
 therefore, is not and cannot be limited by any exist- 
 ence beyond and out of himself, it follows, that God 
 is absolutely perfect, and, consequently, is completely 
 happy. But it is not thus with the human soul. 
 
 As an emanation from God, the human soul par- 
 ticipates in the fundamental desire of God, and also 
 aspires to a continuance of existence, as a created 
 being. And, as the constituent element of the soul 
 is knowledge, and this knowledge is limited, it fol- 
 lows that this fundamental desire of continuance in 
 its own state of existence, which every being feels, 
 must in the soul become a desire to remain intelligent, 
 and, since its knowledge is limited, to extend and 
 enlarge it. Such is and must be, necessarily, the 
 fundamental and peculiar tendency of the human 
 mind. And it is for this reason that Spinoza con- 
 fines exclusively to this tendency the name of desire ; 
 it is the only desire which he acknowledges and 
 recognizes. 
 
 But the ideas constituting the human soul are lim- 
 ited by external causes, which determine their num- 
 ber, and render them inadequate and confused ; in 
 other words, the fundamental desire of our nature meets 
 abroad with influences, both favorable and unfavorable, 
 whose whole operation, however, is to limit and fix 
 bounds to our knowledge. These influences, coming 
 into contact with our fundamental desire, give us joy 
 or pain, and awaken love and hope, hate and aver- 
 sion. Hence the secondary emotions of the primitive
 
 180 JOUFFROY. 
 
 and fundamental desire existing from the first within 
 us, which Spinoza denominates the passions. The 
 reason for the use of these two different names is 
 this profound observation, that the secondary emo- 
 tions proceed from the action of external causes, and, 
 consequently, that we are passive in experiencing 
 these emotions, while, on the contrary, the tendency 
 to preserve, unchanged, our original nature, is innate, 
 arises from the very depths of our being, and develops 
 itself even when no external cause affects us. Here 
 is a difference well expressed by the terms desire and 
 passion, as applied by Spinoza to these two kinds 
 of emotions. 
 
 Spinoza, however, while distinguishing passion 
 from desire, points out the tie which unites these 
 two orders of facts ; it is indeed plain that if the 
 desire of continuance in being did not exist, ex- 
 ternal causes could not excite the emotions of joy 
 or sorrow, love or hate, hope or fear, now constituting 
 our passions. All the passions which are awakened 
 within us presuppose, therefore, the fundamental de- 
 sire already existing and active. Moreover, it is 
 plain that these passions are only different expressions 
 of this desire; all the passions are, in truth, composed 
 of the same elements, that is to say, of a sorrow or 
 dislike, of a joy or love, of a hope or fear ; they are 
 distinguished from each other only by the causes 
 which excite them. Now, all these emotions of aver- 
 sion or love, of fear or hope, of joy or sorrow, denote 
 equally a desire to remain in being, and in intelli- 
 gence. All the tendencies of our soul are reduced,
 
 SYSTEM OF PANTHEISM. 181 
 
 therefore, to this single one, and have all of them 
 but one single object, which is the preservation and 
 increase of our being or our knowledge. 
 
 As knowledge is the constituent element of our 
 soul, the desire of knowledge is the desire of enlarging 
 our actual being, and of lessening our imperfections. 
 Nothing, then, can be more proper, more conformable 
 to reason, than the end to which our desire and 
 passions tend. This end is the greatest degree of 
 real existence, the highest perfection of our being. 
 All that we can do, therefore, to attain this end, is 
 lawful and right, and the pursuit of it is virtue. 
 There is entire harmony, then, between virtue and 
 happiness, since both consist in the greatest possible 
 satisfaction of our fundamental desire, and of all the 
 passions which are excited by it, and which express 
 it. Thus Spinoza arrives at the conclusion, which 
 he lays down as a principle, that the satisfaction of 
 passion is the end of virtue, and that we are virtuous 
 in proportion as we extend this satisfaction, that is 
 to say, as we are happy. 
 
 Thus knowledge, existence, real being, perfection, 
 virtue, happiness, are all but one and the same thing, 
 under different aspects. As the soul is composed 
 of ideas, and as the legitimate end of every being 
 is self-preservation, the proper end of the soul is the 
 most complete and extensive knowledge possible. To 
 this end, approved by reason, all the passions of the 
 soul aspire ; to strive to attain it is virtue ; to succeed 
 in acquiring it is happiness, that is to say, the per- 
 fection or real life of the soul. Such are the funda- 
 mental principles of Spinoza's ethical system. 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 182 JOUFFROY. 
 
 It remains now for us to examine what means we 
 have at our disposal, according to Spinoza, for the at- 
 tainment of this end, which includes at once our real 
 life, our perfection, and our happiness; and it is here 
 that the difficulties, alluded to in my former lecture, 
 appear difficulties which show the contradictions 
 with which, as it appears to me, this system must be 
 charged. 
 
 Spinoza has, in the first place, said, that all the 
 ideas which can arise in our minds are only deter- 
 minate portions of the ideas of God, and that they 
 all, whether immediate or derived, are produced by 
 necessity ; and yet he affirms that we can influence 
 their development. In the second place, he lays 
 down the position, that our ideas are the very com- 
 ponent element of our minds, and yet asserts that 
 the mind exercises a control over the formation of the 
 ideas of which it is composed. Here is the radical 
 contradiction lurking throughout his whole system. 
 All who have attempted to describe his doctrines 
 have perceived it ; no one has succeeded in explaining 
 it, and I have not been more fortunate; I limit myself, 
 therefore, to a simple statement of the contradiction, 
 and pass to the mode of moral progress which Spinoza 
 marks out for the soul to pursue, in attaining its 
 final end and destiny. 
 
 If the perfection of the soul consists in the extent 
 and truth of its constituent ideas, the object of moral 
 effort evidently must be to diminish, as much as 
 possible, our inadequate and obscure ideas, and to 
 multiply, as much as possible, our clear and adequate 
 ideas; and the mode of accomplishing this, according
 
 SYSTEM OF PANTHEISM. 183 
 
 to Spinoza, is to withdraw our minds from one mode 
 of acquiring knowledge, and to direct them towards 
 another. Now, what is the most desirable kind 
 of knowledge 1 And why is it most desirable 1 I will 
 endeavor to answer these questions, by recalling to 
 your minds some of the principles of Spinoza's logical 
 system, already exhibited in the former lecture. They 
 are, at once, so important, and yet so obscure, that 
 perhaps it may be well for me to review rapidly 
 what I then stated upon the subject. 
 
 The primitive ideas of our minds, you will re- 
 member, are nothing, according to Spinoza, but the 
 images of the affections of our bodies; and these 
 affections themselves originate in the action of ex- 
 ternal causes upon us. These ideas are essentially 
 inadequate, and yet they comprehend in themselves 
 all the ideas which we can have immediately. They 
 are inadequate, in the first place, because it is neces- 
 sary, before we can have an adequate idea of an 
 affection of our body, that we should understand 
 the nature of that body, and of the causes which 
 affect it. But we gain a knowledge of external 
 causes, and of the body itself, only through these 
 very affections ; we have, therefore, only indirect and 
 essentially incomplete ideas of the body, and of out- 
 ward objects ; and yet more, if this is so, the 
 idea we have of the affection itself is confused and 
 inadequate ; our ideas, then, of our bodily affections, 
 and of our own and other bodies, are, by ne- 
 cessity, confused and incomplete ; and, finally, our 
 consciousness of these ideas must be so too ; so 
 that all the ideas which we receive immediately are
 
 184 JOUFFROY. 
 
 inadequate. It is from this very fact of the inade- 
 quacy of our ideas, that our passions arise ; for, if all 
 our ideas were clear and complete, our desire of 
 knowledge would be entirely satisfied ; and, conse- 
 quently, we should not experience the joy or sorrow, 
 the love or hate, the hopes or fears, which constitute 
 all passion, and originate in the imperfectness of our 
 ideas. And whence springs all evil within us ? From 
 this same imperfection, and from the passions caused 
 by it, which disturb our peace and prevent our happi- 
 ness. Inadequate ideas are, therefore, at once the 
 source of all passion, and of all pain ; and all the 
 simple ideas of perception are of this nature. 
 
 And now, what shall we do to acquire clear and 
 adequate ideas ? If we had no other mode of gaining 
 knowledge, and of obtaining ideas, than the perception 
 of our corporeal affections, we should be indeed 
 perplexed, and all virtue, all perfection, would be 
 evidently impossible. But, independently of these 
 ideas, received from the aifections of the body, we 
 can, as I have already said, attain to a higher order 
 of ideas, drawn from these simple ideas by a subse- 
 quent effort of the mind. The impressions of corpo- 
 real affections do not disappear when the external 
 cause which produced them ceases to act. The parts 
 of the body which are affected contract a disposition 
 to reproduce the emotion which characterizes these 
 affections ; and they do reproduce them, whenever 
 any analogous affection is excited ; so that an 
 affection of the body is accompanied by the repro- 
 duction of a number of kindred affections, associated 
 by analogy ; and an idea in the mind is accompanied
 
 SYSTEM OF PANTHEISM. 185 
 
 by a series of images and remembrances correspond- 
 ing to the affections thus awakened ; or, in other 
 words, by the simultaneous presence in our minds 
 of a crowd of different ideas ; some, ideas, properly 
 so called, and others, images and recollections. 
 
 From this concurrence of our ideas arises the fact 
 of a comparison passed between them; and, from 
 this comparison springs a wholly new class of ideas, 
 not representing, as before, a particular affection or 
 external object, not our body or spirit at any given 
 moment, but, instead, the common element of many 
 affections and external objects, of many states of our 
 bodies and minds. 
 
 Observe now, that the element which our affec- 
 tions have in common, is the essence itself of affec- 
 tion ; that the common element of different external 
 bodies, and of different states of our own body, is the 
 very essence of body ; and that the common element 
 of different states of mind, is the essence of our mind, 
 and of all mind. 
 
 It is not true in relation to these essential elements 
 of all affections, and- bodies, and spirits, as it is of 
 particular affections or bodies, of particular states 
 of our own bodies or spirits, that we can have only 
 inadequate and obscure ideas, on account of their 
 complexity. The characteristics of the essence of any 
 thing are few, and are constantly reappearing in 
 every particular idea of it which may occur to us, 
 however inadequate this may be, and are easily dis- 
 tinguished by a comparison of many particular ideas; 
 so that it is easy to have an adequate idea of these 
 characteristics, and, consequently, of the essence 
 
 Q 2
 
 186 JOUFFROY. 
 
 of which they are the component parts. This class 
 of ideas, representing the essences of things, and 
 arising from a comparison of particular and immediate 
 ideas, or, in other words, these general ideas, may easily, 
 therefore, become adequate and clear. And it is for 
 this reason that, while we can never form an adequate 
 idea of any particular affection, or external body, or 
 given state of our minds and bodies, we yet can have 
 perfectly adequate ideas of affection in general, of the 
 constituent element of body, which is extension, or 
 of that of mind, which is thought. If this, now, is 
 true of general ideas, arising from the comparison 
 of particular ideas, it is much truer of- the more 
 general ideas which arise from the comparison of less 
 general ones ; so that the property of adequateness, 
 clearness, and truth, constantly increases in proportion 
 to the. general nature of our ideas, and becomes 
 absolute and complete when the ideas are universal. 
 
 By applying this law to the progress of mind, 
 we shall obtain the following method of logic and 
 of ethics. 
 
 If we allow ourselves to be wholly occupied by the 
 particular ideas, which the moving current of things 
 suggests, our knowledge will be always inadequate and 
 confused, and we shall remain at the lowest stage of 
 real being and of possible perfection : yet more, since 
 these ideas, in proportion to their inadequacy and 
 obscurity, excite in higher and higher degrees all 
 the passions which agitate us, we shall be utterly 
 wretched. 
 
 To elevate ourselves above this state of extreme 
 imperfection and misery, we must turn our thoughts
 
 SYSTEM OF PANTHEISM. 187 
 
 to those general ideas, which spring from a comparison 
 of particular ideas, and, representing the essences of 
 things, may, with more probability, be adequate and 
 clear ; and this course we must pursue to the utmost 
 possible extent. Our first step will be to attain to 
 general ideas of the attributes of God, and next to the 
 universal idea of God himself, which is the ultimate 
 limit of human knowledge ; for this idea embraces 
 at once all that is most simple and most complete 
 the eternal, necessary, and immutable substance of all 
 existence. 
 
 This view naturally leads Spinoza to distinguish 
 three degrees of human knowledge. The first degree 
 of knowledge comprehends the particular and imme- 
 diate ideas, which arise from the perception of bodily 
 affections. The multitude of men seldom rise above 
 this, and hence the confused notions, the passions 
 and the misery of the mass of mankind. The second 
 degree of knowledge comprehends the general ideas 
 which result from experience, and which, in propor- 
 tion as they are more or less clearly conceived, rep- 
 resent, more or less adequately, the infinite, eternal, 
 and immutable attributes of God. In its third degree, 
 knowledge concentrates itself into one idea, which 
 presupposes all general ideas the absolute and uni 
 versal idea of God. Sages alone, who devote their 
 lives to meditation, can attain to this height of 
 knowledge and of peace. Here, and here only, is 
 peace. For since God is the first principle and cause 
 of all things, the idea of God is not only more simple 
 than all other ideas, but a light to make them clear 
 and perfect, so that they can become fully adequate
 
 188 JOUFFIIOY. 
 
 only through this idea. He who has not compre- 
 hended God, in other words, can comprehend nothing 
 perfectly ; each particular is included in the general, 
 and the general in the universal ; and, therefore, the 
 conception of God is implied in all other conceptions, 
 and every conception remains incomplete and obscure, 
 until the idea of God is conceived. We can attain 
 perfectly adequate and clear knowledge only in the 
 idea of God; here the mind finds the highest reality, 
 the fullest existence, sovereign perfection, entire re- 
 pose, and complete felicity ; with this it can destroy 
 passion, and wholly satisfy our fundamental desire of 
 knowledge ; so that absolute perfection and happi- 
 ness would be possible for man in this life, if he 
 could here attain to a complete idea of God. But 
 to this his power is not equal. We may form an 
 adequate idea of the essence of God ; but the infinity 
 of the attributes through which this essence is 
 developed, and the infinity of the modes of these 
 attributes, escape us ; of these attributes, two only 
 are accessible to us, and we know only a small part 
 of the modes even of these two attributes. Thus, 
 while the complete idea of God would be universal 
 science, since God contains all that is or can be, 
 yet for God alone is this science possible, because he 
 alone can know himself completely. 
 
 Such, gentlemen, is the path, marked out by 
 Spinoza, for man to reach his highest possible per- 
 fection and happiness. You will see that he has 
 thus, at the same time, shown what course the soul 
 should pursue to arrive at the most complete knowl- 
 edge, and what it should itself become ; for, since,
 
 SYSTEM OF PANTHEISM. 189 
 
 in Spinoza's doctrine, the soul is made up of ideas, 
 science and the perfection of the soul are one and 
 the same. Logic and ethics are identified, therefore, 
 in this system, and the method which leads to good, 
 is precisely that which leads to truth. 
 
 It remains for me to show you how this same 
 path leads to immortality. Here, perhaps, is the 
 most singular and original point of view of this vast 
 system ; and it is the last that I shall mention. 
 
 I have already told you, that the condition or the 
 origin of every idea is the existence of an ob- 
 ject : as an idea is only a representation, there can 
 be no idea without an object represented. It follows, 
 as a strict consequence from this principle, that, so 
 long as our ideas represent only the affections of the 
 body, and imply these affections, or, in other words, 
 our own body and external bodies, our ideas exist 
 only through the existence of these affections, which 
 themselves presuppose the body. If, then, our body 
 ever ceases to be, since its affections will also be 
 destroyed at the same time, all our ideas will be 
 destroyed ; and, as the soul is only the collection 
 of our ideas, the soul will be, together with them, 
 utterly annihilated. It follows from this, that in men 
 who have only ideas of particulars, or those of per- 
 ception, the death of the soul will result from that 
 of the body, and be its necessary consequence ; for 
 them immortality is impossible. 
 
 But suppose that, by intellectual effort, we disen- 
 gage from our ideas of particulars the general ideas 
 which they imply, and thus obtain clear views of that 
 which is at the foundation of all objects and of all
 
 190 JOUFFROV. 
 
 particular phenomena; that is to say, clear views of 
 the essence of things, or of those attributes of God 
 which we are capable of conceiving, then, although 
 our body is destroyed, objects will yet remain for 
 human thought, and ideas will still be possible. The 
 ideas composing our soul will not all vanish with the 
 body, according to this hypothesis ; that part only 
 of the soul will disappear which represents partic- 
 ulars ; the rest will remain and survive. 
 
 But let us go yet further, and suppose that, from 
 the idea of God's attributes, we have ascended to the 
 idea of God himself; here is an eternal, infinite, 
 immutable object for human thought, remaining for- 
 ever as the material of ideas, and of adequate and 
 numerous ideas ; for from the depth of the idea of 
 God spring up a host of other ideas contained in 
 it, which are multiplied in proportion as they are 
 contemplated for a greater length of time. Hence 
 a multitude of ideas remain possible, even after the 
 death of the body, and an amount of existence for 
 the soul, which cannot be destroyed or undergo a 
 change. 
 
 But upon what does it depend whether this shall 
 be our condition in the hour of death? It depends 
 upon ourselves, gentlemen, because we can, if we 
 choose, turn our thoughts away from particulars, 
 and raise them to generals, and fix them there. Our 
 immortality depends, then, upon ourselves, and is the 
 fruit of virtue, as perfection and happiness are. It 
 is for us to create for ourselves, during life, an object 
 of thought, separate from our bodies, and from all 
 bodies which surround us, an object which may
 
 SYSTEM OF PANTHEISM. 191 
 
 remain when our bodies shall disappear, and with 
 them all possibility of affections, and with these affec- 
 tions all possibility of perceiving external bodies ; and 
 we shall attain this end, and reach this object, if we 
 turn away our thoughts from transient things, and 
 raise them to those which, having eternal existence, 
 will abide forever ; and, by this everlasting endurance, 
 will preserve also in existence a portion of our souls, 
 that is to say, of the ideas of which they are com- 
 posed. 
 
 Such is the singular opinion of Spinoza, relative 
 to the immortality of the soul ; and you see how 
 far it is a necessary consequence of his doctrine, 
 when the possibility of our giving direction to the 
 mind is once admitted. It follows from this, that 
 human souls have real being in very unequal degrees, 
 and that this varies with the nature as well as 
 number of their component ideas. Souls made up 
 entirely of immediate ideas have only a feeble reality, 
 and will perish with the body. The sum of the 
 constituent ideas of other souls may, at each mo- 
 ment, be divided into two parts ; the one, perisha- 
 ble, composed of ideas, representing individual "and 
 particular objects, and wholly inadequate and con- 
 fused ; the other, immortal, composed of adequate 
 and clear ideas, representing unchangeable objects, 
 that is to say, the attributes of God and God himself. 
 At any given moment, our real being, our perfection, 
 our happiness, are in direct proportion to the number 
 of these last ideas, and in inverse ratio to the num- 
 ber of the former. Our perfection, happiness, and
 
 192 JOUFFROY. 
 
 real life, therefore, increase with the sum of our ade- 
 quate ideas ; and, since this increase depends upon 
 our virtue, our measure of existence during life, 
 and our immortality, depend upon it also. In pur- 
 suing our true end, therefore, we increase, not only 
 our happiness and perfection, but also the sum and 
 duration of our existence. 
 
 Such, gentlemen, are the principal points of Spinoza's 
 moral system. I feel that I ought once again to 
 say, that I am unable to reconcile this portion 
 of his opinions with those principles which he has 
 professed in relation to God and man, and which 
 I have described in a former lecture. Still it is 
 undeniable that these two portions of his system do 
 coexist, and, therefore, it was my duty to give you 
 an idea of the second, as well as of the first, if I 
 would not leave incomplete this rapid exposition. 
 It was necessary, also, to prepare you for an under- 
 standing of the ethics of .Spinoza, which I shall 
 exhibit to you hereafter, and to explain the existence 
 of any such thing as .ethics in the most vast, most 
 absolute, and, notwithstanding this contradiction, the 
 most rigorous system of pantheism, which the hand 
 of philosophy has ever reared. 
 
 I have now completed my sketch of the particular 
 form which Spinoza has given to pantheism ; but 
 I should neglect the original and principal design 
 of this exposition, if I did not, before passing on 
 to other systems, disengage, from this particular form, 
 the specific character of pantheism itself, and show 
 you how, by reason of its essential quality, it always
 
 SYSTEM OF PANTHEISM. 193 
 
 leads, by a strict necessity, to the denial of human 
 liberty, and consequently to the belief that a law of 
 obligation is impossible. 
 
 One essential and constituent element of pantheism 
 is the suppressing of all particular causes, and the 
 concentrating of all causality in a single being ; 
 that is, in God. This arises from another element 
 of pantheism, yet more essential, which consists in 
 suppressing all particular beings, and concentrating 
 all existence in one sole being, which is God. If 
 there is but one substance, there is but one cause ; 
 for without substance there can be only phenomena ; 
 and phenomena can only transmit action ; they can- 
 not produce it. Pantheism, laying down the principle, 
 therefore, that there can be only one being and one 
 cause, and that the universe is only a vast phenome- 
 non, necessarily concentrates in God all liberty, even 
 if it attributes liberty to him, and necessarily denies 
 it every where else. Man and all other beings, there- 
 fore, lose their quality of being and of cause, and 
 become only attributes and acts of the divine substance 
 and cause. Deprived thus of all proper causality, 
 man is also deprived, at the same time, of all liberty, 
 and, consequently, can have neither a law of obliga- 
 tion, nor a controlling power over his own conduct. 
 Such are the evident and necessary consequences 
 of pantheism ; and the pantheist, who does not adopt 
 them, either does not comprehend his own opinions, 
 or is voluntarily false to them. 
 
 Thus, wherever pantheism manifests itself in a 
 practical form, as in India, for example, it leads 
 directly to passiveness or licentiousness. Men brought
 
 194 JOUFFROY. 
 
 up in this faith, considering themselves as phenomena, 
 and their acts, whatever they may do, as the acts 
 of God, view all conduct with indifference; and this 
 leads them either to commit the most detestable acts 
 without remorse, or to abandon themselves without 
 care or thought to the currents of that mighty ocean, 
 on whose bosom they are but insignificant drops. 
 Such are the fruits which this system has always 
 produced in the East, and they are its legitimate 
 results ; pantheism should never disavow them. 
 
 You will thus see, gentlemen, that I had reason 
 for classing the system of pantheism among those 
 which render, a priori, the existence of a law of 
 obligation impossible ; and, if it is ground enough 
 upon which to condemn any doctrine as false that it 
 leads to such a result, pantheism must be condemned. 
 Does it deserve this sentence 7 Does pantheism, 
 like necessity and mysticism, rest, for its foundation, 
 upon error 7 To my mind, it is undeniable that it 
 does ; and a few words only will be needed to point 
 out to you the source of this system in human nature, 
 and its radical defect. 
 
 We have two kinds of knowledge, derived from 
 different sources. When we direct our perceptive 
 faculties to that portion of real being which is 
 actually before us and within our reach, there arise 
 in our minds ideas or notions, which are images 
 of what we have observed. Hence the first kind 
 of knowledge, given by observation, whose character- 
 istic it is to represent whatever observation has 
 grasped or, in other words, whatever actually is. 
 If all our knowledge was of this kind, we should
 
 SYSTEM OP PANTHEISM. 195 
 
 possess, indeed, particular and even general truths, 
 representing a portion of what actually exists and 
 happens ; but it is plain that we should possess nothing 
 which reached to or represented what ought to be : 
 that is to say, we should know only a portion of that 
 which now is and now happens, and not all which can 
 be and can happen. Now that we have knowledge, 
 the truth of which does reach to all possible cases, 
 does embrace all times, and represent not only the 
 portion of real being observed by us, but all reality, 
 this, gentlemen, is undeniable ; and equally undeniable 
 is it, that observation could never have given us such 
 knowledge, for observation extends only to a deter- 
 mined and circumscribed portion of real being, and, 
 consequently, can never produce more than particular 
 and limited notions. 
 
 Universal notions, therefore, must spring from an- 
 other source, and that is reason. The observation of 
 certain facts, now existing, is the occasion when 
 reason conceives at once of other facts, which 
 cannot but be, and which, having thus a necessary 
 existence, must always have been, and will always 
 be; and hence arise truths, limited to no time nor 
 place, and applicable to all possible cases. Such, 
 for instance, is the truth, that every effect has a 
 cause a truth which reason instantly conceives when 
 a fact is seen to occur, and which, when once con- 
 ceived, extends to all cases, all times, all places, 
 appears to us universal, absolute, without possible 
 exception, and seems, in a word, to represent and 
 express not only that which is, but also that which 
 must be and cannot but be.
 
 196 JOUFFROY. 
 
 There are, therefore, in our minds, two kinds of 
 knowledge, and two distinct sources of knowledge ; 
 first, particular and general knowledge, representing 
 what now is, and obtained by observation ; and, sec- 
 ondly, universal and absolute knowledge, represent- 
 ing what ought to be, and which is the fruit of 
 the a priori conceptions of reason. 
 
 And now, when we apply to truth of this latter 
 kind, that is to say, to the absolute principles, 
 conceived a priori by reason, the reasoning, which 
 is quite another thing from reason, and draw from 
 these principles the logical consequences flowing 
 from them, we arrive at an idea of the world, 
 which does not agree at all with the idea obtained 
 from observation ; reason conceiving, a priori, that 
 which ought to be, and observation testifying to 
 that which now is. 
 
 It is to the former of these two modes of ob- 
 taining knowledge, that pantheism trusts. The pan- 
 theist takes, then, absolute principles, conceived, a 
 priori, by the reason, and the notions of cause, 
 of being, of time, space, &c., comprehended and 
 implied in these principles ; and then applying rea- 
 soning to these premises, he determines, by logical 
 deduction, what real being must be, without taking 
 any count of the testimony given directly to all 
 men, by observation, of a portion of what actually 
 now is. 
 
 Such is the manner in which pantheism acquires 
 knowledge ; and here we discover the source of the 
 false idea given by it of all things. Had God willed 
 that we should become acquainted with his works
 
 SYSTEM OF PANTHEISM. 197 
 
 by reason only, he would not have endowed us with 
 this other faculty, which we call observation ; and as 
 he has given us this latter faculty, and inspired us 
 also with a faith in the notions which it produces, 
 these notions cannot be useless, and must be destined 
 to enter, as an element, and play some part in our 
 acquisition of the knowledge of real being ; in 3 
 word, these notions must be intended to modify, in 
 some sort, such notions of real being as are given 
 by simple reasoning, when applied to the a priori prin- 
 ciples conceived by reason. 
 
 This cooperation of observation with reason, pan- 
 theism slights ; this correction, applied by it to the 
 wholly ideal system given by reason, pantheism re- 
 jects ; it finds nothing in (he idea which observation 
 gives of the world. Here is the error, the radical 
 error of pantheism ; and, if we would attack the 
 system, here is its vulnerable part. We must examine 
 the contradictions between the results of pantheism 
 and of observation, and the ground of the pantheist's 
 contempt for observation ; and, if such contempt is 
 groundless, and he yet will not admit the correction 
 which observation brings to the pure ideas of reason, 
 then have we a right to reproach him with not re-* 
 specting the whole of human intelligence; but, with 
 mutilating it, by demanding of one of its faculties 
 that representation of the world, which can be given 
 correctly only by a cooperation of all the faculties 
 with which we are endowed. I limit myself, now, 
 to this simple observation : we must follow out this 
 view, and attack pantheism upon this side, would we 
 refute it. 
 
 R2
 
 198 JOUFFROY. 
 
 Such, gentlemen, and I must ask your indulgence 
 for it, is the only refutation which the plan of thia 
 course will permit me to present of pantheism. When 
 I come to systems which have drawn from the analy- 
 sis of the moral facts of our nature, opinions destroy- 
 ing or altering the true idea of ethical science, I 
 shall refute them at full length ; for they are, truly, 
 systems of ethics, and, in a course having ethics for 
 its object, they must be thus examined and refuted ; but 
 in relation to systems, which, like this now discussed, 
 destroy ethical science, by opinions foreign from the 
 moral facts of our nature, I must be more brief If 
 it was my plan to refute these doctrines in a manner 
 at all proportioned to their importance, there is no one 
 to which I should devote more time- than to this of 
 pantheism ; but this would destroy the proper plan 
 of my present course, and prolong, indefinitely, your 
 attendance. I can only, therefore, in regard to such 
 systems, point out to you the moral consequences 
 which they imply ; and, then, having disengaged clearly 
 the fundamental idea on which they are based, limit 
 myself to an exposure of the radical error of the idea, 
 and to a specification of the precise particulars in 
 which it is at variance with the actual condition of 
 things. Within these limits I have confined all my 
 observations upon the systems of mysticism and ne- 
 cessity, and within the same limits I have felt bound 
 to comprise the discussion of pantheism. 
 
 I cannot close this lecture, gentlemen, without 
 apologizing for having detained you so long upon 
 such subtile ideas as these of which Spinoza's system 
 is composed ; but so much is said of this system, and it
 
 SYSTEM OF PANTHEISM. 199 
 
 is so often cited by those who have never even opened 
 the works of this great metaphysician, that I have 
 been glad to avail myself of the opportunity of giving 
 some idea of it to those who attend this course. You 
 will see, even from this succinct description, complex 
 and difficult of comprehension as it has been, how 
 guilty he must be of levity, who appeals to Spinoza, 
 on all occasions, with an air of confidence. For 
 myself, I declare I know no labor so difficult in meta- 
 physical study, as to form a precise idea of the sys- 
 tem exhibited in the ethics of Spinoza ; and, if I 
 should be asked to give a detailed and complete 
 exposition of this system, I should require not a few 
 lectures, but a course of six months.
 
 200 JOUFFROY. 
 
 LECTURE VIII. 
 
 SYSTEM OF SKEPTICISM. 
 
 GENTLEMEN, 
 
 IN the two preceding lectures it has been 
 my desire, first, to exhibit the system of pantheism 
 under the form in which it was presented by Spinoza, 
 and then, putting aside the peculiarities of this form, 
 to disengage the essential and fundamental principles 
 of the system ; and I have attempted thus to show the 
 manner in which these principles sap the foundations 
 of morality, and the radical error which justifies all 
 sound philosophy in rejecting them. I have now done 
 with pantheism ; and in this lecture I proceed, there- 
 fore, at once to the system of skepticism, the fourth 
 and last that I proposed to examine. 
 
 It is not in the nature of European nations to 
 slight real being, and to substitute for it the pure 
 conceptions of reason, or the chimerical visions of 
 imagination ; for they are endowed in general with a 
 spirit that is practical, exact, and observing. Not so 
 with the nations of the East. Opposite dispositions 
 incline them rather to mysticism and pantheism. 
 Skepticism has, therefore, occupied, in the progress 
 of European philosophy, since its birth in Greece to
 
 SYSTEM OF SKEPTICISM. 201 
 
 the present time, a far larger space than pantheism; 
 and, while few adherents only have been added to 
 the latter, skeptics have been innumerable. Again, 
 there is but one way for becoming a pantheist, 
 but a thousand for becoming a skeptic. The cer- 
 tainty of human knowledge may be attacked in a 
 thousand different ways ; and, satisfied with the one 
 that we have followed, we may suppose ourselves vic- 
 torious, and become skeptics. For these two reasons, 
 a complete exposition of the foundations of skepti- 
 cism, as they have been exhibited during the two 
 thousand years of European philosophy, is far from 
 being an easy undertaking, and would require a much 
 more detailed discussion than I have given to the 
 system of pantheism. But I will endeavor, in the 
 present lecture, to consider, in a rapid and concise 
 manner, not, indeed, all the arguments of skeptics 
 against the certainty of human knowledge, but still 
 the main principles upon which those arguments rest 
 I invite, therefore, your closest attention. 
 
 Human knowledge is something intermediate, be- 
 tween the mind that knows and the thing known ; 
 or, in other words, it is the representation, the 
 image of real being in the intellect. Three ele- 
 ments, then, are to be distinguished in the phenom- 
 enon of knowledge the subject of knowledge, that 
 is to say, the intellect acquiring it ; the object of 
 knowledge, that is, the real being represented; 
 and lastly, the knowledge itself, or the represen- 
 tation in the intellect of the real being. This being 
 premised, knowledge is true, if .it is a faithful image 
 of the object ; it is false, if it is an unfaithful one. 
 
 *+**
 
 202 JOUFFROY 
 
 The efforts of those, therefore, who desire to prove 
 that we know nothing with certainty, must be directed 
 wholly to the point of showing that human knowledge 
 is not a faithful representation of its object ; and 
 those who wish to maintain the certainty of human 
 knowledge must prove the contrary. 
 
 Such is the battle-field, where skepticism and dog- 
 matism contend. The controversy between them re- 
 duces itself to this question Is human knowledge, or 
 is it not, a faithful image of real being? And, as in 
 every act of knowing there are three elements, the 
 knowledge itself, the subject attaining it, and the ob- 
 ject represented, skeptical systems pretend to prove, 
 by an analysis of human knowledge, of the real 
 being represented, and of the intellect, that it is im- 
 possible to answer the question in the affirmative. 
 
 The nature of knowledge, the nature of the object 
 of knowledge, and the nature of the subject of knowl- 
 edge, are the three sources whence all arguments of 
 skepticism must necessarily and do actually proceed. 
 You will see how all these arguments fall successively 
 under one of these three great heads. I shall limit 
 myself to the principal ones, and will begin with those 
 which are drawn from the nature of knowledge itself. 
 
 The first defect to be observed in human knowledge 
 is its incompleteness ; and this is a defect which cannot 
 be denied. No one has ever had the boldness to 
 assert, that man is capable of arriving at complete 
 knowledge ; it is evidently impossible ; it is an achieve- 
 ment to which humanity has never had the presumption 
 to aspire. Yet more ; we acknowledge at once that 
 even such knowledge as we are competent to gain,
 
 SYSTEM OF SKEPTICISM. 203 
 
 is but small in comparison with our ignorance. Our 
 knowledge, therefore, must be incomplete. 
 
 Now, if human knowledge is necessarily incomplete, 
 and so very incomplete, what faith can we repose in it? 
 That any element of knowledge may be perfectly 
 conceived and comprehended, is it not necessary that 
 all other elements of knowledge should be present 
 also to the intellect ? Each portion of real being 
 has relations to every other portion ; and, if we are 
 ignorant of these, and of the relations connecting 
 them 'with what we do know, then even this knowledge 
 must be imperfect, and, consequently, not to be 
 depended on. Thus, from the consideration that 
 human knowledge is incomplete, comes the first argu- 
 ment against the faith which we blindly repose in it. 
 
 But let us forget, for a time, this imperfection 
 of our knowledge, and consider its characteristics. 
 And what do we see 1 We see that this incomplete 
 knowledge has no durability nor permanence. On 
 the very same question, the human mind in successive 
 ages passes from one opinion to another, and never 
 attaches itself firmly to any. This mutability of 
 human opinion is displayed in the history of every 
 nation. That which we call the life of a nation 
 is nothing more than the perpetual transformations 
 of its ideas upon the most important subjects. This 
 mutability, however, goes yet further ; it reaches to 
 individuals as well as to nations, and the human race : 
 however short life may be, however rapid the passage 
 of man across this earthly scene, from infancy to 
 youth, from youth to mature years, from maturity 
 to old age, from year to year, from month to month,
 
 204 JOUFFROY. 
 
 from week to week, his opinions alter and are modi- 
 fied or changed on every point ; so that there is muta- 
 bility in individuals as well as in communities, and in 
 communities as well as in the race. 
 
 This is not all, gentlemen ; this mutability of 
 human opinions in time becomes, if I may say so, 
 diversity in space. Take the human race, in any 
 given age, and consider it in the different nations 
 which compose it, and you will find, among these 
 different nations, the greatest diversity of opinions 
 upon the most important points. You will see that 
 Americans do not think about them like Europeans, 
 nor Europeans like Asiatics. You will see that 
 neighboring nations, divided only by a river, a moun- 
 tain, or an imaginary line, profess wholly different 
 opinions upon the same points ; and this diversity 
 you will find in the bosom of each nation, throughout 
 every family, whose members will differ one from 
 another. And these opinions, which succeed each 
 other in time, or coexist in space, are distinguished 
 not only by faint shades of difference from each other, 
 but often the diversity approaches absolute contra- 
 diction. Hence the faith of one place or age is 
 precisely opposite to that of another age or place. 
 And the same questions about real being are forever 
 agitnted anew. 
 
 If human knowledge, in its natural development, 
 presents to the observer such a spectacle, what follows? 
 Does it not follow, that this very real being, which is 
 the object of knowledge, and which knowledge, to 
 be true, must faithfully represent, offers different or 
 contradictory appearances to human intelligence, ao
 
 SYSTEM OF SKEPTICISM. 
 
 205 
 
 cording to times, places, circumstances, and indi- 
 viduals? To which, now, of these impressions and 
 representations, shall 1 give the name of truth ? To 
 which shall I trust 1 Shall I believe in the opinions 
 of the Greeks and Romans, or in those of our own 
 times? Shall I prefer our own opinions to those of the 
 Chinese, or those of the Chinese to those of the Amer- 
 ican Indians? Are not all these opinions equally 
 human knowledge? Do they not equally exist in 
 human intelligence? On what ground shall I prefer 
 one to another ? For what reason shall I put faith 
 in one, and refuse it to all others? There is evidently 
 no legitimate ground for choice ; and yet I can believe 
 in them only on such a condition. I ought not, then, 
 to believe at all ; for I have no right to believe. 
 
 Let us pass now from the spectacle offered by human 
 knowledge itself, to the object of knowledge, and the 
 motives for doubt will appear equally strong. 
 
 The object of knowledge, or real being, is made up, 
 partly of that which is within the reach of observa- 
 tion, and partly of that which is beyond it. The 
 surface only reveals itself; the depths are hidden. 
 
 There are, therefore, if I may say so, two elements 
 of the object of knowledge the apparent element 
 and the hidden element the surface and the depths, 
 qualities and effects on the one side, substance 
 and causes on the other. 
 
 Now, of these two elements, the one actually within 
 our reach is, of all things in the world, most mutable. 
 You know what modifications and transformations all 
 bodies, all beings, animate and inanimate, which 
 people the vast creation, perpetually undergo. There 
 VOL. i. s
 
 206 JOUFFROY. 
 
 is not a body that is not incessantly subjected to the 
 action of a thousand different causes, which, from 
 moment to moment, from week to week, from month 
 to- month, from year to year, alter, change, transform 
 it, and leave it not one instant the same. The sur- 
 face of objects, then, with which we are acquainted, 
 is not a stable and permanent object. Far from it, 
 gentlemen ; it is something forever fluctuating and 
 never abiding; it is the successive waves of a passing 
 stream; a fugitive appearance, replaced each moment 
 by others, which, in turn, give place to others which 
 succeed. What, now, can the knowledge given by 
 observation represent, except some one of these 
 ephemeral appearances ? To-morrow, an hour, or a 
 minute hence, this knowledge will represent what 
 has already passed away, and no longer exists. The 
 notions which we have acquired and laid up in our 
 minds, then, are faithful and true only for the 
 moment when they are first received ; the next mo- 
 ment they have ceased to be so, for that of which they 
 were the type has already gone, and something else 
 supplies its place. 
 
 If this is true of our knowledge of surfaces pre- 
 sented to the eye, what can our knowledge be of the 
 depths of being which are hidden ? We can explain the 
 acquisition of this latter kind of knowledge only in one 
 of two ways ; either we infer it from the knowledge 
 of the surface, or our reason conceives it a priori. 
 If we admit that it is in the former mode, then, 
 I ask, is the induction from the variable to the con- 
 stant, from the accessary to the principal, a legitimate 
 one? The portion of real being observed is not only
 
 SYSTEM OP SKEPTICISM. 207 
 
 the smaller portion, but it is the least important, and 
 is essentially secondary. What are qualities when 
 compared with substance, or effects when compared 
 with causes 1 What is the finite, the transient, the 
 variable, when compared with the infinite, the du- 
 rable, the immutable ? Evidently, the premises on 
 which we reason cannot support, or make legitimate, 
 the conclusions which, it is pretended, we can deduce 
 from them. But have we even these premises them- 
 selves ? Have we not just seen that we neither have, 
 nor can have, any true knowledge of the surfaces of 
 things ; and, that such knowledge as we think we 
 have, neither does nor can represent any thing, 
 except for the moment when it is received ? Were 
 the pretended premises, then, sufficient to sustain our 
 reasoning, it might still be said, with truth, that we 
 had no such premises. 
 
 If, on the other hand, we conceive d priori of that 
 portion of real being, which is beyond observation, 
 what authority have we for such a conception? What 
 else is this but a divination, a presumption, the ex- 
 actness and authority of which we cannot prove ? 
 When my reason conceives necessarily of what my 
 observation cannot reach, when it forms an idea 
 which it cannot but form, a necessary, an irresistible 
 idea, I immediately conclude, it is true, that this idea 
 does faithfully represent real being ; but where are the 
 demonstrative proof and authority for this? Singular 
 reasoning, indeed, which determines the truth of an 
 idea from its necessity, from the blind instinct pro- 
 ducing it ! Be it, then, that human intelligence does
 
 208 JOUFFROY. 
 
 draw conclusions as to the depths of being, from its 
 surface, be it that it does form conceptions of it a 
 priori, it is still impossible to establish, in any 
 thorough manner, the certainty of such knowledge. 
 And, since the knowledge representing the surface of 
 things, and derived immediately from observation, is 
 liable to no less weighty objections, it follows, from 
 a careful analysis of the object of knowledge, that, 
 so far from being led to any convincing proof that 
 human knowledge is true, we seem to be furnished 
 with a thousand reasons for thinking that it is not 
 true, and that it cannot and ought not to be 
 trusted. 
 
 But, gentlemen, such objections as these are slight, 
 are nothing, in comparison with others which skep- 
 ticism has drawn from the very nature of human 
 intelligence itself, or, in other words, from the 
 subject of knowledge. 
 
 We have just seen, in analyzing the object of 
 knowledge, that it is not fixed, but essentially mu- 
 table and variable. The same may be said, and with 
 yet more reason, of the subject of knowledge, that is, 
 of man himself. When we consider man only as to his 
 corporeal frame, a perpetual transformation, like that 
 which we observe in all things else, is equally observa- 
 ble in him. The human body remains for no two 
 successive moments identically the same ; the particles 
 composing it are every moment giving place to others; 
 and yet this body, which is forever thus incessantly 
 renewing itself, is the instrument used in acquiring 
 knowledge ; as it changes, the apparatus of the senses
 
 SYSTEM OF SKEPTICISM. 209 
 
 change ; and, if the senses alter, our knowledge must 
 be affected, even if the intellect itself remains immut- 
 able. 
 
 But yet more, a crowd of circumstances, a multi- 
 tude of various influences, tend, in addition to the 
 body, to modify our knowledge. Man is changed by 
 years ; he is neither intellectually nor physically the 
 same when old, as when young, when mature, as when 
 a child; he is changed, and his faculty of intelligence, 
 also, by sickness and by health : that a sick man 
 sees nothing as a well man does, everyone knows; 
 and between these two extreme states there is an 
 infinite number of intermediate bodily states, each 
 producing analogous states of mind, which, by color- 
 ing every object with varying hues, introduce new 
 changes in our knowledge. How shall we choose, 
 with any degree of certainly, between ideas received 
 during sleep, and when we are awake 1 Are not the 
 faculties acting when we are asleep, the 'same which 
 we employ when awake ? And, if the same, have 
 they not the same authority ?. And what a difference, 
 too, do we find between impressions of real being, 
 received at different times ! Of two images of the 
 same thing, shall reason prefer one, and reject the 
 other? If there is any sure, unquestionable criterion, 
 let us know what it is. Such a criterion can be no 
 more found, than one authorizing us to prefer the 
 knowledge of a man, who has retained his reason, 
 to that of one who has lost it. For, in such a case, 
 what do I see 1 Only two different states of the 
 same human intelligence. And, I ask, on what 
 ground am I justified in declaring, or by what signs 
 
 32
 
 210 JOUFFROY. 
 
 can I determine that the ideas acquired in the one case 
 are true, and in the other false ? The only objection 
 that can be brought against the insane man is, that he 
 sees things differently from the great body of mankind. 
 But a majority is no criterion of the truth ; and no 
 more will this criterion avail to determine between the 
 ideas of sleep and waking. 
 
 Independently of these causes of change, which by 
 modifying the subject modify our knowledge, there are 
 many others, affecting, in a no less evident manner, all 
 our ideas and opinions. For instance, does not educa- 
 tion determine, or at least contribute much towards de- 
 termining, our ideas, upon the most important matters? 
 Do we not receive, these ideas ready made from the 
 persons who surround us in infancy, and from all who 
 may accidentally compose our family ? And what shall 
 we say of that education, more powerful and extensive 
 than that of family, to which we are all subjected, and 
 which influences us in spite of ourselves, and without 
 our knowing it, the education of the religion, laws, insti- 
 tutions, customs, prejudices, and manners of our coun- 
 try, in a word, of all circumstances contributing to 
 form the intellectual atmosphere under which our intelli- 
 gence is developed ? Must not all these causes modify 
 prodigiously, and in a thousand different ways, human 
 ideas, without any change in real being? And now, if 
 we add the influence of the passions, and of interest, 
 upon our judgment, of rank and profession, of physical 
 conformation, and of character, of climate, food, and 
 a thousand other causes, we shall find that their influ- 
 ence is equally various and great. These infinite diver- 
 sities in our ideas of real being are not produced by
 
 SYSTEM OF SKEPTICISM. Jill 
 
 real being itself; it is not real being that introduces the 
 different ideas, notions, judgments of the fool and of the 
 sage, of the sick and of the well, of the child and of 
 the aged, of the idolater and of the Christian, of the 
 Chinese and of the European, upon the same subjects, 
 where real being is the same for all. -This difference 
 of ideas is owing to the mutability of the subject itself. 
 And how, then, can we trust to the truth and fidelity 
 of these ideas? 
 
 In order that knowledge may be faithful, is it not a 
 necessary condition, that it should be the pure result of 
 the impression of real being upon the intellect ? Hu- 
 man intellect should therefore be a calm, clear mirror, 
 in which the image of the reality may be reflected. 
 But if the mirror is subject to the action of a thousand 
 causes which modify it, and thus alter the image, sup- 
 plying its place by thousands having no resemblance 
 to the reality, what confidence can we feel in these 
 images ? And even when one is faithful, how can it be 
 separated and distinguished? 
 
 But we must go yet further ; we must analyze the 
 operation of the various faculties of this intellect, 
 which we have thus far examined as a whole, and see if 
 they act separately in so regular a manner as to author- 
 ize us to place confidence in such results as they may 
 give. And to begin with the senses; we all know that 
 they do often deceive us ; no philosopher has ever dis- 
 puted it. No one doubts that each sense gives, at 
 different times, different representations of the same 
 object, and that the different senses contradict one 
 another. The various elements of our faculty of intel- 
 ligence, therefore, contradict each other, and contradict
 
 212 
 
 JOUFFROY. 
 
 themselves. What confidence, then, can we feel in it, 
 and to which of its opposing testimonies shall we trust? 
 And again, who can assure us that the eye sees, or 
 that the ear hears, or that the touch feels, in one indi- 
 vidual as it does in another ? That which is yellow to 
 me, may be blue to another, to another red, to another 
 black. And how can I determine whether this is the 
 case or not ? These names signify only that to each 
 person the same objects appear constantly of the same 
 color, but by no means that all who use the same word 
 have a sensation of the same color. We should still 
 agree in the language used, even if what I saw as yel- 
 low should be red to you. The senses may be, there- 
 fore, faculties quite peculiar in each individual, and 
 may give wholly different reports to different men ; and 
 yet it is upon their testimony that the greater part of 
 knowledge derived from observation must rest. 
 
 Our immediate knowledge, derived from the second 
 source, reason, is based on no better authority. I have 
 already said, gentlemen, that reason does not believe in 
 any thing from a perception of it, as observation does, 
 but from a judgment that it ought to be, and because 
 she cannot conceive of its not being. But is this a proof 
 that what she believes in really does exist? What, 
 because my reason cannot but admit the existence of 
 something, does it follow that it really has existence? 
 Will a proposition express a universal law of real being, 
 simply because my intellect feels itself forced by a 
 blind necessity, and without proof, to admit it ? This is 
 the only and sole motive for believing in the truth of 
 the a priori principles of our reason ; for that they do 
 not prove themselves, all philosophers agree in acknowl-
 
 SYSTEM OF SKEPTICISM. 213 
 
 edging. But what is such belief as this, except an act 
 of blind and instinctive faith ? What else is it except 
 believing without proof, that is to say, without reason 
 for believing ? This would be true, even if men were 
 agreed as to the number and nature of the principles 
 which we are obliged to believe in thus blindly. But 
 no such agreement is to be found in the system of 
 philosophers. The list of these principles given by 
 Aristotle, is not the list given by Kant ; and Kant's 
 differs from that of any other philosopher. It is en- 
 larged or reduced arbitrarily. In one list are elements 
 not found in another ; and yet worse, even those may 
 be disputed which are found in all. Many have been 
 rejected, for strong reasons, by different philosophers. 
 Hume, for instance, has dissected the principle of 
 causality, seemingly so evident a one, and, in the judg- 
 ment of many, has succeeded in showing that it has no 
 sound foundation, but is a simple illusion of the human 
 mind. Condillac has done the same with the principle 
 of substance, by virtue of which we believe that there 
 can be no such thing as whiteness, without something 
 that is white. The substance of bodies, according to 
 this philosopher, is nothing more than the aggregate of 
 the qualities of bodies. Some have denied the exist- 
 ence of space, others that of duration ; so that, admit- 
 ting the fact of this blind faith, on which they are 
 founded, the a priori principles of reason are still open 
 to controversy and denial. 
 
 Thus much of the two faculties, which are the 
 sources of our immediate knowledge. And now it may 
 be added that the intellectual processes, going on within
 
 214 JOUFFROY. 
 
 us in relation to the information thus given, will bear 
 critical examination no better. 
 
 These processes may be all described by the one 
 word reasoning. Observation having supplied us with 
 certain representations of real being, and reason having 
 furnished us with what appear to be necessary princi- 
 ples, intellect is capable of only the one act of arrang- 
 ing this knowledge, and of drawing conclusions from 
 these premises, that is, of reasoning. If we add to 
 these premises the consequences deduced from them by 
 reasoning, we have the whole of human knowledge. 
 
 And since it has been shown that observation and 
 reason give us nothing upon which we can surely 
 depend, it follows that the conclusions drawn by rea- 
 soning from such uncertain and fluctuating information 
 must have the same characteristics, and be uncertain 
 and fluctuating too. But the very reasoning itself, even 
 if we should suppose the information given to be sure 
 and fixed, the very reasoning itself is a fallible and 
 variable instrument for acquiring knowledge. You well 
 know that, as a matter of fact, there are constantly great 
 mistakes in reasoning, and that it is thus proved that the 
 faculty of reasoning is not infallible ; for, if you give the 
 same premises to two persons, you know it is possible 
 that they will deduce from them, though they are iden- 
 tical, diametrically opposite conclusions. Nothing is 
 easier, as people of all times, ancient and modern, have 
 acknowledged, than to find arguments of seeming equal 
 strength for or against any given proposition. Car- 
 neades, and the sophists before him, and advocates all 
 over the world since, have succeeded perfectly in this
 
 SYSTEM OF SKEPTICISM. 215 
 
 game, which would be impossible, if reasoning was not 
 a deceptive instrument. 
 
 This sad view of our faculties, gentlemen, is dis- 
 heartening enough ; and yet I must not omit the consid- 
 eration of memory, playing, as it does, so important a 
 part in our acquisition of knowledge. 
 
 Memory lends its aid in all the operations of our 
 minds, and performs an important part both in obser- 
 vation and in reasoning ; as both of these proceed by 
 successive steps. If memory, then, is fallible, and its 
 communications uncertain, the authority of all our 
 knowledge must be destroyed at once. What, then, is 
 memory ? It is the faculty which represents the past. 
 Who now is ignorant, in the first place, that memory 
 differs exceedingly in different persons ? In some it is 
 more, in others less, complete and sure. Even if mem- 
 ory, therefore, is incapable of altering the elements of 
 the past, that is, of deceiving, yet this single fact of its 
 greater or less degree of completeness, is sufficient to 
 invalidate the truth of all the intellectual results, which 
 it aids in producing. But who can satisfy us that 
 memory cannot deceive ? Does it not often happen 
 that it represents the past quite otherwise than as it 
 actually was, and as we know it to have been? And 
 if it is said, that this is because it confounds and mis- 
 takes, not because it deceives, it may yet be asked, 
 whether the result is not the same in the one case as in 
 the other, and whether a mistake does not equally with 
 a falsehood lead us to believe what is opposite to the 
 truth ; without adding the consideration, that the only 
 guaranty we can at any time have of the veracity of 
 memory, is the blind faith that we repose in it.
 
 216 
 
 If, now, to all these reasons for doubt in the certainty 
 of our knowledge, originating from the fallibility of 
 the very faculties which communicate it, we add such 
 accessory causes as tend to introduce new elements of 
 error into their action ; if we take also into view the 
 illusions, imaginations, and prejudices of all kinds 
 which are sown so thickly and spring up so rankly in 
 the mind, and all the various passions of our nature, 
 creating, as they do, so many predispositions and pre- 
 dilections, will there not result from such a host of 
 reasons for doubt, apparent on all sides, and mutually 
 supporting each other, a complete demonstration of the 
 uncertainty of human knowledge? 
 
 But supposing that what we have thus far said is 
 without foundation ; supposing that t>ur faculties are not 
 subject to variation and error ; that they never contradict 
 themselves, and are perfectly in harmony with each 
 other ; that they never give opposing testimony ; that our 
 passions and imagination never confuse our reasonings 
 and mental vision, let all this be true, and yet the sup- 
 porters of the certainty of human knowledge have not 
 advanced one step. 
 
 For, gentlemen, there is a skepticism yet deeper than 
 this which we have now been considering, and which, as 
 we have seen, grows up from such strong and multiplied 
 considerations. There is a skepticism which doubts 
 of human intelligence itself, even when admitted to be 
 a faculty consistent with itself, and free from contradic- 
 tions; even when admitted to be, as we say, infallible. 
 
 If all men, in all epochs of society, should arrive at 
 the same ideas on the same subjects ; if each man, at 
 different periods of life, and in different circumstances,
 
 SYSTEM OF SKEPTICISM. 217 
 
 should obtain always the same results, when applying 
 his faculties to a consideration of the same questions ; 
 if all the people of any one country, or of all nations 
 on the face of the earth, should agree entirely and 
 unanimously in their sentiments and opinions, upon 
 every subject whatsoever, even if this should be the 
 case, what, then, would follow? What more would all 
 this be, than simply the testimony of human intelligence 
 in regard to real being ? Well ! how do we know that 
 human intelligence is not so constituted, as to see 
 things quite otherwise than as they actually are ? How 
 do we know that it is not so organized as to see as 
 square that which is truly round, and as yellow that 
 which is truly red, or as good that which is bad, and as 
 true that which is false ? Had God willed, as he might 
 have done, so to organize our intelligence, that the 
 image given by it of real being should be an untrue 
 one, like that which water, when agitated, gives of 
 objects reflected from its surface, it would have been 
 enough, gentlemen; by this simple hypothesis, the 
 certainty of all human knowledge is utterly and irreme- 
 diably destroyed. To this final objection of skepticism 
 there can be no possible answer, because such an an- 
 swer would suppose a faculty in man enabling him to 
 judge between his own intelligence and real being ; 
 but this is in itself inconceivable ; and even if it were 
 not so, the supposition would avail nothing, for this new 
 faculty would at once become liable to the very objec- 
 tion which it had been summoned to remove. 
 
 From this rapid sketch of the various objections 
 which skepticism has brought against the truth of 
 human knowledge, you will see that they all originate
 
 218 JOUFFROY. 
 
 from a consideration of human knowledge in itself, or 
 of the nature of the object and subject of this knowl- 
 edge. Mutable and unstable as are its object on one 
 side, and its subject on the other, knowledge cannot in 
 itself be either fixed or trustworthy ; not fixed, because 
 its object alters, as soon as knowledge is obtained ; and 
 not trustworthy, because no true image of the reality 
 can be reflected in so unstable a mirror ; and even were 
 this not the case, even were the intellect and the object 
 of knowledge equally immutable, it would yet remain a 
 question, whether the intellect is fitted to give a true 
 representation of real being. All considerations tend, 
 therefore, to this same conclusion, that there is no 
 ground for confidence in human knowledge. 
 
 What, now, is the immediate consequence of such 
 opinions ? This, gentlemen ; that nothing can give us 
 assurance of the fact, that what we consider good is 
 really good, or that what we consider bad is really bad, 
 or that what we consider obligatory is really obligatory, 
 or that really forbidden which we think forbidden. No 
 consequence could follow more immediately or evi- 
 dently from a principle. Skepticism destroys at once, 
 therefore, all morality and all right. For a skeptic, 
 moral truth exists no more than mathematical or phys- 
 ical truth ; all truth vanishes at once, if every means 
 of distinguishing it from error is proved to be of no 
 avail. 
 
 But, admitting the consequence to be just, one thing 
 yet remains for the skeptic to explain ; and that is, 
 the existence of those ideas of good and evil, of jus- 
 tice and injustice, which are found in human minds. 
 And skeptics have explained the existence of these
 
 SYSTEM OF SKEPTICISM. 219 
 
 ideas in a variety of ways which do not contradict their 
 system. 
 
 Skeptics, in ancient times, considered all such ideas 
 as the invention of legislators, intended to sustain the 
 weakness of the laws which they enacted, and to re- 
 strain those who had no fear of threatened penalties. 
 The greatest skeptic of modern times, Hume, asserts 
 that they are the result of an inward sense, which, 
 brought into relation with human actions, is agreeably 
 affected by some, and disagreeably by others, as taste 
 or smell is by flavors and scents. It is on account of 
 these agreeable or disagreeable impressions that we 
 apply to actions the qualities of good or bad, and love 
 the one while we dislike the other, and prefer the 
 former to the latter. It is evident that this explana- 
 tion does no more to establish moral obligation than 
 that of antiquity did, and that it is equally in har- 
 mony with all the consequences of skepticism. There 
 was not a skeptic of ancient times who failed to draw 
 from the system such moral consequences as I have 
 described. Archelaus, the sophists Aristippus, Arcesi- 
 laus, Pyrrho, Carneades, Sextus Empiricus, all professed 
 that there is no sure distinction between good and evil ; 
 that good and evil are altogether the effects of legisla- 
 tion; and that their character is determined by the 
 greatest interest of the legislator and of society. 
 
 This consequence, inevitable as it is in the view of 
 reason, has, then, been fully admitted in all time. 
 And more than one skeptic of antiquity appears to 
 have united practice to theory ; at least, there are some 
 evidences that such was the fact. Incredible stories, 
 for instance, are told of Pyrrho's complete indifference
 
 220 JOUFFROY. 
 
 to the distinctions between good and evil ; and as he 
 extended this indifference to all other subjects, it was 
 not in him a want of morality so much as a logical 
 adherence to his principles. In other skeptical schools, 
 morality has been resolved into pleasure, and by a pro- 
 cess quite simple and natural. For although there is 
 no truth or error for the skeptic, there are yet agreeable 
 and painful sensations; and for want of the higher 
 good, which he has lost sight of, he adopts the greatest 
 gratification that sensibility enables him to enjoy.
 
 REFUTATION OF SKEPTICISM. 221 
 
 LECTURE IX. 
 
 REFUTATION OF SKEPTICISM 
 
 GENTLEMEN, 
 
 IN my last lecture, I had two objects in view ; 
 first, to make you acquainted with the foundation on 
 which skepticism is based ; and secondly, to show you 
 that this system, in destroying all faith, destroys, also, 
 moral obligation, the very foundation of ethics. There 
 remains one further duty to fulfil ; for I must not pass 
 by the system of skepticism without pointing out its 
 radical errors. The refutation, however, must be as 
 rapid as the exposition. It might be developed indefi- 
 nitely. I shall not attempt to examine, separately, the 
 various grounds for doubt proposed by skeptics; but 
 will limit myself to the statement of such general views 
 as may be used in their refutation. And as the subject 
 is one of a complex and subtile nature, I beg you to 
 give me your strict attention. 
 
 I have told you that skeptics draw their arguments 
 for doubt either from the nature of human knowledge, 
 of the subject which knows, or of the object known 
 Every skeptical objection may be ranged under one of 
 these three categories. Of the three classes of objec- 
 tions, those arising from the nature of the subject are
 
 JOUFFROY. 
 
 without comparison the most grave ; indeed they are 
 the only ones which are truly unanswerable; and with 
 these, therefore, I will begin. 
 
 But, in order that the nature, weakness, and error of 
 these objections may be comprehended, it is indispen- 
 sable that you should have a clear idea of the part 
 performed by intellect, in the acquisition of knowledge. 
 Without this you will be unable, except in a very 
 imperfect degree, to feel the force of the objections of 
 the skeptic, or of such explanations as I shall give. 1 
 will first, therefore, describe in a few words the process 
 by which our knowledge is acquired, and the faculties 
 employed, and will hastily lay bare the mechanism of 
 the wonderful operations from which human knowledge 
 results. And I trust that my exposition will be intelli- 
 gible and clear. 
 
 However numerous and various the kinds of human 
 knowledge may appear to be, they are all to be referred 
 to two classes of notions, the one elementary, and 
 communicated immediately, the other secondary, and 
 derived from the first. We recognize, also, two orders 
 of faculties; the former of which acquire directly a 
 knowledge of the reality, and form those notions which 
 I call elementary ; while the latter, acting upon the 
 elementary notions already acquired, deduce from them 
 our secondary knowledge. 
 
 Our elementary notions are all derived from two 
 sources observation and reason. 
 
 As you well know, gentlemen, the whole of real 
 being is not exhibited to us, but only that small portion 
 with which we are brought directly in contact. We 
 have a faculty fitted to acquire a knowledge of this.
 
 REFUTATION OF SKEPTICISM. 223 
 
 It is the faculty of observation ; and we are accustomed 
 to call the knowledge obtained from it empirical. These 
 notions represent only what we have observed ; that 
 is, only a portion, and a very small portion, of what 
 actually is. They form the first class of the elementary 
 notions of human intelligence ; and I shall have said all 
 that it is necessary you should bear in mind, in asking 
 you to remember, that observation can be applied in 
 two different directions outwardly by the senses, 
 inwardly by consciousness ; so that all the knowledge 
 which we can obtain through observation is reduced to 
 that perceived out of ourselves by the senses, or within 
 ourselves by consciousness. 
 
 But these are not the only sources of our direct 
 information as to real being. Independently of obser- 
 vation, we have another faculty that communicates 
 knowledge. This faculty is reason, which does not, 
 like observation, see what actually is, but conceives, 
 from what observation has communicated, of that which 
 must and cannot but be. Hence a second class of 
 elementary notions, called indifferently conceptions of 
 the reason, rational truths, a. priori principles, whose 
 characteristic is, that they express something which 
 cannot but be, which consequently is in harmony with 
 the whole of real being, and represents universal no- 
 tions ; while, on the other hand, empirical notions 
 represent only the portion of real being subject to 
 observation, correspond and refer only to that portion, 
 and never, therefore, go beyond a certain degree of 
 generality. 
 
 Such are the two classes of our elementary notions. 
 They include all the materials of human knowledge.
 
 224 JOUFFROY. 
 
 And there is not, and cannot be, in human intelligence, 
 any elementary notion which is not derived either from 
 observation of what actually is, by the senses and con- 
 sciousness, or from the conceptions of what must be, 
 by the reason. 
 
 And here an important remark should be made it 
 is, that reason never rises to the ideas which it is her 
 function to introduce into human knowledge, unless 
 the communications of observation first supply the 
 occasion. Thus, to give an example, it is absolutely 
 necessary that observation should meet with something 
 which has just begun to be, in the portion of real 
 being open to its view, before reason can attain to the 
 absolute idea that there must be a cause for whatever 
 begins to exist. It is only after unconsciously, and in a 
 thousand particular cases, applying this universal idea, 
 which is secretly contained within it, that reason sud- 
 denly disengages it, and conceives it under its universal 
 form. We say, a thousand times, when observing some- 
 thing that has just begun to exist, " This has a cause," 
 before we rise to the conception of the absolute and ne- 
 cessary idea implied by the expression, that is to say, to 
 the conception of the principle of causality in itself; 
 so that, although these universal ideas are not derived 
 from what observation gives us, yet, nevertheless, they 
 do not arise without the communications of observation. 
 Observation lends her aid, therefore, if I may say so, 
 at the birth of the universal and absolute conceptions 
 of reason. 
 
 On the other hand, reason operates in every acquisi- 
 tion of observation. Whatever the element of real 
 being which observation meets with, whether external
 
 REPUTATION OF SKEPTICISM. 225 
 
 or internal, there is always superadded to the simple 
 notion it acquires, a supplementary idea from the rea- 
 son. Thus, when observation perceives a quality, 
 intellect could not form the judgment, " This is white, 
 this is red," unless beyond the mere quality, reason 
 conceived of something to which observation cannot 
 attain, namely, substance. Thus, again, when observa- 
 tion has communicated the notions of any two facts, 
 we could not judge that they were successive to each 
 other, unless reason added to the mere notion of these 
 two facts an idea of something more, beyond the reach 
 of observation ; that is, of duration, which alone makes 
 succession possible, and the idea of which is conse- 
 quently implied in that of succession. Again, when, in 
 view of any object we pronounce that simplest of all 
 judgments, " This is," it is because reason superadds 
 to the simple notion of the object, supplied by observa- 
 tion, the idea that observation does not deceive us, 
 and consequently that external reality is conformed to 
 the internal idea which observation has communicated ; 
 so that we may say, with equal truth, that observation 
 is the occasion of every conception of the reason, and 
 yet that no notion of observation can become a judg- 
 ment, or become knowledge, without the cooperation 
 of an d priori element which reason supplies. But 
 enough of this cooperation of these two faculties in the 
 acquisition of all human knowledge ; all that it is im- 
 portant we should bear in mind is, that our elementary 
 knowledge is derived exclusively from these two sources. 
 Thus, then, gentlemen, are obtained the materials of 
 all our ideas. And now another faculty begins to act, 
 which works up these materials, and deduces from them
 
 226 JOUFFROY. 
 
 our ulterior knowledge. This faculty is reasoning; and 
 we must distinguish between reasoning by induction 
 and by deduction ; for reasoning has two modes of 
 proceeding. 
 
 This is the process of reasoning by induction : when 
 several particular cases, which are analogous, have 
 been ascertained by observation, and stored in the 
 memory, reason applies to this series of analogous 
 observations the a priori principle, that the laws of 
 nature are constant ; and, at once, what was true 
 through observation in only twenty, thirty, or forty 
 observed cases, becomes, by the application of this 
 principle, a general law, as true of other cases not 
 observed as of those which observation has ascer- 
 tained. From the results of observation, and solely by 
 the application to these results of a conception of rea- 
 son, the mind arrives at a consequence that transcends 
 them. Such is the method of reasoning by induction. 
 Its characteristic is, that it proceeds from certain 
 results, communicated by observation, to a general 
 principle within which they are included. 
 
 The process of reasoning by deduction is as follows : 
 a truth of any kind, particular, general, or universal, 
 being made known, reason deduces from it whatever 
 other truths it includes ; sometimes the deduction is 
 complete, in which case reason only presents the whole 
 truth under two different aspects ; at other times the 
 deduction is imperfect, and then reason passes from the 
 whole to a part. But in either case, if we compare 
 together the results of our reasoning and the premises 
 from which we drew them, we shall always find that 
 these results, and a part or the whole of the premises
 
 REFUTATION OF SKEPTICISM. 227 
 
 are perfectly equivalent. This is the special character- 
 istic of deductive reasoning. 
 
 Such, gentlemen, are the important transformations 
 to which intellect subjects the primary notions imme- 
 diately communicated by observation and reason. 
 There are two faculties by which we acquire our ele- 
 mentary notions observation and reason ; and two 
 modes of reasoning by which these elementary notions 
 are converted into ultimate notions induction and 
 deduction. 
 
 One other faculty cooperates in the formation of 
 human knowledge. It is the faculty that preserves and 
 makes durable the notions acquired ; I mean memory. 
 Without this faculty, human knowledge would be 
 forever limited to the present moment. Memory treas- 
 ures up the successive results of observation, and 
 thence comes experience. Memory is interwoven, 
 indeed, with the texture of all reasoning ; for we could 
 never arrive at a conclusion, without remembering at 
 each step both the premises from which we set out, 
 and the intermediate steps already taken. Memory 
 enters, therefore, as a necessary auxiliary, into the 
 formation of all the notions derived from observation 
 or reasoning, and it alone preserves these notions. 
 Not so, however, with ideas supplied by reason. In 
 their acquisition memory has no part, because they 
 are formed spontaneously. Neither does it aid in 
 keeping them, for this is not needed. As reason 
 acquires these ideas because it is impossible not 
 to conceive them, this necessity continues to be 
 felt, and reason conceives them anew, whenever they 
 are required in the process of obtaining knowledge:
 
 228 JOUFFROY. 
 
 there is no need of the employment of memory, there- 
 fore, to preserve them. Reason alone, of all our fac- 
 ulties, is independent of memory, and demands not 
 her aid. 
 
 Such, omitting innumerable details, are the pos- 
 itive results, to which long study of the origin and 
 formation of knowledge has led me. Such, in my 
 view, is the whole process of intellectual creations ; 
 and it is, as you see, most simple. 
 
 Thus much having been explained, we are now in a 
 situation to examine the grounds upon which the truth 
 of human knowledge, thus acquired, is questioned, and 
 those upon which it may securely rest. We are ac- 
 quainted with the materials of this knowledge, and the 
 mode in which its various elements are formed. We 
 shall be able to see, therefore, the exact tendency and 
 real force of objections urged against it. 
 
 And in the first place, gentlemen, when any one of 
 the four faculties, which cooperate in the formation of 
 our knowledge is brought into action, and communi- 
 cates any notion, such as it is fitted to introduce, it is 
 evident enough that we neither should nor could 
 believe in the truth of this notion, except upon one 
 condition that we have faith in the natural veracity 
 of this faculty, that is to say, in its ability to see things 
 as they are ; for if we have any doubt of this, it is 
 evidently impossible that there should be any truth or 
 belief at all for us. And yet there is not, and cannot 
 be, any proof of this natural veracity of our faculties. 
 When reason says, " This must be, of necessity," 
 what proof have we that in reality it is so 1 We 
 have absolutely none. When memory has a clear,
 
 REFUTATION OF SKEPTICISM. 229 
 
 precise, undoubting recollection of having seen such a 
 person in such a place, what proof have we that it 
 represents the past as it really was ? None, none what- 
 ever. When observation, directed attentively and 
 steadily upon any object, says, " Here is something 
 which is not round, but square, which is not white, but 
 red, which has such or such a quality, and not some 
 other one," what proves that our senses do not give 
 representations different from the objects ? Again I 
 say, we have no proof. To torment ourselves in seek- 
 ing to prove that the faculties through which we 
 receive our notions are not so constituted as to give 
 false, but true representations, is to torment ourselves 
 most foolishly. For it is unquestionable, that any 
 proof of this, such as can be imagined, must be the 
 work of these very faculties, and consequently must be 
 proved itself. 
 
 Tims, then, it appears that the principle of all cer- 
 tainty, and of all belief, must be, in the first instance, 
 an act of blind faith in the natural veracity of our fac- 
 ulties. When a skeptic, therefore, says to a dogmatist, 
 " You have no proof that your faculties see things as 
 they are, no proof that God has not so constituted 
 them as to deceive you," he says what is incontroverti- 
 ble and undeniable. Such is the necessary condition 
 of all faith. But let us for the moment put by this 
 first general argument of skepticism, to which we will 
 directly return, and let us see whether, as the skeptic 
 pretends, it is still impossible to believe, even when we 
 do not consider this chief ground of doubt. The 
 skeptic asserts, as you will remember, that, even admit- 
 ting that our faculties are so constituted as to see 
 VOL. i. u
 
 230 JOUFFROY. 
 
 things as they are, it is yet plain that there can be 
 no confidence reposed in the information given by 
 them, because each separate faculty is liable to be 
 deceived, and there is no sure mode by which we 
 can separate the truth from the error in its testimony. 
 
 We need not review the arguments by which the 
 skeptic attempts to establish this point ; for they were 
 considered at sufficient length in the preceding lecture. 
 Let us now proceed to try the validity of these argu- 
 ments. Have they really any force 1 I think not. 
 
 The reasoning of the skeptic suggests at once this 
 consideration, that, since all men acknowledge that 
 their various faculties sometimes do deceive them, 
 a means of distinguishing the cases in which they 
 do and in which they do not is needed ; that is to 
 say, each faculty must have its own criterion of truth, 
 and we must be acquainted with this criterion. For, 
 I repeat it, if there are no certain signs by means 
 of which we can determine that our faculties do not 
 deceive us, then neither can we know that they ever 
 do deceive us, or even that they can deceive us. 
 
 But is that which is apparently true, really so ? 
 Is there any criterion in fact ? I answer, yes, 
 undoubtedly there is, for every man in his sound 
 senses. There may be, and probably are, among my 
 hearers, many who have never studied the rules for 
 the direction of our faculties prescribed by logic; 
 but, I ask, does such a one, supposing that he is 
 anxious and interested to gain certain information, 
 doubt at all whether he is capable of seeing external 
 objects as they really are ? And yet, who now will 
 be bold enough to deny, that, in very many cases,
 
 REFUTATION OF SKEPTICISM. 231 
 
 these very senses, by which we feel so sure of arriving 
 at an accurate knowledge of external objects, do, 
 in fact, lead us into error ? Every one present 
 believes, at this moment, both that his senses have 
 often deceived him, and yet that they never would 
 deceive him, if he took the proper precautions. We 
 all, in fact, then, already do know, or, in times of 
 need, do instinctively discover, these proper pre- 
 cautions ; and this is saying, in other words, that 
 we all have a criterion, by means of which we do 
 distinguish the testimonies of our senses which merit 
 confidence, from those which do not. 
 
 What I have here said of the senses may be said 
 with equal truth of all our intellectual faculties. 
 No one present doubts his capacity to discover the 
 true consequences of any principle, when he is 
 interested in so doing, and bestows upon it the 
 proper attention and care. And yet, we all know 
 that we can and do deceive ourselves in our processes 
 of reasoning, though, at the same time, we believe 
 that there are means by which we might avoid errors 
 in reasoning. We all admit, therefore, that there 
 is a criterion, by which we can separate truth from 
 error in our reasonings. 
 
 And thus it is with all the faculties which cooperate 
 in the production of our knowledge. All are able 
 to distinguish between cases in which a faculty has 
 been properly exercised, and when, therefore, we 
 may feel confidence in the results to which it leads 
 us, and those in which it has been improperly 
 exercised, when we can feel none, and when it 
 is unreasonable to trust it.
 
 232 JOUFFROY. 
 
 And a yet further proof that we do actually possess 
 such a criterion, is the fact, that we are applying 
 it every moment. When, for instance, we see any 
 object at a great distance, do we feel entire con- 
 fidence in the impression received through the eye? 
 We do not, and for this reason that we have learned 
 from experience that the eye distinguishes imperfectly, 
 at a distance, both the form and the color of objects ; 
 but, at the same time, we know the means of satisfying 
 ourselves whether the notion we have received is 
 correct or not ; we remove the opportunity for error 
 by lessening the distance between our eye and the 
 object. Analogous examples might be cited with 
 regard to every faculty. 
 
 The cause of our faculties deceiving us is not 
 the want of a criterion to distinguish the proper 
 from the improper exercise of them, but carelessness 
 or haste in not using or in misusing this criterion. 
 We have a confused view of it, and do not use all 
 proper precautions for arriving at the exact truth, 
 except when we have great interests at stake. Philoso- 
 phers have therefore spared no pains to describe 
 precisely every criterion, which common sense sees 
 indistinctly ; and it is in this chiefly that the 
 great discoveries, which have been made in logic, 
 consist. The labors of Aristotle in this branch of 
 philosophy all tended to the one point of determining 
 the true criterion of reasoning by deduction ; that is, 
 the distinguishing sign of legitimate consequences. 
 And what is this ? It is that the consequence is 
 one actually included in the premises. This result 
 may seem very simple, and even trivial ; but it was
 
 REFUTATION OF SKEPTICISM. 233 
 
 only by a most laborious analysis of all forms and 
 possible processes of reasoning, that this great man 
 arrived at it. And again, what did Bacon accomplish 
 in logic ? He determined the true criterion of reason- 
 ing by induction, and this was all ; though it cannot 
 be said of him, as of Aristotle, that he left nothing 
 to be completed by his successors ; for, without 
 question, the application of the inductive method, 
 in the researches of two centuries, has wonderfully 
 perfected Bacon's incomplete idea of the conditions 
 necessary for the proper mode of proceeding in 
 inductive reasoning. These two famous logicians 
 derive their distinction, then, from the fact, that 
 the one discovered the criterion for reasoning by 
 deduction, and the other the criterion for reasoning 
 by induction ; and yet they did no more than make 
 clear two indistinct ideas, which had always before 
 existed in the common sense of men. The criterion 
 of sensible perception and that of memory have also 
 occupied philosophers. You are acquainted with the 
 noble efforts of Malebranche, of Locke, and of the 
 Scottish philosophers, to determine the laws of memory 
 and of the association of ideas ; and you cannot be 
 ignorant of the care and sagacity with which so 
 many philosophers have analyzed and determined the 
 sources of error to which all our senses are exposed. 
 Now, to what end have all these efforts tended, if not 
 to the establishment of the precise conditions needed, 
 in order that memory and the senses may communicate 
 notions worthy of credit? Unquestionably, this end 
 has, in a great measure, been attained ; and, in regard 
 to these two faculties, it may be truly said, that
 
 234 J*VFFR*Y. 
 
 logical science is very nearly perfect. And yet the 
 only discovery made by logic, in relation to them, 
 is a knowledge of those various means for correcting 
 memory and sensation, which men naturally employ 
 in all cases where they are deeply interested. So 
 that philosophy has done no more in this matter 
 than simply to make clear the notions which had 
 always existed, though obscure, in common human 
 intelligence. 
 
 So far, then, from its being true, as skeptics assert, 
 that human intelligence, subject as its faculties are 
 to error, has no means of distinguishing truth from 
 error in the multitude of its impressions, so far 
 is this from being true, that we have proved that 
 there are such means for correcting every faculty. 
 We have proved it by showing, first, that all men 
 know that their faculties do sometimes deceive them ; 
 secondly, that all men, when greatly interested, really 
 discover and use proper precautions for arriving at 
 true and certain results in the use of each and every 
 faculty; and, thirdly, that the most distinguished lo- 
 gicians have actually determined the precise conditions 
 required for such certainty. 
 
 You will have remarked that, among the examples 
 adduced to illustrate the point which we have been 
 considering, I have not drawn any from reason. My 
 motive was, simply, that reason is not liable to be 
 deceived ; alone, of all our faculties, reason possesses 
 this prerogative, and it is owing to its peculiarity 
 of acting from necessity. Necessity cannot admit 
 of the distinctions of more or less ; and, provided 
 only that it is constantly the same in all men, it
 
 R9FVTATIN OF SKEPTI9ISM. 235 
 
 must produce similar effects in each individual, under 
 similar circumstances. And to this it is owing, that 
 the ideas of reason appear exactly the same, in number 
 and in kind, in the minds of all human beings, and 
 remain, through all changes, immutable. 
 
 Hence it is, gentlemen, that the objection has never 
 been brought against reason, that it is different in 
 different men, or in the same individual at different 
 times : there is no such ground as this for rejecting 
 its conceptions. On the contrary, the great argument 
 of the skeptic against reason is drawn from the ne- 
 cessity and immutability of its judgments. "See," 
 they say, " reason admits this or that, because it 
 cannot but admit it; its motive for believing any 
 thing is, that it is impossible to disbelieve it. Is not 
 this a sufficient proof that its belief is imposed upon 
 it by its nature, and that, had that nature been 
 different, the belief would have been different also?" 
 This, you will observe, is Kant's great argument : 
 according to him, the conceptions of reason have 
 only a subjective value, because they are necessary, 
 and thus might change, if the subject itself was 
 changed. This argument, however, is plainly the 
 same with that which questions the veracity of our 
 faculties ; and, therefore, we pass it by for the present. 
 
 Since the variableness of its conceptions cannot 
 be brought against reason, skepticism finds objections 
 in the variableness of philosophical views of these 
 conceptions, and has arrayed against its authority 
 a twofold argument, drawn, first, from the systems 
 which have denied or disfigured these conceptions; 
 and, secondly, from the disagreements among them-
 
 236 
 
 JOUFFROY. 
 
 selves of the philosophers who have attempted to 
 classify them. 
 
 It is entirely true, gentlemen, that some philosophers 
 have rejected one or more of the principles of human 
 reason, as, for instance, Hume, who has denied, 
 as I have shown -you, the principle of causality, and 
 Condillac, who has denied that of substance, and 
 many others who might be added. But, you will 
 remember, I have proved that Hume and Condillac 
 could not but come to these conclusions, if they were 
 consistent with their own systems. The objection, 
 then, is without force. It is easy to bring forward 
 philosophers, who have denied, in their writings, some 
 one or other principle of reason ; but not one could 
 be found, who has not, at the same time, constantly 
 proved, by his conduct, that he believed in them 
 quite as much as other men. 
 
 The objection drawn from the disagreement among 
 philosophers, in their attempts to classify these prin- 
 ciples, is equally weak. These principles are facts 
 the facts of human nature and, of course, the 
 observation of them is as liable to error as that 
 of any other class of facts. Some of the philosophers 
 who have studied them have seen more of these facts, 
 others fewer some more, others less correctly ; 
 hence the diversity of results. The diversity will 
 lessen and disappear in proportion as observations 
 are multiplied and made more exact; and, again, 
 this diversity is more often apparent than real, and 
 arises chiefly from the different forms under which 
 the same identical principles have been described. 
 But, however this may be, these diversities evidently
 
 REFUTATION OF SKEPTICISM. 237 
 
 affect only the science of these principles, and not 
 the principles themselves, which are and must remain 
 identically the same for all minds. Where is the 
 man, who, when he sees any thing happen, does not 
 instantly suppose that there was a cause for it ; or, 
 where he perceives a quality, does not conceive of a 
 substance ; or who does not assign to every object a 
 place, and to every event a time 1 These notions are 
 so essential to human nature, that not even madness 
 can destroy or change them. The insane man has 
 this in common with all mankind, that he still believes 
 in these notions ; and, in this respect, still remains 
 a man, even when he has ceased to be so in all 
 others. 
 
 Thus much, gentlemen, I have thought it necessary 
 to say of the general objection of skepticism, deduced 
 from the variableness of the faculties of intelligence. 
 As this charge cannot be brought against reason, 
 which is immutable, it can extend only to observation, 
 reasoning, and memory ; and I have shown, even if 
 it is true that these are fallible, that we are still 
 capable of distinguishing truth from error, in their 
 communications. This objection against the certainty 
 of human knowledge is thus shown to be without 
 force ; and it is proved, therefore, that we can arrive 
 at truth, if our faculties are only so organized as to 
 see things as they really are, and not to transmit to 
 us false images. Let us, then, return to the con- 
 sideration of this last objection ; and, having thus 
 driven skepticism behind its last intrenchment, let 
 us try its strength. 
 
 I hasten to say, then, that I know no positive
 
 238 JOUFFROY. 
 
 answer to this objection of the skeptic : there can be 
 no proof possible of the veracity of our intelligence. 
 And yet this objection is a remarkable one, and de- 
 serves consideration. 
 
 In the first place, then, you will please to observe, 
 that they even who are most swayed by this objec- 
 tion, pay no regard to it in practice. A philosopher 
 may very well conceive that there is no proof that 
 God has not so constituted his intelligence, as to see, 
 instead of the reality, something quite different from 
 it; and yet, whenever an object is presented to his 
 eyes, he will believe in the fidelity of the impression 
 received through them ; or, if his memory suggests 
 that he has promised to dine with a friend, he will 
 go ; or, if a threatening sound strikes his ear, he will 
 avoid the danger. There never was a skeptic who 
 escaped such inconsistencies, or who did not fall into 
 them a thousand times each day ; and, however strong 
 his reasons for doubt, he will yet believe as firmly as 
 the most determined dogmatist. 
 
 In the next place, please to consider whether there 
 is any way in which an intelligent being could be 
 organized so as to avoid this objection. If this being 
 is to be intelligent, he must, of course, be capable 
 of knowledge ; and, that he may be capable of it, 
 he must have faculties fitted to acquire knowledge. 
 An intelligent being could be organized in no other 
 way. Now, being rational, he will remark that he 
 has faculties, and that these faculties form part of 
 one individual organization, and that they are them- 
 selves individual ; and, at once, this very objection 
 of the skeptic arises, that, if they had been differently
 
 REFUTATION OF SKEPTICISM. 239 
 
 constituted they might have given him very different 
 notions of things. Indeed, so inherent is the possibility 
 of such an objection, in the very nature of an intelli- 
 gent being, that we cannot admit the thought that even 
 the Deity himself is secure from it, except when we re- 
 flect that we can form no adequate idea of his nature ; 
 for, if we take the highest idea we can form, and repre- 
 sent to ourselves the Deity as an intelligent being, who 
 acquires knowledge by the use of a faculty for know- 
 ing, we cannot, by any possibility, escape from the 
 conclusion that he might experience this very doubt, 
 urged by the skeptic against our faculties. Such 
 observations may suffice to show, that, even if this 
 objection cannot be refuted, it yet does not merit the 
 serious consideration of a philosopher. We can 
 know nothing, and can learn nothing, except by using 
 the intelligent faculties with which we are endowed ; 
 the first truth, which any man who would learn and 
 know, must recognize, is, that his faculties see things 
 as they really are ; for, otherwise, he must renounce 
 all learning and knowledge ; science becomes impos- 
 sible, and research vain. 
 
 This is the only answer that can be made to the 
 one irrefutable argument of skepticism. 
 
 As to the causes of error which are derived from 
 the imagination, the passions, education, and preju- 
 dice, and from the desires and propensities of the 
 body, they are all well known, and such as every man 
 is aware he must guard against. The precautions, 
 which must be taken in order that our faculties may 
 be preserved from their influence, are recognized uni- 
 versally as conditions for the legitimate exercise of
 
 240 JOUFFROY. 
 
 our faculties, and, consequently, for the legitimacy 
 of the knowledge acquired by them. 
 
 Independently, however, of these causes, which tend 
 to disturb the regular exercise of our intelligence, it 
 is said that the intelligent subject itself is variable ; 
 that it is modified by age, and changes from year to 
 year, and from day to day ; and that it is not from 
 one moment to another the same. I reply, that we 
 must make a distinction here. It is true, that our 
 body, like all bodies whatever, does undergo perpetual 
 alterations, and does each moment receive or lose 
 something, and is not identically the same for two 
 successive moments. Still the properties of its differ- 
 ent organs remain the same, amidst this continual flux 
 of the particles of which its substance is composed. 
 But it is not the body that has the capacity of knowing, 
 but the mind, or that which we call ourselves, our 
 me. Now the me declares itself identically the same 
 at every moment of existence ; and, if any one should 
 be inclined to deny this identity, he would immediately 
 be conducted to such absurd consequences as must 
 convince him that all the facts of human nature 
 imply this absolute identity, and are inexplicable with- 
 out it. 
 
 It is true, these very variations of our body exert 
 an important influence upon the mind ; but, then, 
 they are classed among the causes of error, and every 
 sensible man takes heed of them when he would 
 acquire accurate knowledge. The young man is 
 aware that his age is liable to passions which may 
 mislead his judgment, and which incline him to a 
 precipitancy and a self-confidence unfavorable to the
 
 REFUTATION OF SKEPTICISM. 241 
 
 pursuit for truth ; and we, on our part, in consulting 
 the judgment of youth, take into consideration these 
 sources of error, and estimate their influence. 
 
 I have now done with the skeptical objections de- 
 duced from the nature of the subject of knowledge ; 
 and I hasten to those which originate in the nature 
 of the object of knowledge, and of knowledge itself. 
 
 I have but a word to say of the former. It is un- 
 questionably true, that every external object is con- 
 stantly varying. But, observe, it is not what is variable 
 that interests us, or that is the object of science. It 
 is the substance of beings which changes ; but science 
 seeks to become acquainted rather with their specific 
 nature, which is permanent, and remains unchanged 
 in all essential characteristics. 
 
 This is not saying that the nature ' of beings is 
 incapable of change ; but the change is a regular 
 one. This change, in other words, is subject to laws, 
 and it is these laws which science seeks to learn. 
 This is true, not only of single beings, but of the 
 whole creation ; it remains the same, notwithstanding 
 the eternal movement that agitates, and alters, and 
 modifies, incessantly, all its parts a movement regu- 
 lar, and subject to fixed and immutable laws. And 
 it is this immutable form of the universe, and the 
 immutable laws of life animating it, which science 
 seeks to determine and know : these never chancre. 
 
 O 
 
 Science is not interested in the unceasing flux of 
 phenomena, forever passing throughout creation ; for 
 this is transient, and the transient is indifferent to 
 her. Thus, even if the skeptic's objection is founded 
 in truth, it still does not affect science, because it does 
 VOL. i. v
 
 212 JOUFFROY. 
 
 not extend to that which is really the object of science. 
 And this is enough to show you the weakness of all 
 skeptical arguments drawn from this main one. 
 
 Of objections brought against knowledge itself, the 
 first consists in saying that the idea which knowledge 
 gives us of the reality must be unworthy of confi- 
 dence, because, when compared with its object, our 
 "knowledge is so very incomplete. 
 
 To this I reply, if it is true that our faculties, when 
 legitimately and rightly used, do see things as they 
 really are, it is, then, also true, that the knowledge 
 communicated by them, is a faithful representation of 
 whatever portion of real being they observe ; and, there- 
 fore, the only charge which can be brought against 
 our knowledge, is its incompleteness. If, indeed, we 
 then proceed to draw from this fragment, of which we 
 have acquired knowledge, rash inductions :as to the 
 whole of real being, we may easily fall into error ; 
 but the knowledge of the portion observed by our 
 faculties will remain as true as before ; and this only 
 can be said, that we have reasoned badly, and drawn 
 from certain premises conclusions which they did 
 not contain. But it does not follow that we are in- 
 capable of reasoning correctly, because we can and 
 do sometimes reason incorrectly. If we draw from 
 the minute portion of real being which we are ac- 
 quainted with, rigorous inductions only as to the 
 whole, the notions arrived at will be exact. True, these 
 notions will still remain incomplete ; but the dogmatist 
 nowise pretends that human knowledge is complete; 
 he asserts only that it is faithful and trustworthy. 
 
 The second reason for doubt, found by the skeptic
 
 REFUTATION OF SKEPTICISM. 243 
 
 in the nature of knowledge itself, is drawn from the 
 consideration that human opinions are so different in 
 different eras, places, nations, individuals. To give 
 a thorough refutation of this objection would be an 
 endless task. I must limit myself to a few rapid 
 observations. 
 
 I remark, in the first place, that this diversity of 
 opinion is far from extending to all subjects. If any 
 one would undertake to draw up a counterpart to the 
 picture presented by the skeptic, I am perfectly sure 
 that the catalogue of opinions, held in common by 
 all mankind, would form a far more large and valuable 
 volume than the lists so often begun by skeptics of opin- 
 ions upon which men differ. What would have become 
 of the human race, indeed, if, upon points where it is 
 important to have certain knowledge, opinions had 
 been forever undetermined as to what is true or false. 
 The truth is, human opinion has never hesitated nor al- 
 tered in relation to those facts of the external world, or 
 of human nature, and of their respective laws, which it 
 is most important we should know. Do you ask why ? 
 Because the human race could have continued in 
 existence on no other condition. And do you know 
 that this part of human knowledge, representing the 
 notions held in common by all mankind, of all and 
 every age, is so very large, that the part representing 
 those about which they differ, becomes, in comparison, 
 imperceptible 1 Do you inquire, now, why this prin- 
 cipal and most important part of knowledge is so little 
 noticed, and why it plays so small a part on the theatre 
 of philosophical discussions 1 It is because it is so 
 essential to man, and so constantly employed by him,
 
 244 JOUFFROY. 
 
 that it becomes confounded with human nature itself; 
 it is because we acquire it so early, and because we 
 find it already formed and established in us when we 
 first begin to reflect, and because, therefore, it appears 
 to us as if we never had acquired it. It is that 
 treasure, stored up for the future man, by the incred- 
 ible activity of the young mind, in those first years, 
 which, though to the careless observer they may seem 
 a mere dream, are really the most fruitful in results 
 of any in existence a rare treasure, indeed, gentle- 
 men ; for it is with these ideas, common to every 
 individual, that men understand themselves and each 
 other ; they constitute us men, and therefore is it 
 that we do not notice them. The ideas which attract 
 our attention are those upon which we differ. And 
 how admirable is this provision ! For to those alone 
 which are uncertain need we direct our attention. 
 Hence, however, comes the illusion, which leads us 
 to consider these opinions as the whole of human 
 knowledge, and which makes us believe, in conse- 
 quence, that knowledge is uncertain ; and this illusion 
 must be kept distinctly in view, if we would estimate 
 the true force of the skeptical argument. 
 
 But the diversity and mutability of human opinions, 
 when thus limited, by no means lead to such conse- 
 quences as skeptics pretend. They are to be explained 
 by causes wholly different from that want of power in 
 the intellect to see the truth, which the skeptic assigns 
 as the reason. 
 
 The fallibility of intellect, gentlemen, is one cause. 
 In every case there can be but one truth, while there 
 may be numberless errors. It is, then, possible that
 
 REFUTATION OF SKEPTICISM. 245 
 
 we may be deceived in a thousand ways about every 
 thing; and, on the supposition that intellect is fallible, 
 a thousand different errors that is to say, different 
 opinions are possible; but does it follow, from this 
 variety of opinions, that truth cannot be discovered 1 
 or, when once found, that it cannot be separated 
 from the errors with which it is combined? Not 
 at all - as a thousand instances testify. How many 
 truths have been discovered and recognized, after 
 countless false systems had been proposed and refuted ! 
 Who, indeed, would ever pursue a science at all, 
 unless his studies tended to this result ? 
 
 The laws which govern the acquisition of knowledge 
 are another cause of the variety of opinions among 
 men. God has not endowed us with the prerogative 
 of attaining truth at once ; we reach it only by a 
 gradual progress, and successive steps only by 
 acquiring, in repeated efforts, its several elements. 
 Human knowledge cannot be, and should not be, 
 immutable. Each new discovery augments, and con- 
 sequently modifies, science ; and this is true at once 
 of every department, and of the whole of knowledge. 
 No opinion, no truth, then, is definitive, for it is not 
 complete. And, since nations and individuals have 
 advanced to different stages in this common progress 
 towards truth, the diversity and mutability of human 
 opinions are readily explained. Such an identity 
 and perpetuity of human opinion, as is demanded 
 by the skeptic, would be nothing less than the equality 
 and immutability of all human intelligence. 
 
 In addition, it may be said that there is one other 
 most fruitful source of illusion in this matter; and 
 
 V 2
 
 246 JOUFFROY. 
 
 it is, that the variety of forms in which ideas are 
 expressed is often supposed to be a variety in the 
 ideas themselves. Who does not know that the 
 same religious or political dogmas are often found 
 prevailing under forms the most apparently diverse ? 
 Who does not know, for example, how various are 
 the modes by which the grand article of faith, a 
 belief in a Deity, has been professed, in different 
 ages and countries? Viewed in the light of this 
 remark, this phantom of diversity in human opinion 
 subsides into quite moderate dimensions. 
 
 Indeed, there is nothing at all wonderful in this 
 variety of human opinions, if we consider the con- 
 ditions to which intelligence is subject, and the laws 
 of the formation, progress, and development of knowl- 
 edge. In proportion as we more thoroughly under- 
 stand the true laws of our faculties can we better 
 explain the progress of the human mind, and the 
 various errors through which it has passed. As soon 
 as men discovered the true mode of proceeding in the 
 investigation of physical science, it was at once seen 
 most clearly why antiquity had erred, and necessarily 
 erred. Hypothesis preceded observation in these 
 pursuits, and various hypotheses were successively 
 proposed and adopted, because it could not but be 
 that such hypotheses should seduce the mind of man, 
 and be tried ; and the hypothetical method finally 
 gave way to the method of observation, because the 
 proper time for it had come. The change of human 
 opinions in this respect was the necessary consequence 
 of the laws of the human mind, and not a sign of its 
 incapacity of arriving at truth.
 
 REFUTATION OP SKEPTICISM. 247 
 
 I will close this lecture, already too much pro- 
 longed, with one more observation upon the system 
 of skepticism. Is there, I ask, at the present day, 
 any one, who refuses to believe in the truths which 
 have been discovered in physical and mathematical 
 science? If these truths are not doubtful, if they 
 are worthy of credit, then it is plain that the faculties 
 of human intelligence are capable of acquiring truth. 
 They are not by nature deceptive,, therefore, or in- 
 competent to distinguish truth from error. If the 
 authority of these faculties is acknowledged in one 
 exercise of their power, then must it be acknowledged 
 in all; and, if denied at all, in any case, then is 
 all faith impossible. In other words, there can be 
 no half-skepticism, nor half-dogmatism. He who 
 would be a skeptic, in our day, must, if he would 
 be consistent, consider mathematical and physical 
 truths, as well as all others, chimerical. Skepticism, 
 which once occupied so prominent a position in 
 philosophy, has gradually withdrawn ; and, from rest- 
 ing on those arguments so much used by antiquity, 
 though now refuted, it finds itself driven, in modern 
 times, to take refuge in the simple metaphysical doubt 
 as to the veracity of our faculties an impregnable 
 position, it is true, but one where it does not and 
 cannot exert any actual influence on the human 
 mind.
 
 248 JOUFFROY. 
 
 LECTURE X. 
 
 GENTLEMEN, 
 
 WE have now completed the discussion of 
 systems which destroy the basis of morality by reason- 
 ings not drawn from the facts of human nature, and, 
 according to my original plan, I propose to pass next 
 to a second class of systems, which lead to the same 
 result through an incomplete and false analysis of 
 these facts. But, after what has been said in the 
 two last lectures on the subject of skepticism, I have 
 thought it might be useful for us to give some con- 
 sideration to what may be called the skepticism of the 
 present age. It is well thus to characterize it, because, 
 as it is not in my view a form of genuine skepticism, 
 this distinctive name may aid us in acquiring a correct 
 and precise view of the actual moral condition of 
 our era. 
 
 Skepticism, gentlemen, is a disposition in the mind 
 to admit nothing as worthy of belief; a disposition 
 produced by such a view of our means for acquiring 
 truth as leads to the conclusion that we are incom- 
 petent to attain to any certain knowledge. Such 
 is skepticism, strictly defined ; and to such skepticism
 
 THE SKEPTICISM OP THE PRESENT AGE. 249 
 
 I will give the name of absolute skepticism, to distin- 
 guish it from another state of mind also called skep- 
 ticism, which differs from it entirely. 
 
 The state of mind to which I now refer may be seen 
 in any person who is without a faith ; and yet he may 
 be wholly wanting in the characteristic of genuine 
 skepticism, a determination to believe nothing, founded 
 on the opinion that we have no means of arriving at 
 certainty. A person may be without a faith, simply 
 because he does not know what the truth is upon the 
 great questions of human interest, and not at all be- 
 cause he admits in principle that the human mind is 
 incapable of attaining to truth. Let us call this state 
 of mind actual skepticism, to distinguish it from the 
 disposition to believe nothing, which I have named 
 absolute skepticism. 
 
 Keeping in mind this distinction, we shall see at 
 once that the mass of mankind can never be absolute 
 skeptics. They have not the information and leisure 
 requisite for such an analysis of the phenomena of 
 knowledge, as would lead to the conviction that the 
 human mind is incapable of arriving at truth. The 
 world has never yet seen, and for ages at least never 
 will see, a whole people penetrated with such a convic- 
 tion, and possessed by such a skepticism. But, on the 
 other hand, actual skepticism, or a simple want of faith 
 from mere ignorance of the truth upon important ques- 
 tions, may very easily prevail among the mass of a 
 people ; though even this, the only kind of skepticism 
 to which they are liable, is always repugnant to them. 
 
 Among the various considerations from which abso- 
 lute skepticism arises, there is but one that can to any
 
 250 JOUFFROY. 
 
 great degree be felt by a whole nation, and thus intro- 
 duce into it the germ of genuine skepticism. This 
 consideration is the contradictory and variable nature 
 of human opinions. But it is only the better informed 
 who are liable to be impressed even by this ; for to rise 
 to a view of human opinion as contradictory and varia- 
 ble, must require such a degree of historical knowledge 
 as can be possessed only by the more enlightened. The 
 people, properly so called, are not competent to this. 
 I add, now, that this truly skeptical view, the only one, 
 as I have said, which can penetrate the heart of a peo- 
 ple, is always a traditional and transmitted one, and 
 never originates in the spontaneous action of the people 
 themselves. In every instance it will be found to be an 
 impulse communicated from the philosophy prevalent 
 among the few, who consecrate their lives to thought 
 and reflection. 
 
 True skepticism is then peculiar to men who reflect, 
 whose social function, if I may use the expression, is 
 thinking. Absolute skepticism is always foreign to the 
 mass. The skepticism to which they are liable is ac- 
 tual skepticism ; and this is, as we have seen, not a 
 determined disposition, but an accidental state of mind, 
 consisting in a simple want of knowledge as to what 
 the truth is upon the great questions of human interest. 
 
 No student of history, gentlemen, will deny that there 
 have been eras, when this actual skepticism, this want 
 of all faith and conviction, has been widely spread 
 throughout the mass of mankind ; or that, on the con- 
 trary, there have been eras, when systems giving definite 
 solutions of all great questions have prevailed. History 
 shows us states of society, where whole nations, from
 
 THE SKEPTICISM OF THE PRESENT AGE. 251 
 
 the child who has not begun to think, to the old man on 
 the verge of life, have believed firmly in certain abso- 
 lute dogmas; and it shows us also other states, where 
 whole nations have been plunged in doubt and igno- 
 rance as to truth. As a matter of fact, then, there have 
 been eras, when actual skepticism has pervaded the 
 mass, and others, when it has been unknown. 
 
 History assigns to these different states of society 
 names which are most distinctive of their peculiar 
 characteristics. She calls the former religious eras, the 
 latter irreligious ; because in the one religion has pre- 
 vailed, while in the other its influence has been want- 
 ing. For, observe, a system of faith upon the great 
 questions of human interest, established on the common 
 convictions of all men, of the enlightened, and of the 
 people alike, always assumes the form and receives the 
 name of a religion. Thus far, in the world's history, 
 it has always been under a religious form, that the great 
 ideas, which have possessed nations, and governed and 
 guided them, have been exhibited. On the other hand, 
 the eras, where the mass have wanted all faith and 
 established convictions, have been those in which reli- 
 gious faith was annihilated, and where no religious 
 doctrine prevailed. It is with good reason, then, that 
 history distinguishes as religious the eras of faith, and 
 as irreligious those of actual skepticism. 
 
 What, now, it may be asked, are the causes of this 
 skepticism? I have elsewhere exhibited them, and 
 they are at the present day well known. When a sys- 
 tem of faith has prevailed among the mass for a length 
 of time, there will and must come a period, sooner or 
 later, when the errors, which are intermingled with
 
 252 JOUFFROY. 
 
 even the highest and most important truth in all hu- 
 man opinions, will strike the minds of the enlightened. 
 Then springs up a spirit of critical examination, which, 
 scrutinizing the whole system of faith, and discover- 
 ing its various imperfections, ends by concluding, that 
 where the parts are so defective, the whole system must 
 be unworthy of credit in an advanced stage of society. 
 It is among philosophers, or at least among the most in- 
 telligent members of society, that such a revolution com- 
 mences ; and it is among them that it is carried out and 
 completed ; but the results of their researches penetrate 
 all classes, and finding their way down from the summit 
 to the base of society, reach finally the mass, where, 
 sapping and ruining all convictions and the whole sys- 
 tem of truth, they produce a total want of faith. Such 
 is the progress of actual skepticism among the people. 
 It is a result of a foreign and superior influence, that is, 
 of the action of philosophers, who, summing up the 
 knowledge which the human race has attained, and 
 comparing with it the prevailing faith, discover and 
 announce that this received system is not on a level 
 with the advanced intelligence of their age, and should 
 therefore be rejected. 
 
 That we, gentlemen, at the present day, are living in 
 such an era is so evident, that few would be inclined to 
 question it. How, indeed, can it be denied that in 
 most minds now there is an utter want of faith upon 
 the great questions which interest man? And yet, in 
 the midst of this actual skepticism, you cannot find a 
 shadow of absolute philosophic skepticism. Indeed, if 
 you could penetrate the minds of the mass, you could 
 not find in their modes of thinking any one of the
 
 THE SKEPTICISM OF THE PRESENT AGE. 253 
 
 grounds of absolute skepticism even so much as sus- 
 pected. The people do not trouble themselves with 
 asking, " What is the authority of the human faculties?" 
 or, " What is the nature of the object of knowledge, or 
 the nature of knowledge itself? " They are utterly igno- 
 rant whether the nature of our faculties, of the object 
 of knowledge, and of knowledge itself, are, or are not, 
 such as would lead to the conclusion, that the mind is 
 incapable of arriving at truth. The mass never think 
 of this. But further I will say, that even in the more 
 intelligent portion of society, in that portion which 
 thinks and reflects, and may properly be called the 
 philosophic class, the elements of absolute skepticism 
 are hardly to be found at all, or only in a very small 
 degree. Without doubt, in our age, as in all ages, there 
 are minds to which such considerations present them- 
 selves; but the incredulity of our age is not caused by 
 them. The cause of prevalent incredulity is, simply, 
 that all former solutions of interesting problems have 
 been refuted, and that no others as yet are found. Our 
 age is not so much skeptical, as it is wanting in faith ; 
 it does not believe that the truth cannot be discovered j 
 it is merely ignorant of the truth. 
 
 The revolution, of which this state of mind is the 
 result, had its origin long ago ; it dates back not to the 
 political revolution of 1830, nor the events of 1814, nor 
 to the social revolution of 1789 ; it has come down from 
 a much earlier age, and began as far back as the fif- 
 teenth century. I say as far, because we should find, on 
 close examination, that it had an origin yet more remote. 
 
 In this revolution there have been two distinct peri- 
 ods, each having its peculiar causes, character, and 
 VOL. i. w
 
 254 JOUFFROY. 
 
 results ; ana we must distinguish these periods accu- 
 rately, if we would form a precise notion of our present 
 situation. 
 
 Before this want of all conviction, which I have 
 described, can pervade any people, there must have 
 been previously a conflict of longer or shorter duration, 
 but still a violent one, against the dominant faith. 
 Every such revolution, as we have been considering, 
 has necessarily its origin in a period of warfare with 
 prevalent opinions, terminating in their defeat and 
 overthrow. Now, in the present instance, a controversy 
 of this nature has been continued from earlier times to 
 our own day ; and it was indeed the striking and dis- 
 tinguishing characteristic of the eighteenth century, 
 that it was incompetent to finish the controversy which 
 had been transmitted to it. The eighteenth century 
 was the closing scene of the first period of the revolu- 
 tion, in the midst of which we of the nineteenth cen- 
 tury are living ; it did not begin this revolution ; it 
 neither discovered nor announced its leading principles ; 
 but it did make them popularly known, and did dissem- 
 inate their results through society. The eighteenth 
 century acted an important part, therefore, in the pro- 
 gress of this revolution, for it exhibited plainly to all 
 eyes the true nature of the controversy. 
 
 In this first period of the revolution, the loss of 
 earlier convictions was not accompanied with a desire 
 of another faith to supply their place. We do not find, 
 in the skeptical writers of the eighteenth century, any 
 longing expressed for faith. They were filled with a 
 sense of the work of destruction which they were com- 
 missioned to perform; but, so far were they from being
 
 THE SKEPTICISM OF THE PRESENT AGE. 255 
 
 conscious of a desire and need of faith, that they even 
 rejoiced and triumphed in their skepticism as in their 
 chief title to honor. We have reached an era now, how- 
 ever, when the results of this destructive war remain, 
 without the joy in casting off belief which characterized 
 the last century. This change is a momentous one, and 
 it could not but come. It is not in our nature to remain 
 satisfied without light upon the great questions of human 
 interest : when the mind has once lost the truth, it 
 must seek it anew, for it cannot live without it. It is 
 only by a transient illusion, that, in the earlier period of 
 the revolutionary era, rest and peace are sought in skep- 
 ticism ; no sooner is victory attained than the illusion is 
 dissipated, and the need of faith again is felt. Then 
 begins the second period of the revolutionary move- 
 ment, a period in which, all conviction being destroyed, 
 the desire for faith is once more felt with all its conse- 
 quences. And this is precisely our situation at the 
 present day ; we have a want of faith and a longing for 
 it. These are the two characteristics of our age. And 
 our actual condition in all its detail will seem perfectly 
 intelligible, and even such as he might have predicted, 
 to any one, who fully comprehends the logical conse- 
 quences, of these states of mind. Let us, then, attempt 
 to follow out the chief of these consequences. 
 
 The striking and predominant trait of the eighteenth 
 century, gentlemen, was a disposition to admit nothing 
 as worthy of belief. As the work then to be completed 
 was the destruction of all that was false, the tendency 
 of every mind was to skepticism. But now, when a 
 desire for faith coexists with a want of all conviction
 
 256 JOUFFROY. 
 
 and established principle, a wholly opposite disposition 
 has been developed, even a disposition to believe every 
 thing; and this disposition to believe every thing is 
 really a distinctive characteristic of our age, often as 
 men deceive themselves by calling it a skeptical one. 
 
 The consequences of this disposition to believe every 
 thing have been different in different minds. Impelled 
 by the common want, some have endeavored to repro- 
 duce the faith of past ages; and this was natural 
 enough, because, as that faith had already once received 
 a definite and complete shape, it was necessary only to 
 readopt it. This class of persons have pronounced 
 their anathema against the three last centuries, and all 
 that they have accomplished, especially against the 
 eighteenth, the most fatal of all to previously established 
 convictions. Devotees to the past, they admire and 
 honor it, and seek to reestablish in their rninds, and 
 rekindle in their hearts, that faith which these three 
 centuries have extinguished. Another class have be- 
 come utterly discouraged ; and seeing behind them 
 only ruined and overthrown convictions, and before 
 them an empty void, they have given up all hope of find- 
 ing truth. This is the party of despair. There is a 
 third class, incomparably the largest, who are waiting 
 for a good which the future is to bring ; they, too, feel 
 the want of faith, but they neither despair of finding it, 
 nor do they seek it in the past, they look for it to the 
 coming time. 
 
 It is natural and necessary that the party of the past 
 and the party of despair should be small in number and 
 in influence ; the third party only, which, impelled by
 
 THE SKEPTICISM OF THE PRESENT AGE. 257 
 
 common want, seek to satisfy it by the discovery of a 
 new moral order of the social world, can hope for 
 success. 
 
 This movement of loving and seeking for a new faith 
 has introduced a new period in the revolution. It be- 
 gan with the persuasion that the faith of the future 
 must be directly opposite to that of the past an illusion 
 quite natural and conformable to the laws of the human 
 mind. We all reason thus in great and small affairs 
 alike ; it is the first and instinctive movement of the 
 human mind. This reaction produced a general ten- 
 dency to the opposite of what had already been. We 
 had been living under an absolute government ; we 
 were driven, therefore, to the opposite of such a govern- 
 ment, that is, to a democracy. The philosophy of the 
 Christian faith which had prevailed was eminently 
 spiritual ; a material faith was therefore introduced to 
 reign for its moment. Art, too, under the" influence of 
 Christianity, had been spiritual and ideal, like the con- 
 victions which it imbodied ; and art, therefore, must 
 become, as it did under David, first material, and then, 
 somewhat later, fond of the actual, and even of the de- 
 formed. The morality of a Christian era had been a 
 morality of devotedness, of self-sacrifice, productive of 
 greatness of soul and character ; the morality which 
 followed the triumplrof skepticism was that of pleasure 
 and self-interest. Such were the first fruits of the 
 reconstructive impulse, which, setting out from the void 
 that doubt had brought, rushed into the opposite of 
 what had been, with frenzied ardor. The necessary 
 result of such a movement was to produce such an 
 exaggerated and unnatural mode of thinking as could
 
 258 JOUFFROY. 
 
 not long fail to awaken disgust and dread. And for this 
 plain reason ; when skepticism succeeds in overturning 
 a system of faith that has long prevailed over any large 
 portion of the human race, it is on account of the errors 
 and imperfections of that system. But skepticism is 
 not confined to these errors, and does not limit itself to 
 a demand of their rejection ; reasoning from the parts 
 to the whole, it pronounces the entire system false, and 
 the generations absurd which have held it. Hence the 
 illusion that truth will be found in what is exactly 
 opposite to past conviction. Now, it is impossible that 
 the human race should be governed for ages by ideas 
 which are wholly false : there must, then, have been a 
 large portion of truth in any doctrine which has for a 
 length of time been generally admitted ; for thus, and 
 thus only, could it have acquired and preserved its as- 
 cendency. To throw ourselves, then, in our desire to 
 reconstruct a faith, headlong into the very opposite of 
 what has heretofore been believed, is necessarily to turn 
 away from much which certainly is true, in the search of 
 what may be either true or not. Systems which origi- 
 nate in such a mad movement of reaction, are destined 
 always to disappear, after a short existence, before the 
 good sense of mankind. And thus already have we 
 seen the reign of materialism and deformity disappear 
 from art. And in literature, also, the impassioned 
 style, which has overstepped and trampled down the 
 rules of Aristotle and Boileau, may be considered as 
 nearly exhausted and soon to pass away. The same 
 movement carried us from the old political regime to 
 extreme and unlimited democracy ; but already has this 
 tendency begun to be most seriously and severely
 
 THE SKEPTICISM OP THE PRESENT AGE. 259 
 
 judged by that good sense, which sees at once its in- 
 conveniences and excesses. The reign of materialism 
 has been of short duration ; and already, in the hearts 
 of the young, at least, is spiritualism enthroned : in- 
 deed, it would be difficult to find, in society at large, 
 any individuals advocating that moral code of mere 
 pleasure, which was openly professed by the most 
 respectable of the last century. It appears plain, 
 therefore, that many of the extreme tendencies of the 
 reaction are already dead, while others show symptoms 
 of decay. 
 
 The systems which resulted from these tendencies, 
 were thus destined to be short lived ; the fruits of a 
 blind reaction, they were blind and fanatical them- 
 selves. And now that their ephemeral reign is ended, 
 we are fast falling, and have, in part, already fallen 
 into a state yet worse than that which immediately 
 succeeded the triumph of skepticism. Then, indeed, 
 there was an absence of all faith, but there was not 
 a want of confidence in our power of attaining to 
 truth ; for we had not yet tested the power by trial, 
 and it seemed as if it would be easy to find new 
 solutions of the problems of greatest interest to man, 
 in place of former ones, which were destroyed. But 
 now, when the first efforts of reason, in the examination 
 of these questions, has failed, now, when we have 
 seen only systems invented, so foolish as to deserve 
 no respect, doubt arises as to the capacity of human 
 intelligence to re-discover the truth which we have 
 lost ; and hence a more profound uncertainty and a 
 deeper consciousness of want of faith than was felt 
 at first. From this feeling of want and of uncertainty
 
 260 JOUFFROY. 
 
 have originated the most striking peculiarities of the 
 present age. 
 
 You may have remarked that, when, in meditating 
 by yourselves, or in conversation with others, you seek 
 to determine what is beautiful or deformed, true or 
 false, good or bad, you meet with difficulties; and 
 that, in all debates upon such questions, each side 
 seems to have reasons in its favor, and defenders ; so 
 that it actually appears as if arguments for and against 
 were equally strong and worthy of consideration. 
 
 But, gentlemen, do you, therefore, conclude that 
 this is the natural state of human intelligence, or that 
 these are phenomena common to all eras ? By no 
 means. It is the absence, in our day, of any criterion 
 of true and false, of good and bad, of beauty and 
 deformity, which produces this condition of things. 
 As all first principles have been destroyed, all rules 
 to guide the judgment have been abolished also ; 
 and, without a common rule recognized by judgment, 
 we cannot have a common understanding with others, 
 or arrive at a certain solution of any question. And 
 what is the consequence ? Each individual will feel 
 that he is free to believe as he chooses, and will 
 declare, with authority, his chosen faith. By what 
 test shall it be condemned ? By that of some grand 
 truth which is recognized and admitted ? There is 
 none. By the authority, then, only of any one who 
 disputes his opinion, and who, as he is his equal, 
 cannot be his judge. In our day, individuals reign 
 supreme ; their authority is complete and unlimited. 
 And, as the right of each individual to think as he 
 pleases, has naturally produced an infinite variety of
 
 THE SKEPTICISM OF THE PRESENT AGE. 261 
 
 opinions, all equal in worth and authority, the result 
 is that state of complete intellectual anarchy amid 
 which we are living. On the one side is the unlim- 
 ited authority of the individual; for this authority is 
 subject to no common faith, no admitted criterion 
 of truth, by which all . minds are governed and di- 
 rected, and around which they rally. On the other 
 side is an infinite diversity of opinion ; for, as the 
 authority of one individual is equal to that of another, 
 each is entitled to call his opinion true. Individuality 
 and anarchy, then, are the two great characteristics 
 of our era ; they are inevitable in the present age, and, 
 as we see, they every where prevail. 
 
 One further circumstance cooperates to establish 
 this state of intellectual democracy. It is experience 
 which chiefly produces inequality between men, stor- 
 ing, as it does, the minds of those who have lived 
 longest with the greatest variety of facts and ideas. 
 But it is the tendency of eras like our own to call 
 in question this incontrovertible fact. Succeeding 
 to long ages which have believed in what is now 
 proved to be false, it has, and cannot but have, a 
 contempt for the past ; the past is to it the symbol of 
 error ; thus far it thinks men have known nothing and 
 doubted nothing ; truth is to be sought and found 
 in the future ; the more attached we are to the past, 
 the further are we from truth; and truth is nearer, 
 the more we live in the future and the younger we 
 are. Hence the thorough disdain for experience and 
 antiquity which marks our times. The young man 
 of to-day measures himself with those of many years ;
 
 262 JOUFFROY. 
 
 and, before his school days are over, the boy thinks 
 and declares himself equal to his sire ; and this state 
 of things is a strict and necessary consequence of 
 what has gone before. This notion of the equality 
 of minds is carried so far, that the judgment of 
 eighteen has as much authority as that of fifty ; and 
 the reasoning of a day laborer, on a question of policy, 
 is considered as decisive as that of a statesman whose 
 whole life has been passed in the midst of public affairs, 
 or of a student grown gray in thought. Undoubtedly, 
 the good sense which survives the greatest aberrations 
 of human intelligence, will moderate this intellectual 
 democracy, and check the consequences which may 
 be seen logically to flow from it ; but, though checked, 
 they yet more or less appear, as if to make mankind 
 aware of their tendencies. 
 
 This is not all, gentlemen : the conviction that the 
 past has been deceived, leads to a disregard of the 
 serious study of historical facts ; and the conviction 
 that there is no criterion for truth, produces a con- 
 tempt for reflection ; and hence results a profound 
 ignorance, which, combined with presumption, are two 
 characteristic traits of the present intellectual era. 
 The consequence of this upon the literary produc- 
 tions of our time, is the amazing folly with which 
 notions, at once the most absurd and trite, are confi- 
 dently thrown out, and the utter want of all such 
 positive knowledge as would authorize the confidence. 
 These two defects are, however, but the necessary 
 consequences of the individuality and intellectual 
 anarchy which disturb us : they are the natural result
 
 THE SKEPTICISM OF THE PRESENT AGE. 263 
 
 of our present situation, which is itself a necessary 
 period in the revolutionary movement now passing 
 around us. 
 
 The effect of the various facts which I have now 
 been describing, is a general weakness of character. 
 Character, indeed, scarcely exists in our day, and for 
 this reason ; of the two elements of which character is 
 composed, firm will and fixed principles, the second 
 is wanting, and the first, therefore, powerless. For 
 to what end would be a firm will without fixed prin- 
 ciples ? A mighty instrument, doubtless, but a useless 
 one. Governed and directed by strong conviction, 
 it will work wonders of decision, of devotedness, of 
 constancy and heroism. But in such an age as ours, 
 without established faith and fixed ideas, and without, 
 moreover, the power of forming them, where the only 
 authority is the caprice of individuals, who, proud 
 of independence, glory in deciding in every case for 
 themselves, how can such a will exist ? He who has 
 faith is proof against the absurd ideas and foolish 
 imaginations which visit even the soundest mind : 
 strong in his convictions, he applies them as a test 
 and a criterion ; and chimeras, fancies, and inconsis- 
 tencies disappear, while that alone, which is in har- 
 mony with his convictions, remains. But we, who 
 are without faith, want this criterion ; and, therefore, 
 we can neither judge, approve, nor blame. And, 
 consequently, as a fact, we neither do approve nor 
 condemn ; we accept and tolerate every thing ; and, 
 by turns, the sport of wholly opposite opinions, we 
 are wanting in well-ordered purposes, in definite plans 
 for conduct, and in dignity of character. What I
 
 264 JOUFFROY. 
 
 now state is not brought forward in the way of re- 
 proach, but as a matter of fact ; our age is what 
 it actually is by necessity. I only describe and ex- 
 plain it. 
 
 The love of change, gentlemen, is another charac- 
 teristic of our present intellectual condition. Love 
 of any kind is only a desire for something which we 
 need ; and our great need now is, of those truths 
 which may restore and regenerate individuals and 
 society ; it is in the future only that we can expect 
 to find them. Hence our age is looking with hope 
 and love to that future, and gives itself up cheerfully 
 to change. We seem to be living not so much in 
 the present as in the future, and receive each novelty 
 with rapturous enthusiasm} as if, because new, it 
 was that of which we feel the want. The secret 
 and unconscious longing of our hearts is for some- 
 thing yet untried, as if it alone could satisfy our 
 desires. 
 
 Hence that indiscriminate passion for revolution, 
 which makes us the dupes and tools of each adven- 
 turer's ambitious dreams, and renders vain the sacri- 
 fices and the cost of social convulsion. 
 
 For, observe, what we need is no mere outward 
 change. Let society pass through any number of 
 outward revolutions, and, unless the ideas which it is 
 in want of are thereby supplied, they will leave it 
 exactly where it was, and will be wholly useless. 
 What we want is, an answer to these questions, which 
 Christianity has heretofore answered, but which, to 
 many, remain unanswered now ; and nothing is so 
 ill calculated to supply this want, as tumults in the
 
 THE SKEPTICISM OF THE PRESENT AGE. 265 
 
 streets, and overturns of governments. Reflection 
 alone makes discoveries in truth, and peace is needed 
 for reflection. Outward revolutions are, indeed, of 
 service, when they tend to realize the truths which 
 have already been discovered ; but to desire revolution, 
 when the truths for which an age is sighing are yet 
 unknown, and as a means for discovering them, is to 
 commit the absurdity of wishing that the consequence 
 should produce its principle, or an end its means. 
 
 This, however, is the very thing which the multi- 
 tude does not see ; it is so deluded as to expect, from 
 every future change, that new and unknown something 
 which may make them happy. They hurry on to 
 revolution with blind madness, impatient of the 
 present, eager for the future. Before this torrent of 
 popular passion no institution can stand, no govern- 
 ment endure. Hence such short-lived popularity as 
 we continually see. When a new man appears in the 
 political world, we greet him with admiration and 
 honor. Why? Because we hope that in him we 
 have at last found one who can satisfy our wants. 
 And what follows ? As he, no more than we our- 
 selves, has any answer for the problems which we 
 wish to solve, in a few weeks after his elevation to 
 power, we find him barren and empty as his prede- 
 cessors, and at once his popularity declines. In our 
 day, in fact, the mere possession of power is reason 
 sufficient for unpopularity. They only are, or can be, 
 popular, who have not yet acquired the power they 
 seek. They, as yet, have not uttered their secret ; 
 and the moment when they are in a position to declare 
 it, and when it appears that they, like the rest, have 
 
 VOL. I, X
 
 266 JOUFFHOY. 
 
 no more to tell, the warm favor which welcomed them 
 grows cool, for the illusion which made them great 
 is gone. 
 
 From what has now been said, gentlemen, you can 
 readily perceive the cause of the unhappiness of that 
 collective being, called a government, in our day. 
 The people are like children, who feel a want, and 
 cry to the nurse for something, she can neither 
 discover nor imagine what, and which, very possibly, 
 may be wholly out of reach. The people feel a pain- 
 ful uneasiness, but they know not its cause ; and they 
 complain, therefore, now of the form of government 
 under which they live, and then of those who conduct 
 it, because the evil which they suffer from is not rooted 
 out. They forever desire to substitute other men 
 for those now in power ; in place of established forms, 
 they would have new ones; and, for existing laws, 
 and the social order already prevailing, they seek 
 new laws and a new order ; persuaded that the 
 source of the evil is -in the government, in the laws, 
 in the organization of society, and that, with the 
 change of these, they shall find what- they seek. 
 But, were all changed, they would still remain as 
 unhappy and discontented as at first ; for the changes 
 they desire are only outward and material, not moral, 
 while it is a moral change of which there really is 
 a need. And, as long as the desired solutions of 
 these questions remain unfound, in the light of which 
 society is to be remodelled in a form adequate to 
 the wants of the human mind, so long will society 
 continue to pass through a constant succession of 
 ineffectual changes.
 
 THE SKEPTICISM OF THE PRESENT AGE. 267 
 
 Whence arose that social structure, whose foun- 
 dations the three last centuries have sapped, and 
 which the revolution finally overthrew? It arose 
 from the solutions which Christianity had given of 
 the great problems of human interest. These solu- 
 tions, unlike those proposed by the wise of our time, 
 were not negative in character ; and hence the results 
 to which they led in art, religion, and politics, were 
 positive. Institutions and laws proceeded from them; 
 organizations and forms of government, social and 
 political order, were wrapped as a germ in these 
 solutions ;- and this order has been, and could not 
 but have been, unfolded in past ages. At the present 
 day, this order is destroyed ; and, to produce another 
 in its room, we need a new germ; that is to say, 
 new solutions of those grand questions which Chris- 
 tianity has heretofore answered. These questions must 
 be answered before either individuals or communities 
 can be reorganized, and reproduce a new system 
 of life and conduct. How, indeed, can they, who 
 know not the end for which they are living upon 
 earth, determine the manner in which they ought 
 to live? And, ignorant of this, how can they constitute, 
 organize, and regulate society? If we know not 
 the destiny of individuals, we cannot know that of 
 society ; and, if we know not the destiny of society, 
 we cannot organize it. A religious and moral faith is, 
 then, the only possible solution of political problems. 
 We have not such a faith ; and no outward revolution, 
 therefore, whatsoever, can accomplish any thing for 
 society. 
 
 We cannot meditate too much upon these con-
 
 268 JOUFFROY. 
 
 siderations, if we would acquire a distinct and accu- 
 rate view of the present state of things ; for here, 
 and not elsewhere, is its explanation. But the people 
 are ignorant of their true condition, and their blind 
 and generous impulses, therefore, are used as instru- 
 ments by ambitious men. Each day appear a crowd 
 of empirics, who promise, on the single condition 
 of being raised to power, that they can supply the 
 want of which all are conscious, and seek in vain 
 to satisfy. The intelligent and enlightened see that 
 these quacks abuse their power; but, as if they had 
 really found that unknown something for which all 
 are craving, they talk of republic, of unlimited suffrage, 
 of legitimacy; and, seduced by the word, which we 
 mistake for a thing, we passionately pursue the untried 
 good, and discover our mistake only when experience 
 has proved that it is an empty name. Thus, again 
 and again, we give new names to the unknown good, 
 and chase a thousand phantoms, which can never 
 satisfy us, but will forever leave us discontented as 
 before. Here is the explanation of the constant 
 disappointments, which, for forty years, the friends 
 of social liberty have experienced in France. 
 
 By turns, each new form of freedom has seemed 
 to be the good for which we were sighing, and a 
 want of it the source of all our woes. But, when 
 successively we have acquired them, and yet found 
 ourselves unimproved in condition, we are restless 
 as before; and a revolution is scarcely over, when 
 the plan is sketched for a new one. The cause 
 of this is our ignorance of our own condition. These 
 various forms of civil liberty, which we have been
 
 THE SKEPTICISM OF THE PRESENT AGE. 269 
 
 struggling for, civil liberty itself, even, is not, 
 and cannot be, the end which society, in our day, 
 is really pursuing. It is, indeed, an advantage of 
 free communities, that no master can turn them 
 from the pursuit of their true end, and impose upon 
 them one of his own choosing ; and they have this 
 additional advantage, that they are better fitted than 
 other communities to discover and accomplish their 
 true destiny. In this twofold aspect, the various suc- 
 cessive forms of civil liberty have been beneficial ; 
 but beyond this they have brought no good. Liberty 
 is nothing more than an opportunity offered to a 
 people of accomplishing its destiny, and a guaranty 
 that it shall not be hindered from so doing: liberty is 
 not, in itself, the accomplishment of that destiny. 
 The same may be said of order ; and it is plain, there- 
 fore, that the true destiny of a community is some- 
 thing different from, and superior to, both liberty and 
 order. 
 
 Do you doubt this, gentlemen ? Examine, then, 
 the various rights which we now enjoy, and see if 
 they are any thing more than opportunities and 
 means. We were filled with a passion for popular 
 election, and, after long struggles, secured the privi- 
 lege ; and, in consequence, a large number of our 
 fellow-citizens now take a part in the appointment of 
 the highest public functionaries. And, when, at 
 great expense, we assemble our citizens to elect those 
 who shall command the national militia, or become 
 municipal counsellors, or counsellors of departments, 
 or members of the chamber of deputies, what do we 
 really accomplish 1 Two things. In the first place,
 
 270 JOUFFROY. 
 
 we give a pledge that no individual shall be allowed 
 to substitute his private interests for those of his 
 country, or to prevent the nation from accomplishing 
 its destiny ; and, secondly, we intrust to the assembled 
 citizens the responsibility of determining and declar- 
 ing what measures are most for the public good, or, 
 at least, of sending to the various national councils 
 men who can decide upon them, or elect, among 
 themselves, competent persons to be in power. Such 
 are the reasons for which popular elections are valua- 
 ble ; but of these two results, one positive and the 
 other negative, mere election attains only the first ; 
 it really does" prevent any individual from using the 
 country for his own purposes ; and this is all that it 
 can do; for, if the electors and those elected are 
 ignorant of what constitutes the public good, it is 
 plain that our wants will not be satisfied, and, there- 
 fore, that mere liberty of elections will not secure the 
 end we seek. The same may be said with regard to 
 liberty of the press, and all other civil rights ; so 
 that, however desirous we may be of obtaining various 
 forms of freedom and civil institutions, we shall 
 deceive ourselves greatly, if we suppose that they can, 
 by themselves, afford a remedy to social ills. Forms 
 and institutions are but pledges and protections against 
 whatever threatens to impede the progress of a moral 
 revolution ; and, possibly, they may be a means also 
 to advance it; but this is all ; a moral revolution only 
 can cure our social diseases. I say that the exercise 
 of civil right may, possibly, be a means of advancing 
 this revolution, because, high as is my respect for the 
 popular mind, I yet think this popular mind, this cam-
 
 THE SKEPTICISM OF THE PllESENT AGE. 271 
 
 mon sense, rather fitted to recognize truth than to 
 discover it; of all the great truths which have influ- 
 enced the destinies of the human race, I know not 
 one which originated in the instinct of the mass ; 
 they have all been the discoveries of gifted individ- 
 uals, and the fruit of the solitary meditations of 
 thinking men. But once brought to light, once ex- 
 hibited, and it is the adoption of them by the mass 
 of the people, which consecrates them. 
 
 What has now been said of our present moral 
 condition, will sufficiently indicate the course of con- 
 duct which every wise and earnest man, is, in our 
 era, bound to pursue, in view of his own dignity and 
 the interests of his country. 
 
 And first, it is his duty to be calm", to raise himself 
 above, and to escape from the chimerical dreams to 
 which the mass of men are the prey ; and thus be 
 preserved from the delusive and absurd schemes which 
 are their natural result. To attain this state of mind, 
 it is only necessary to comprehend the universal law 
 of revolution, and the precise period of the revolution 
 now passing, at which we, in this age, have arrived. If, 
 in what is going on around us, we accustom ourselves 
 to see the successive phases of a grand law of hu- 
 manity in the process of development, we shall be 
 less disposed to abandon ourselves to the passionate 
 fears and hopes, to the ardent attachments and aver- 
 sions, which every new party and event, however 
 trifling, will otherwise awaken. It is only when we 
 regard them from this elevation that we can judge 
 of their real importance. When we take a compre- 
 hensive view of the mighty revolution, which, for
 
 272 JOUFFROY. 
 
 the three last centuries, has been agitating Europe, 
 and consider its sources and tendencies ; when we 
 measure what has been accomplished with what 
 remains yet undone ; when we call to mind the 
 slowness with which it has thus far advanced, and 
 with which it is destined to advance in the time to 
 come, and then conceive distinctly of the true 
 nature of this revolution, and the end at which it 
 aims ; how trifling appear many events called im- 
 portant ! How momentous others, at first sight small ! 
 Each object then assumes its just dimensions, and 
 the illusions and passions which had confused the 
 view are scattered, even if they do not wholly dis- 
 appear. 
 
 For those who live in the future, and who are 
 seeking, from government and the laws, a good 
 which no individuals can bestow, that unknown 
 and mysterious something which the future veils, 
 that ineffable ideal, the desire of which prompts each 
 social movement, and which, for myself, I call a 
 new system of faith on the grand questions which 
 must forever interest man, for all such persons, 
 a clear understanding of the nature of the passing 
 revolution, and of the precise point at which it has 
 now arrived, is well calculated to moderate impatience. 
 For, when we once comprehend what is really to be 
 accomplished, we see that it cannot be done in a 
 moment, but that it must necessarily be the fruit 
 of long labor, and slowly perfected ; and that it is 
 not in the power of institutions or laws to hasten 
 the fulness of time. Past history bears witness that 
 such a revolution must be gradual. A state of society
 
 THE SKEPTICISM OF THE PRESENT AGE. 273 
 
 similar to our own prevailed in Greece before the 
 introduction of Christianity, and was brought to an 
 end by that event. Skepticism made its appear- 
 ance in Greece six centuries at least before the 
 Christian era in the time of Thales ; individuals 
 of enlightened minds had already begun to entertain 
 doubts of the prevalent faith ; and, two centuries 
 later, in the time of Socrates, there were probably 
 but very few among the citizens exercising political 
 rights, who were not wholly given up to incredulity. 
 Socrates was condemned, to be sure, on the ground 
 that he attacked religion ; but his sentence was 
 dictated really by political reasons; and we, in this 
 day, have seen a parallel instance, in a neighboring 
 country, of this union between private incredulity 
 and public profession of faith. If, then, the ancient 
 faith in Greece was destroyed four centuries before 
 the coming of Jesus Christ, and if philosophy, even 
 at that early period, had begun to seek for new and 
 higher forms of truth, it is plain that mankind were 
 kept for centuries in waiting for that positive faith 
 which could alone reorganize it. Yet more ; it is 
 well known, that the establishment of the Christian 
 religion, in 'the minds of the common people, did 
 not immediately follow its first introduction ; it pene- 
 trated to them only by slow degrees, and centuries 
 were needed to complete its progress. When, then, 
 we attempt to measure the time needed to perfect 
 and finish this former revolution, we find that the 
 human race was occupied for nearly a thousand years 
 in their passage from paganism to Christianity. God 
 forbid that I should assert that the human mind,
 
 274 
 
 JOUFFROY. 
 
 with the immense power which it has acquired in 
 the course of eighteen centuries, will require so long 
 a period as this to finish the work which it has 
 begun in our day ; and far be it from me to think 
 that the revolution now in progress is to lead to 
 any such complete change of opinion. Christianity 
 has too strong a foundation in truth ever to disappear, 
 as paganism did ; its destruction was but a dream 
 of the eighteenth century, which never will be realized 
 But, undoubtedly, it is to be purified ; undoubtedly, 
 it is to receive new forms and important additions ; 
 for, otherwise, the strife it has excited, the incre 
 dulity which yet prevails, and the long struggles and 
 labors of the whole of Christendom, have been without 
 a meaning and a cause ; and this it is impossible 
 to believe. As yet, when we view it rightly, this 
 revolution has been but three centuries in progress ; 
 and we must not allow ourselves to imagine that 
 by to-morrow we shall reach its end ; neither should 
 it astonish us, since the first period of this revolution 
 has so lately terminated, that we have now arrived 
 at only its second period. Many generations may 
 very possibly pass away before the faith of futurity 
 will assume a definite shape, and be planted deep 
 in the hearts of the multitude, to bless them with 
 the Credo for which they now sigh in vain. And, 
 during the intervening period, the world may remain, 
 as in ancient times, a prey to that state of intellectual 
 and moral anarchy which we have described, and 
 which nothing but the manifestation of some new 
 form of faith can remove. It was Christianity that 
 cured this evil in ancient times ; and it worked a
 
 THE SKEPTICISM OF THE PRESENT AGE. 275 
 
 moral cure before it did a material one. The moral 
 remedy was the principle, of which the material was 
 the consequence. Our cure must proceed in a like 
 manner ; first, truth, and then social reformation, as 
 the effect of truth. Such is the law of revolution. 
 At present, there is hardly the faint appearance and 
 first dawning of new solutions of the great questions 
 of human interest. And it is plain, therefore, that 
 we are, as yet, far distant from the last period and 
 final completion of this revolution. The journals, 
 which day by day announce a new order of things, 
 give no description of this better state. They say, 
 and say truly, that the present order does not meet 
 our wants ; but they do not tell us what should supply 
 its place. This, indeed, is precisely what they are 
 incapable of doing ; for they, like the people, feel 
 only the want of truths which are yet undiscovered, 
 and they, like the people, too, are ignorant of them. 
 They would be nearer the truth, if they did but know 
 that they were ignorant of it ; and they would be 
 nearer still, if they comprehended that as yet it can- 
 not be known. 
 
 Such, gentlemen, are the means by which we may 
 preserve a calm mind, in this feverish and agitated 
 era. But we must do more than this ; we must not 
 only preserve the mind calm, we must direct it. And, 
 in this regard, how can we do better than imitate 
 the example of those men, who, in an age similar 
 to our own, the age which followed the overthrow 
 of the ancient faith, so lived, that their names have 
 been reverenced through succeeding times ? These
 
 276 JOUFFROY. 
 
 men, who were the Stoics, announced, in the midst 
 of universal anarchy and corruption, the imperisha- 
 ble principles of morality ; established rules for pri- 
 vate duty, when all public law was broken down ; 
 and, sheltering themselves in virtue, passed, untainted, 
 through the most polluted era that history records. 
 We need but mention the names of Marcus Aurelius, 
 Epictetus, and their illustrious friends, to show that 
 it is in the power of individuals to preserve their 
 characters and conduct pure, amidst the ruins of even 
 the corruptest ages. We, then, certainly can do it, 
 we, who live in an age so much more elevated in char- 
 acter, under the light of Christianity, and of a phi- 
 losophy purified by its power. It is entirely possible 
 for any individual, who will seek seriously to distin- 
 guish good from evil, to keep his mind and con- 
 science clear from the swarm of absurd and immoral 
 notions which an incredible license of thought, yet 
 more than of feeling, lets loose each day upon soci- 
 ciety, from the journals, the theatre, and books. 
 There is no one, who cannot, by consulting good 
 sense and his own heart, plan out, for himself, a 
 course of conduct conformable to the purest maxims 
 of morality, and, by firm purpose, remain faithful 
 to it, and realize his ideal. This is possible for us, 
 one and all ; and what we can do, we ought to 
 do. No one is excusable for not preserving, invio- 
 late, his character and reason, in a period like the 
 present ; for, although there are, in our social con- 
 dition, circumstances which may be temptations to 
 those who will allow themselves to be led astray
 
 THE SKEPTICISM OF THE PRESENT AGE. 277 
 
 and corrupted, yet it is to prepare us for precisely 
 such situations, that God has endowed us with judg- 
 ment and with will. 
 
 And our country, gentlemen, our country, which, 
 next to integrity and honor, should be the first object 
 of regard, is there not, in our time, as in all times, 
 a way of being useful to her ? There is ; it is to make 
 her true situation, and the causes of it, known to all 
 her children ; to explain to them the secret of their 
 wants, the nature of the good which all are craving, 
 and the means best adapted to its acquisition. This, 
 in my judgment, is the only possible way of keeping 
 society calm and well ordered, when society is with- 
 out a faith. We must, then, enlighten as much as 
 we can the great body of the people : never was 
 light so necessary, never did they need discernment 
 more. When society is under the influence of an 
 established faith, the catechism neutralizes the effects 
 of ignorance. But when minds without convictions 
 are left an undefended prey to all ideas, good and 
 bad, useful and injurious, as they may arise, there 
 is but one source of safety, and that is, the diffu- 
 sion of such a degree of information as may enable 
 each citizen to discern his own true interest, and 
 the actual condition of his country. All, of our 
 day, who understand the times, have a mission of 
 patriotism to discharge ; it is to communicate to 
 others their own information, and thus aid in calming 
 down the moral conflicts of the public mind, as they 
 have calmed their own. To one who really compre- 
 hends the present state of things, there is no cause 
 for fear. And once free from fear, we can meditate, 
 
 VOL. I. Y
 
 278 JOUFFROY. 
 
 we can plan our course, we can work, we can live. 
 But when we rise each morning, in the dread of 
 ruin, with the feeling that we are on the verge of some 
 terrible catastrophe, thought becomes impossible ; we 
 can but abandon ourselves to the current of events, 
 and there is an end at once to labor and reflection, 
 to all plans for life, and all developments of char- 
 acter ; like leaves, we become the sport of each pass- 
 ing breeze. 
 
 And now, after what I have said in this lecture 
 of the fruitlessness of mere outward and material 
 revolutions, after the proof I have offered that they 
 never can advance society towards the good which it 
 is seeking, but that they produce always disorder and 
 suffering, need I add, that it is the duty of every 
 enlightened man and good citizen to prevent, if 
 possible, such useless evil. Once more I repeat, 
 therefore, that when it is the object of outward revolu- 
 tion to realize and complete a moral revolution, then, 
 and then only, revolution is both reasonable and right. 
 But when a conviction of the need of a moral organ- 
 ization for society, so far from being generally estab- 
 lished in the mind and heart of the community, is 
 not even apprehended by those who profess to be 
 the heralds of civilization, in such a case, revolution 
 can only bring uncompensated suffering; and every 
 friend of his country should withhold his aid. In 
 speaking to you thus, gentlemen, I am not preaching a 
 sermon. I do but simply unfold to your view the 
 necessary consequence of the great law of revolution, 
 to which humanity is subject. My frankness and free- 
 dom will not, I am confident, be misunderstood.
 
 THE SELFISH SYSTEM. HOBBES. 279 
 
 LECTURE XI. 
 
 SYSTEMS WHICH MISCONCEIVE AND MUTILATE THE LAW 
 OF OBLIGATION. 
 
 THE SELFISH SYSTEM. HOBBES. 
 
 GENTLEMEN, 
 
 THE systems which we have thus far exam- 
 ined make no attempt to determine whether there 
 is, or is not, any law of obligation. This question, 
 indeed, never presented itself to the minds of their 
 authors. They were occupied in considering quite 
 different ones ; and it was only in an incidental way, 
 while discussing questions wholly foreign in appear- 
 ance from the fundamental one of ethics, that they 
 were led, actually, to deny the existence of the law 
 of obligation in human nature. 
 
 But we come, now, to another class of systems, 
 which are essentially ethical systems, and which 
 come to this same result, of denying the existence 
 of the law of obligation, by an actual examination 
 of the questions whether there does exist in our 
 nature any, and, if any, what rule for conduct ? They 
 do not all, however, reach this common conclusion 
 in the same way. Seeking in the human mind for 
 the original principle of morality and right, on which
 
 JOUFFROY. 
 
 all ethics and legislation must be based, some of these 
 systems go wholly astray, and believe that they find it 
 either in self-love, or in some of our primitive ten- 
 dencies ; while others, feeling that it must, in its 
 nature, be impersonal and disinterested, place it in 
 a conception of the reason, indeed, where truly it is 
 to be found; but, mistaking the character of this con- 
 ception, they fall into various errors. We might, 
 with good reason, divide these systems, then, into two 
 categories ; the first embracing those which destroy 
 the law of obligation, by wholly misconceiving its essen- 
 tial nature ; and the second those which produce the 
 same result, by the false view which they give of this 
 nature. But I shall not, at present, insist upon this 
 distinction, for it is not in itself a very important 
 one; and it is difficult, in express terms, to describe 
 it, so equivocal is all philosophical language. It 
 will be easier to make this distinction manifest, after 
 a discussion of these systems. 
 
 The first of these systems which I shall present 
 to you and it deserves this preference on account 
 of its celebrity is the system of self-interest, of 
 which, in modern times, Hobbes has been the most 
 famous teacher. This and the following lecture will 
 be devoted to a criticism of the principles and theory 
 of this philosopher. 
 
 It continually happens, gentlemen, that we perform 
 acts, because we see that they will be followed by a 
 pleasure; and, again, we continually pursue objects, 
 because we know that the possession of them will 
 give gratification. On the other hand, we often re- 
 fuse to perform acts, or avoid objects, because we
 
 THE SELFISH SYSTEM. HOBBES. 281 
 
 think that such performance or possession will be 
 a cource of pain. This motive to choice is one, 
 then, which is familiar to us all ; and every day's 
 experience must exhibit its operation to even the 
 most careless observer. Now, Hobbes declares that 
 this is the sole motive of human choice. He asserts 
 that the end of every action is the pursuit of pleasure, 
 or the escape from pain ; and, generalizing his ob- 
 servation, he thus expresses the formula which is the 
 principle of his system well-being is the end of man. 
 
 Observe, gentlemen, Hobbes uses the expression 
 well-being, not good. In fact, the general term which 
 represents an agreeable state is not good, but well- 
 being, or, if you please, happiness. If Hobbes had 
 said happiness is the end of man, he would perfectly 
 have expressed his idea ; and he equally expresses 
 it in the language which he has adopted well-being 
 is the end of man. But he would have done injustice 
 to his thoughts, had he said good is the end of man ; 
 for the word good suggests to all minds even to 
 those most preoccupied with the conviction that the 
 end of all our actions is happiness some ideas 
 quite different from those of enjoyment and pleasure. 
 The expression of Hobbes is, then, the most strictly 
 exact which he could employ to convey his idea. 
 
 If the end of every act is pleasure, it follows 
 necessarily that the universal motive of every act is 
 the desire of pleasure. For the same reason, then, 
 that Hobbes has said that the final end of every 
 act is well-being, he should have said that the uni- 
 versal motive of human conduct is the desire of 
 well-being. 
 
 Y 2
 
 382 JOUFFROY, 
 
 Thus, then, to express the whole system of Hobbes 
 in brief, we may say, well-being is the end of every 
 action, and the love of well-being the universal motive 
 of human conduct. This is the actual theory, which 
 he adopts and professes, as to the law of human 
 volition. 
 
 His principle once established, Hobbes proceeds, 
 with the strict logic for which he is justly celebrated, 
 to deduce from it a series of consequences. These 
 I will now exhibit. There are two classes of these 
 consequences the first, metaphysical and direct ; the 
 second, remote, and extending to ethics and politics. 
 
 If it is true, gentlemen, that the sole reason which 
 can determine a man to perform any act, or seek 
 any object, is the pleasure attending the accomplish- 
 ment of the one, and the possession of the other, 
 it follows necessarily, that the condition requisite 
 for any act of will is the anticipation of that pleasure. 
 This universal motive, as Hobbes considers it, of 
 human action, then, cannot impel us, without a con- 
 ception, recognized by reason, of the consequences 
 which will accompany the act, and the attainment 
 of the object. This condition being fulfilled, we . 
 can act ; otherwise, we cannot. 
 
 A second direct consequence of the principle is, 
 that all objects and acts are matters of indifference 
 to us, except in so far as we conceive of them as 
 producing, certain effects upon ourselves ; for, in what, 
 according to the system of Hobbes, does all the good 
 or evil of acts or objects consist? Solely in their 
 fitness to produce pleasure or pain. We must be 
 acquainted, then, with their fitness or unfitness to
 
 THE SELFISH SYSTEM. HOBBES. 283 
 
 produce pleasure, before we can determine their moral 
 quality ; and the only moral quality which we can ever 
 discover in them is this property of producing pain or 
 pleasure. 
 
 If this is true, that the only ground on which we can 
 desire or dislike, seek or avoid certain acts or objects, 
 is, that they appear to us fitted to produce pleasurable 
 or painful consequences, then it follows, in the third 
 place, that we have not a variety of passions, as is usu- 
 ally supposed, but a single passion only, which is the 
 love of personal well-being, of our own pleasure, our 
 individual happiness. The passions, therefore, numer- 
 ous and various as they appear, are so only externally 
 only in relation to the material objects affecting them : 
 within us these different passions are found to be, and 
 can only be, transformations of one single passion ; and 
 that is the love and desire of personal well-being. 
 Hobbes did not hesitate to resolve all human passions 
 into this single one ; and he was led, therefore, to give 
 such definitions and explanations of these passions as 
 seem strange enough ; but they are, nevertheless, the 
 only ones which he consistently could give. 
 
 For example, the human heart has an instinctive im- 
 pulse to reverence God ; and an emotion of the same na- 
 ture is felt towards certain men. Now, what, according 
 to Hobbes, is reverence 1 It is a conception of the 
 superior power of the person whom we honor. Again, a 
 wholly opposite sentiment is awakened in us by another 
 class of persons the sentiment of the ridiculous. 
 How does Hobbes explain this ? It is a conception, he 
 says, of our own superiority to the person we laugh at. 
 Once more ; we see, at each moment, and under a thou-
 
 284 
 
 JOUFFROY. 
 
 sand forms, the sentiment of love manifested in all 
 social relations, in the. mother towards her child, in the 
 child towards its mother, in the lover towards his mis- 
 tress, and in friend towards friend. What is love, ac- 
 cording to Hobbes ? It is a conception of the utility 
 of the loved person. Thus, the mute adoration of a 
 mother, hanging over the cradle of her child, is only a 
 foresight of the service which that child may, at some 
 future day, render. What is pity? It is the imagi- 
 nation of a misfortune which may one day happen 
 to ourselves, as we contemplate the misery of another. 
 Benevolence, kindness, charity, what are they ? They 
 are all but manifestations of the consciousness of 
 power, sufficient to produce happiness, not only for 
 ourselves, but also for others. You can judge, from 
 these examples.of the rigorous logic with which Hobbes 
 traces back all our passions, even those apparently the 
 most disinterested and remote from any pursuit of 
 individual good, to self-love. And thus he was obliged 
 to do ; for had he but once admitted the existence of 
 any other sentiment in our nature than the love of our 
 own well-being, his whole system would have been 
 overthrown. 
 
 What, according to this system, is the first and great- 
 est good ? Assuredly the preservation of the individ- 
 ual. For the indispensable condition for happiness is 
 existence ; if life is lost, all enjoyment becomes, of 
 course, impossible. The greatest of all evils, then, is 
 death. What we are to seek above all things, in pur- 
 suit of our highest well-being, is self-preservation ; 
 what we are most earnestly to shun is destruction. 
 
 All such consequences as these are the necessary
 
 THE SELFISH SYSTEM. HOBBES. 285 
 
 results of the system adopted by Hobbes. But thus far 
 they are only theoretical. Let us pass on to others, 
 which bear directly upon the conduct and practice of 
 life. 
 
 Admit that man is constituted as Hobbes supposes ; 
 place with him the principle of all choice in the love 
 of happiness, and grant that human conduct, profoundly 
 analyzed, confirms this view, what follows? Necessa- 
 rily, inevitably it follows, that all means, which can 
 conduce to this simple and only true end of man, must 
 be good and lawful ; or, in other words, that man has a 
 right to appropriate, by every means in his power, 
 whatever will contribute to his own well-being. The 
 course of conduct truly proper and rational is deter- 
 mined, then, by this consideration, that it leads to indi- 
 vidual happiness. All acts, all conduct, which conduce 
 to this, are, for that very reason, good, proper, lawful. 
 The right to do any thing and every thing, which can 
 increase our well-being, is, then, according to Hobbes, 
 imprescriptible. And this right is the foundation of 
 ethics. He says this with reason ; for by ethics is 
 meant, in every language, precisely the ideal of that 
 course of conduct which is good, proper, and conform- 
 able to reason. 
 
 Now, well-being is an individual thing ; if, therefore, 
 the desire of well-being is the sole source of all volitions, 
 as it cannot be the well-being of another that I desire, I 
 must be impelled by a desire for my own. Every one 
 has his own view of well-being, and of pleasure ; every 
 one determines for himself what are the means fitted to 
 attain it ; constitutions are unlike; tastes differ, each 
 has his own estimate of happiness, and of the proper
 
 286 JOUFFROY. 
 
 way to gain it : the only judge, therefore, of what is 
 good as an end, or good as a means, must be the indi- 
 vidual himself. There can be no other. Whence it 
 follows, that ends and means become good by the mere 
 fact that they are considered to be so by the individual. 
 There may be, therefore,^ as many modes of right con- 
 duct as there are persons, because every one may have 
 his own way of conceiving of happiness and of the 
 modes of attaining it, and all modes are in themselves 
 equally good. There cannot be one system of ethics, 
 then ; but there must be as many systems as there are 
 individuals. And thus two courses of conduct, the 
 most different and opposite, may be equally proper ; for, 
 to make them so, it is only necessary that they should 
 be considered by the individual as conducive to his 
 well-being. The individual is supreme ; his judgment 
 is sovereign; he creates right and wrong; by his own 
 choice he produces good, and at his will destroys it. 
 
 Such are the consequences of Hobbes's system in 
 relation to individual conduct. Let us turn now to 
 its political consequences. He has deduced them 
 from his main principle with equal strictness of reason- 
 ing. If every one has a right of deciding for himself 
 upon whatever is necessary to the attainment of his 
 best good, and if no other person has a right to pass 
 judgment, either upon the end or means which he 
 selects, it follows, necessarily, that each individual has 
 a right to the possession of all things. For can we 
 conceive of any thing which may not be included in the 
 idea of individual good, either as an end or a means ? 
 The individual, then, has a right to every thing. And, 
 therefore, in a state of nature, the right of each indi-
 
 THE SELFISH SYSTEM. HOBBES. 287 
 
 vidual extends, without exception, to all things which 
 exist. 
 
 But if each has this rightful claim to all things, 
 there must be a collision and conflict of rights. If I 
 desire the possession of a certain object as necessary to 
 my well-being, my neighbor may consider it necessary 
 to his, and may look upon my act of taking possession 
 as injurious to him. Hence inevitable contests. The 
 right of each individual to the possession of any and 
 every object produces, necessarily, therefore, a strife 
 between one and all ; it sets every individual at war 
 with all others. It follows as a necessary consequence, 
 then, from Hobbes's system, that the natural condition 
 of individuals is one of conflict. Hence his celebrated 
 axiom, " War is the state of nature; " and this not an 
 accidental nor partial war, but a war unceasing and 
 universal of every man with every other man. 
 
 Now, to one who regards happiness as the greatest 
 good, nothing can be worse, as Hobbes has clearly 
 seen, than such a state of war. For what, according 
 to his theory, is good ? It is every thing that tends to 
 produce happiness. What, then, can be worse than a 
 state, the characteristic of which is, that each indi- 
 vidual is continually exposed to attack from the united 
 forces of all other individuals ? Evidently, in such a 
 state of things, the individual must, sooner or later, be 
 destroyed, and thus, in consequence, entirely hindered 
 from obtaining happiness. No other state can so 
 completely prevent all possibility of well-being; no 
 other state can threaten so continually the existence of 
 the individual ; and this, be it remembered, is the 
 greatest good of all, because it is the necessary condi-
 
 288 JOUFFROY. 
 
 tion of every other. The state of war is, then, the 
 worst possible, if Hobbes's system is true ; and yet it is 
 the state of nature. Hence his bold conclusion that 
 peace at any cost, peace on any conditions, is prefer- 
 able to this state of nature, this state of war. But 
 peace is the effect of society ; it is society alone that 
 can establish it, and destroy that state of war, which is 
 man's natural and primitive condition. 
 
 What, then, according to Hobbes, is society ? The 
 nature of society is determined wholly by its constitu- 
 ent element, and this element is the existence of a 
 power sufficient to prevent, among a number of collected 
 individuals, the natural state of war. 
 
 Such is the exact definition of society, according to 
 Hobbes. He finds in it nothing more. What, then, 
 is the end of society 1 The repression of the state of 
 war. What is the original cause of the formation of 
 society ? The misery of the natural state. Hobbes is 
 ready to admit, however, that there are two possible 
 ways in which society may originate. The first is by 
 contract ; and such a contract is made whenever dif- 
 ferent individuals, feeling the inconveniences of the 
 state of nature, attd condemning it as the worst of all 
 conditions, agree to establish a force, which shall be 
 superior to that of any individual, and capable of de- 
 stroying him, if necessary, in suppressing war and sub- 
 stituting for it peace. Society, thus formed, originates 
 in contract. But there is another mode of forming 
 society. A single man may, by cunning or power, suc- 
 ceed in extending his authority over a multitude of 
 others, and thus establish a social state. Here society 
 is based on the right of the strongest ; but it is none
 
 THE SELFISH SYSTEM. HOBBES. 289 
 
 the worse on that account, because, according to 
 Hobbes, the only characteristic of society is the exist- 
 ence of a power sufficiently strong to repress war be- 
 tween individuals ; this being done, society exists ; and, 
 since the right of the strongest can produce this result 
 as well as contract, society can originate in one way 
 as well as the other ; and one is as legitimate an origin 
 as the other, according to Hobbes. For what consti- 
 tutes legitimacy, in his view? Whatever conduces to 
 the highest good, that is the greatest happiness of each 
 individual. Now, it has been proved that the state of 
 nature, or of war, is the worst possible for the individ- 
 ual, and the state of society the best. Provided, then, 
 that society exists, no matter how it originated, it 
 is legitimate. Society, founded upon conquest, or the 
 right of the strongest, is as legitimate and conformable 
 to reason, as society based upon contract ; for one 
 attains, as well as the other, the end proposed for soci- 
 ety ; and it is the end, and the end alone, that deter- 
 mines its legitimacy. 
 
 What, now, is the best form of society, or, as it 
 amounts to the same thing, the best among the various 
 kinds of power by which society can be constituted 7 
 Hobbes does not hesitate to answer, the strongest. And 
 which is the strongest ? It is that in which power is 
 concentrated in a single hand, or the monarchical 
 form : the monarchical, therefore, is the most perfect 
 form of government. But, of different modes of mon- 
 archy, which is the best? Again he answers, the 
 strongest. And which is the strongest? Absolute 
 monarchy. This, then, is the best of all forms for 
 VOL. i, z
 
 290 JOUFFROY, 
 
 society ; and this is a strict and necessary conclusion 
 from the whole system. 
 
 Under whatever form, and upon whatever foundation 
 government may rest, its rights and duties, or, in other 
 words, the acts which it may, and which it may not, do 
 to the members of society, remain always the same. 
 As its mission is to overcome the resistance of individ- 
 uals ; as it can maintain the state of peace only by 
 subduing war; and as war originates in the exercise of 
 individual power, it follows that the right and duty of 
 every government is to repress and destroy the power 
 of each individual, by all possible means. Conse- 
 quently, government, whatever may have been its form 
 and origin, has an unlimited right of action. What- 
 ever it chooses to do is, for that very reason, right ; for 
 its authority can be limited only by the increase of 
 individual power ; that is to say, by introducing the 
 state of war, thus sacrificing peace. Limitations to 
 its authority are, therefore, contrary to the very end 
 of its existence, and to the end of society ; and by 
 permitting such limitations, it falls short of the ideal 
 type, which every government should approach as 
 nearly as is possible. 
 
 What, now, are the duties and rights of subjects in 
 relation to a government, supposing this to be the true 
 conception of government? Rights they have none; 
 and their duties are all comprehended in the single 
 one of obedience, under all circumstances, to whatever 
 government may command ; for any disobedience to 
 established power tends to reawaken the struggle for 
 individual power ; and this is a return to that state of
 
 THE SELFISH SYSTEM. HOBBES. 291 
 
 war, which is the worst possible, and, consequently, 
 the least legitimate of all states. Hence, as you may 
 see, it follows necessarily, that it is the duty of the 
 subject to obey, and that he has no right of resist- 
 ance, whatever, against any thing that government 
 ordains. 
 
 The only possible error, which government can 
 commit, is the performance of acts tending to weaken 
 or overthrow its power. But even when it does pursue 
 false measures, subjects are still bound to respect it, 
 and submit to it. For what makes any measure a 
 false one? The fact that it tends to lessen the 
 authority of the government. Disobedience would 
 but increase the evil. The error of government can 
 never justify, therefore, the disobedience of the sub- 
 ject. Subjects can in no case whatsoever, then, 
 have rights against the government ; for any right 
 of resistance, even against injudicious measures, would 
 be a return to that natural state of war, which is the 
 worst state of all. 
 
 Such is the political system of Hobbes. It is, 
 as you see, a necessary result of his ethical system, 
 which is itself deduced, by strict reasoning, from his 
 leading doctrine as to the end of man, and the single 
 motive for all human action. With the exception 
 of a few inconsistencies, to be noticed hereafter, the 
 deduction is perfectly strict. 
 
 Thus briefly have I set before you the celebrated 
 system of Hobbes ; and the exposition has been, I 
 trust, clear, exact, and complete. It now remains for 
 us to see how far this doctrine is a true one, and,
 
 292 JOUFFROY. 
 
 if it errs, to determine the nature of the error on 
 which it is based. 
 
 In the present lecture, I shall not communicate all 
 the remarks which the system might suggest, but 
 shall limit myself to an examination of the representa- 
 tion which it gives of the phenomenon of human 
 volitions. And, in comparing this system wkh our 
 own consciousness, I shall endeavor to show in what 
 particulars it is inexact, incomplete, and, consequently, 
 false. It is in its fundamental principle, then, that 
 I shall examine the system of Hobbes ; for, if this 
 principle is true, we cannot refuse to admit all the 
 consequences resulting from it. 
 
 By our analysis of the various modes of human 
 volition, we have been led to the conclusion, that 
 man is impelled to action in three different ways; 
 that is to say, by three classes of motives. I have 
 described these classes, and have shown you how each 
 of these motives influences volition in a distinct and 
 peculiar manner. 
 
 Of these three sources of volition, which observa- 
 tion has proved really to be active in the human soul, 
 you see, at a glance, that Hobbes has overlooked or 
 misunderstood two. This deficiency of exact analysis 
 is important in itself, and yet more so in its conse- 
 quences. As, instead of recognizing three distinct 
 classes of motives, which determine human conduct, 
 Hobbes admits only one, he inevitably arrives, by 
 setting out from these false premises, at such conse- 
 quences as contradict and overthrow all the ideas 
 and beliefs which common experience has introduced 
 into the minds of men.
 
 THE SELFISH SYSTEM. HOBBES. 293 
 
 And first, gentlemen, Hobbes has confounded the 
 selfish motive, which he admits, with the motive of 
 impulse and passion, which is always its predecessor, 
 and perfectly distinct from it. In truth, the primi- 
 tive tendencies of nature have not the same end with 
 self-interest well understood, as conceived by reason. 
 The peculiar and final end of each instinctive ten- 
 dency is the particular object which it seeks. Thus, 
 from the fact that I am an intelligent being, the 
 desire of knowledge springs up within me ; and this 
 desire, in itself, impels me to learn, without the need 
 of any calculation, by reason, of the consequences 
 of this knowledge, or any foresight that its acquisi- 
 tion will give pleasure. This may be plainly seen 
 among children, who have great curiosity, but certainly 
 not from any calculation of its consequence ; and 
 mature men, although, in many instances, they do, 
 undoubtedly, calculate, reason, and examine, before 
 they act, yet far more frequently they follow the 
 immediate impulse, and pursue the object exciting 
 the desire, without a thought of the pleasure which 
 its acquisition may bring. Do you think that he 
 who loves and seeks the truth, does so on account 
 of the pleasure which will follow the discovery of it, 
 and because he has conceived beforehand and cal- 
 culated that he shall, by this discovery, experience 
 a certain amount of happiness ? Nothing can be 
 more unlike the actual fact, than such a supposition. 
 In far the majority of cases, we seek the ends toward 
 which the instincts of our nature impel us, for the 
 ends themselves ; in thought and purpose, the end 
 itself is the only thing pursued or thought about,
 
 294 JOUFFROY. 
 
 and the pleasure is unforeseen and unanticipated. If 
 this is true of mature men, it must be true of the 
 child. The fact is, the child never calculates, never 
 foresees the consequences of action. Children are 
 incapable of forming such conceptions of the results 
 of conduct as are absolutely requisite, before calcu- 
 lations of pleasure can be their final end, and their 
 determining motive. Yet more may it be said, that, 
 if we never obeyed the tendencies of our nature, 
 except from considerations of the pleasure that will 
 accompany their gratification, then would it be im- 
 possible that we should ever act at all. For, plainly, 
 we never should know that the gratification of desires 
 would procure us pleasure, except by having once 
 experienced this pleasure. Therefore, it follows that, 
 if it is true that the condition of our obeying impulse, 
 is the conception of the pleasure attendant on its 
 gratification, we never should have yielded, for the 
 first time, to any instinctive tendency, and, conse- 
 quently, should never have acted at all. 
 
 And, finally, ihe pleasure which is the end sought 
 by self-love, implies the activity of those very impulses, 
 whose end is different from this pleasure. For what 
 causes the pleasure 1 The gratification of natural 
 impulse. The impulse must exist, therefore, antece- 
 dently, or no pleasure would be possible. We never 
 should experience the pleasure of quenching thirst, 
 for example, unless we had this thirst ; and thirst is 
 a craving for a particular object water. Self-love is 
 the love of all those various pleasures which accom- 
 pany the gratification of our different passions ; it is 
 entirely distinct from these, for it necessarily pre-
 
 THE SELFISH SYSTEM. HOBBES. 295 
 
 supposes the existence of passions having for their 
 end, in action, objects quite different from this 
 pleasure. 
 
 It is contradicting the actual fact, then, to maintain, 
 that, whenever we obey an impulse, it is in view of 
 the pleasure consequent on its gratification. But is 
 this saying, on the other hand, that we never act 
 and never pursue an object for the sake of pleasure 1 
 Far from it. For there can be no doubt that our 
 choice is often thus determined. But, because we 
 are thus sometimes governed in our actions, it nowise 
 follows that we always are, or that we can be 
 governed by no other motive. Among these modes, 
 by which the human will is determined, is one entirely 
 distinct from this of self-love, the characteristic of 
 which is, that the motive originates directly from the 
 instinctive impulses of our nature, and has for its 
 final end the particular object which the passion 
 craves. 
 
 Evidently, then, there is, in the idea of Hobbes, 
 a fundamental error ; and it consists in confounding 
 two quite distinct modes of human volition ; the 
 instinctive mode, which is the only one seen in 
 children at all, and which is seen, more or less, in 
 mature men ; and the mode of self-interest and calcu- 
 lation, which originates in a foresight of the pleasure 
 that will follow the accomplishment of an act, and 
 the possession of an object. It is plain, then, that 
 even if the moral motive did not exist in us, it would 
 still be false, wholly false, that the only end of all 
 our actions is the pursuit of pleasure, and the avoid- 
 ing of pain.
 
 296 JOUFFROY. 
 
 Great, however, as is the error of thus confound- 
 ing impulse with self-love, the system of Hobbes is 
 chargeable with one still greater, and quite as easily 
 detected. It confounds the moral mode of volition 
 with that of self-interest. For, as it is perfectly true 
 and perfectly evident that, in a multitude of instances, 
 we yield directly, and without calculation, to the primi- 
 tive instincts of our nature, so it is equally true and 
 yet more evident, that, in .very many others, we yield 
 to a motive which is neither a pure natural instinct, 
 nor a calculation of pleasure, but A conception of 
 duty. 
 
 This motive of duty, gentlemen, acts more or less 
 upon all men : there is no one upon whom it does not 
 act sometimes ; and the reason why we are so apt to 
 suppose that it seldom influences human conduct, is, 
 that it is, as I have been anxious to show you, so 
 much in harmony, both with our natural instincts and 
 our true self-interest, that we rarely find it acting by 
 itself, and independently of these other motives. In 
 most cases, the moral motive cooperates with impulse 
 and self-love ; and in such cases, it is not duty, which 
 is a pure conception of the reason, that is most appa- 
 rent in the act of choice, but the instinct or the 
 selfish calculation, which are far more easily recog- 
 nized by consciousness. If, however, you will analyze 
 your commonest purposes, you will find, that the idea 
 of order, the consideration of what is good in itself, 
 has an influence, which, though little noticed, is still 
 really active. In the majority of cases, a man would 
 be ashamed to act, except in a certain way ; he feels 
 that it would be wrong to act in any other ; and this
 
 THE SELFISH SYSTEM. HOBBES. 297 
 
 consideration has great weight in affecting his decis- 
 ion. True, before yielding to the influence of such 
 considerations, we are accustomed to conjecture the 
 consequences; but, as the honorable path is usually 
 the safe one, it happens most frequently among men 
 of good sense, that such foresight of consequences 
 strengthens, rather than impairs, the power of the 
 sense of duty ; and, in opposite cases, the sentiment 
 of honor still weighs against that of interest, and 
 not seldom counterbalances it. Do I, by such state- 
 ments, make man appear better than he is, and 
 attribute an exaggerated moral purity to his common 
 modes of volition 1 In most cases, there is undoubted- 
 ly a mixture of other motives with that of duty ; 
 but then, on the other hand, we must not deny the 
 fact, that the instinctive and selfish motives do not 
 exercise exclusive control over us, but that the moral 
 does modify their influence. The simple truth is, 
 that, in a multitude of cases, the moral motive 
 cooperates in the determinations of our will, while, 
 in many others, it is the sole spring of conduct. 
 A philosopher, then, who, first suppressing and deny- 
 ing the influence of the instinctive and impassioned 
 mode of choice, goes on to deny also the moral 
 mode, is doubly false to human nature. Thus muti- 
 lating our nature, and setting out from such false 
 premises, how can he but arrive at conclusions, which 
 will give him a wholly incomplete and erroneous 
 principle of ethics. Apply to such a principle 
 Hobbes's vigorous logic, and the necessary result 
 must be deductions which wilJ utterly overturn the 
 common convictions of mankind.
 
 298 JOUFFROY. 
 
 But the psychological errors of Hobbes do not 
 stop here. Admit his hypothesis, and grant that the 
 selfish motive is the sole spring of all our conduct, 
 still I maintain that, even within this limit, Hobbes is 
 incomplete and faulty ; I maintain that he has dis- 
 figured and mutilated even this part of our nature; 
 or, in other words, I say that self-love, such as 
 Hobbes has described it, is not the true self-love 
 which exists in the nature given us by God. 
 
 Let me recall to your minds an observation, made 
 while I was exhibiting to you an analysis of the 
 moral facts of human nature ; which is, that into 
 the idea of self-interest well understood there enter 
 two elements ; first, a view of our own personal good, 
 and, secondly, a view of the pleasure accompanying 
 the attainment of this good. These two elements, 
 distinct as they are, and as I have shown them to be, 
 do still both enter into the idea which we form of our 
 highest interests. 
 
 Hobbes, however, recognizes but one of these 
 elements, and entirely neglects the other ; so that, 
 after having elevated self-love into being the only 
 motive of volition, he actually proceeds to divide 
 this motive, and then, casting aside the larger and 
 better, preserves only the least part, which is but 
 a consequence, result, and accompaniment of the 
 other. When reason, awakening after long years 
 of infancy, begins to ask what constitutes our highest 
 good, and what ought to be the end of our conduct, 
 the first thing it remarks is, that our nature instinctive- 
 ly pursues certain ends, which it cannot attain without 
 pleasure, or fail of without pain. Naturally enough,
 
 THE SELFISH SYSTEM. HOBBES. 299 
 
 then, reason stops first at this idea, that the final 
 end of our instincts is the happiness which their 
 satisfaction gives. 
 
 But reason, gentlemen, cannot long rest here 
 Each instant, it meets with a crowd of facts, which 
 prove the incompleteness of this idea. When a young 
 and beautiful woman, passionately fond of the world 
 and of display, devotes herself at once and entirely 
 to the care of her child, and, renouncing pleasures 
 lately sought, giving up her favorite pursuits, sacri- 
 ficing her tastes and desires, forgets all that once 
 occupied her, in the delight experienced while she 
 sits night and day by the cradle of that young being, 
 who is wholly incapable of repaying her affection, 
 who could see, in this sublime transformation, merely 
 a selfish calculation of pleasure? Every one must 
 see the presence of another motive, which at once, 
 and independently of all reflection and calculation, 
 impels the mother to love her child as a final end; 
 I mean the powerful and wonderful instinct of sym- 
 pathy. When the student, enamored of science, 
 sacrifices health, repose, all pleasures which tempt 
 mankind, to the enjoyment of hunting up from musty 
 volumes select passages, comparing them together, 
 and, after long and laborious investigation, drawing 
 from them some inference as to a trifling event that 
 occurred thousands of years ago, who can fail to 
 be struck with the evident and undeniable faot, that 
 the cause of this devoted toil is simply the ardent 
 curiosity for knowledge, which is one of the instincts 
 of all intelligent beings 1 A love for truth in itself, 
 and a longing to discover and know it, is his final
 
 300 JOUFFROY. 
 
 end, and he has never thought for a moment of the 
 pleasure that will attend its discovery. Do we seek 
 truth, then, from having calculated what sensations 
 its acquisition will bring, or to obtain public applause, 
 or for the gratification of vanity which this applause 
 will give ? Seeking truth from such motives, we 
 should never find it ; for then only do we gain it, 
 when we pursue it for itself. Reason is struck at 
 once with these and similar facts, forever presented 
 in the world ; it sees, then, that its first idea of our 
 nature was incomplete, and recognizes the fact that 
 there are things, which are good in themselves, quite 
 independently of the pleasure which they occasion ; 
 and that they would continue to be good, even if the 
 pleasure did not attend them. When reason takes 
 this step, it rises to an idea of our true good wholly 
 different from the first it had conceived ; good now 
 becomes to its view that which nature impels us to 
 seek, and which is agreeable and in harmony with 
 our nature ; in other words, the second element of 
 self-love appears. 
 
 This is not, indeed, the moral motive, but it ap- 
 proaches it nearly. This step being taken, a second 
 at once succeeds. Reason demands why it is that 
 certain things are in harmony with our nature, while 
 others are not so; why it is that we are attracted 
 to certain objects, and repelled from others. The 
 idea that our nature has been made for these very 
 ends, takes the place of our former one, that these 
 ends are agreeable to our nature ; and, from this 
 new idea, which, though still within the sphere of 
 selfishness, approaches nearly the limits of morality,
 
 THE SELFISH SYSTEM. HOBBES. 301 
 
 we rise to a yet higher one, that all natures have 
 their peculiar ends, that there is one ultimate and 
 absolute end, of which particular ends are but com- 
 ponent parts, that this absolute end is universal 
 order, and that this universal order is the will 
 of God. Thus, at last, we are lifted above motives 
 of a personal and selfish nature, and rise to one 
 which is wholly impersonal and moral. These various 
 transitions are necessary to conduct reason upward 
 from the view of pleasure, as the only end of action, 
 to that of absolute good of good, properly so called. 
 Self-love, then, is far more complex than Hobbes has 
 considered it. It includes other elements besides the 
 single one of pleasure other ideas than that of 
 happiness ; and thus you see how, even in regard to 
 self-love, Hobbes has given a mutilated and imperfect 
 picture of human nature. He has given a false 
 view of our nature in one other way also; and I 
 shall close my lecture with its description. 
 
 We have seen that Hobbes has discovered, in 
 self-love, only the one element of pleasure; whereas 
 it appears there are several elements. But I confine 
 myself now to a consideration of this single element ; 
 and I maintain that, even here, Hobbes has no more 
 given a correct and complete view of pleasure, than 
 he has of self-love. Of the three modes by which 
 the human will is determined, he suppresses two, 
 and admits only that of self-love ; the selfish motive 
 is complex, but he suppresses one of its elements, 
 and preserves only that of pleasure. And now, does 
 he do full justice to this? No: pleasure is also 
 complex, but he mutilates it. For, among the pleas- 
 
 oi.. I. A A
 
 302 
 
 ures which man is capable of enjoying, a very large 
 number are associated with the happiness of others; 
 and these are our very highest pleasures. Who does 
 not know that the contemplation of the happiness 
 of others, as increased by our actions, or of assistance 
 rendered by us for their support and relief, who 
 does not know that a consciousness of the sympathy 
 that they feel for us> and a sentiment of the kindness 
 that we experience towards them, -<- who does not 
 know that these form the largest and the finest part 
 of our happiness 1 In forming calculations as to 
 the attainment of the highest amount of pleasure 
 possible, a wise man would be careful, then, not to 
 omit that class of pleasures which originate in sym- 
 pathy, and which, more than all others, contribute to 
 the happiness that, according to Nobbes, is the sole 
 end to be pursued in life. Now, suppose that a man 
 should not overlook, but recognize, this abundant 
 source of agreeable sensations, suppose that he 
 should take them into his calculations, could he 
 ever arrive at the conclusion that the state of war 
 is the state of nature? Never, gentlemen: he would 
 come, necessarily to the exactly opposite conclusion, 
 that the social state is the truly natural state. For, 
 if the sight of the happiness of others constitutes 
 the largest and best portion of our own, the calcula- 
 tion of his individual happiness would lead a man 
 of sense to occupy himself in securing the well-being 
 of his brethren to desire it, and labor for it : all 
 men, therefore, merely for the sake of their own hap- 
 piness, would desire the happiness of their fellow-men ; 
 all would seek to enjoy the delightful sentiments of
 
 THE SELFISH SYSTEM. HOUSES. 303 
 
 kindness towards, and sympathy from, their kind ; all 
 would pursue the pleasures which friendship, love, fam- 
 ily ties, national interests, and charity, alone can give. 
 Yet more ; there is a powerful instinct in our nature, 
 an instinct which, ungratified, produces suffering, and, 
 gratified, brings joy, the social instinct; and this 
 impels us to seek society, and makes intercourse with 
 fellow-men an absolute necessity. The satisfaction 
 of this instinct, also, must be taken into our calcula- 
 tions and plans for happiness. I ask, now, how, in 
 what marvellous and incomprehensible way, could 
 the state of war gratify such wants as grow out of 
 these natural dispositions ? Granting, then, that 
 pleasure is the end of all our actions, and the sole 
 motive of all volitions, yet still, when we regard 
 this capacity for pleasure in its full extent, not only 
 are we not led to the conclusion of Hobbes, that 
 the state of nature is a state of war, but we arrive 
 at a result diametrically opposite. Hobbes, then, 
 reducing all motives to this single one of the pursuit 
 of pleasure, has not comprehended the nature of 
 pleasure even ; he has recognized only its grosser 
 elements, which are the smallest in number, and 
 least important ; and, even within the narrow limits 
 to which he has confined himself, has disfigured, so 
 far as an observer possibly could do, the true image of 
 human nature. 
 
 What now, gentlemen, shall we say of a system built 
 upon such a foundation of error? Is it not already 
 condemned? Is it worth our while to examine and 
 refute it? It is not, scientifically speaking. But it 
 does demand our further consideration, when we call
 
 304 JOUFFROY. 
 
 to mind the influence which it has exerted, and when 
 we reflect that it owes this influence to the very fact of 
 its mutilating, as it does, the moral element, while ad- 
 mitting only the grossest and most tangible elements of 
 human volitions. It is this which gives it that appear- 
 ance of simplicity, and that plausibility, which deceive 
 the crowd ; and it is this which has made it seem valua- 
 ble in the judgment of one of the most distinguished ju- 
 rists of our age, I mean Bentham, who, in our day, 
 has revived this system under a new form, hereafter to 
 be described. We must go on, then, and finish the 
 work we have begun ; we must examine and discuss the 
 consequences and details of the system, whose funda- 
 mental principle we have now overthrown. To this 
 duty my next lecture will be devoted.
 
 THE SELFISH SYSTEM. HOBBES. 305 
 
 LECTURE XII. 
 
 THE SELFISH SYSTEM. HOBBES. 
 
 GENTLEMEN, 
 
 IN my last lecture I confined myself to the 
 consideration of two points. First, I exhibited the 
 system of Hobbes in its principles and consequences ; 
 and secondly, I compared these principles with the facts 
 of human nature, of which they pretend to be a repre- 
 sentation, and showed that a more deformed and muti- 
 lated image of the original could not possibly be 
 formed. 
 
 Let me remind you, in brief, that Hobbes's system 
 takes it for granted, that the universal motive of action 
 is the desire of well-being ; that is to say, the pursuit 
 of agreeable sensations. To determine whether this 
 system rests on a firm foundation, we must inquire, 
 then, whether it is true, that human actions have no 
 other origin than this desire of pleasure and abhorrence 
 of pain. This is a simple question of fact : to decide 
 it, we have merely to ask ourselves how our volitions 
 are determined, and then compare with our conscious- 
 ness this pretended picture of ourselves, which Hobbes 
 sets before us. This we have done, and the result of
 
 300 
 
 JOUFFROY. 
 
 our discussion was all but a complete demonstration of 
 the utter falsity of the whole system. 
 
 I showed, in the first place, you will recollect, that 
 of the three different modes of human volition, Hobbes 
 has entirely overlooked two, the impulsive and the 
 moral, and has admitted only one, the selfish, 
 which he has consequently set up as the sole and univer- 
 sal motive of all choice and action. In the second place, 
 I showed that the idea which Hobbes conceived of even 
 this motive of self-love, was incomplete ; inasmuch as 
 in this selfish mode of volition, there is another element 
 beside the desire of pleasure. Action is in harmony 
 with our nature, quite independently of the pleasure 
 that may result from it. So that, after having entirely 
 set aside two of the modes of human volition, Hobbes 
 mutilates the only one which he preserves, in suppress- 
 ing by far the most important of the two elements of 
 which it is made up, and admitting only its least im- 
 portant element of pleasure. 
 
 In the third place, I showed that Hobbes has muti- 
 lated even this element of pleasure, as he before had 
 the principle of self-love, and the whole phenomenon 
 of volition ; for his system does not take into account, in 
 its estimate, the largest and most numerous sources of 
 happiness the pleasures of sympathy ; so that even 
 pleasure itself, the only element of self-love recognized 
 by Hobbes, is falsely represented ; for he has, if I 
 may say so, cut it in two, and thrown away its better 
 portion ; and thus finally has settled the whole matter, 
 by considering this fragment of the element of pleasure 
 as the universal and only motive of all choice' and con- 
 duct.
 
 THE SELFISH SYSTEM. HOBBES. 307 
 
 I repeat it ; never has unfaithfulness to psychological 
 truth been pushed so far ; never was there a system so 
 completely and strangely disfiguring the true image of 
 human nature. It is nowise extraordinary, therefore, 
 that it leads to consequences so wholly untenable, mon- 
 strous, and contradictory to the universal faith and 
 common sense of men. The consequences to which 
 this system leads, are as absurd as its principles are 
 false ; and common sense as instantly repels the one as 
 observation does the other. 
 
 This might be called a direct refutation of the system 
 of Hobbes. But, as you well know, there are two 
 modes of refuting an opinion ; the first is to confront 
 it with the truth, and compare them together ; the sec- 
 ond is to consider it by itself, and see whether it is 
 throughout consistent. Now, I should fail of exhibiting 
 the utter weakness of Hobbes's system, if I omitted to 
 apply to it this second mode of refutation.; for, al- 
 though his mind was logical, he could not avoid falling 
 into many contradictions, when his fundamental princi- 
 ple was so false. The present lecture will be occupied 
 with an exhibition of the most glaring of these contra- 
 dictions. 
 
 You will remember, doubtless, that Hobbes has de- 
 monstrated, as he thinks, that a state of war is the only 
 natural state among individuals brought in contact with 
 each other. You will remember also, that, appreciating 
 the inconveniences of this state of things, he has de- 
 clared this state of war to be the worst that can possi- 
 bly exist, and hence has been led to the assertion, that 
 it is for each man's highest interest to accept of the 
 state of peace, at whatever cost, or upon whatever
 
 308 JOUFFROY. 
 
 conditions, it may be obtained, and thus has explained 
 the creation of that social state, of which peace is at 
 once the end and characteristic. 
 
 Now, this very mode of explaining the foundation of 
 society necessarily implies a contradiction ; and this is 
 the first that I shall exhibit to you. If calculations of 
 self-interest could lead men thus to substitute a state of 
 peace for a state of war, a state of society for a state 
 of nature, the very same calculations would have pre- 
 vented and rendered impossible that natural state of war. 
 For how can it be true, that man's natural slate is a 
 state of war, if it is in his nature to see and feel that this 
 is the worst possible state for his own interests 1 If the 
 principle of self-love leads to the apprehension of this 
 truth, then it is difficult to see how it can produce the 
 state of war which contradicts this truth, and not the 
 state of peace which is in harmony with it. Admitting, 
 then, that man is constituted as Hobbes asserts, his 
 state of nature, as he calls it, is impossible. The same 
 reasons assigned by him, as sufficient to bring it to an 
 end, are strong enough to have prevented its ever origi- 
 nating : this is the first contradiction to which I would 
 call your attention. 
 
 A second contradiction Hobbes is guilty of, when he 
 asserts that in the state of nature there are natural 
 rights, which give way, after the formation of a society, 
 to positive rights. Hobbes says, that in the state of 
 nature each man has a right to all things, and that this 
 right is a natural right. Now, I confess, I am aston- 
 ished, and cannot but find fault with Hobbes, that he 
 should have introduced this word right into a sys- 
 tem which utterly abolishes and excludes every such
 
 THE SELFISH SYSTEM. HOBBES. 309 
 
 idea as men have usually attached to that word. To 
 satisfy yourselves of this, gentlemen, you have but to 
 consider how different this pretended right is from the 
 actual right, which the universal sense of mankind 
 recognizes. 
 
 What are the characteristics of this right possessed 
 by every one over all things this natural and primitive 
 right, according to Hobbes ? 
 
 In the first place, it is a right imposing no corre- 
 sponding duty. If I have a right to the possession of 
 all things, and my neighbor has equally this right, it 
 follows that my right imposes no restraint upon him, 
 neither does his right upon me ; my right destroys his, 
 and his destroys mine ; there are no reciprocal duties. 
 The first characteristic, then, of these rights, so called 
 by Hobbes, is, that they have no corresponding duties. 
 
 But further ; so far from imposing any obligation 
 upon others, this right of mine is one that every body 
 has a perfect right to violate. So far as I have any 
 right, just so far have others ; they have a right, then, 
 to disregard my right. This natural right, therefore, 
 not only does not impose duties upon any body, but, on 
 the contrary, every body has a right to violate it. Of 
 all rights, surely such a one is the strangest that can 
 be conceived. 
 
 Once more ; this right is one which, though possessed 
 by all, is recognized by none. For, since my right 
 extends to every thing, and my neighbor's does the 
 same, I cannot but recognize this right of his ; conse- 
 quently, I cannot feel that I have the right myself. 
 What is true of one is true of all ; and hence it seems
 
 310 
 
 JOUFFROY. 
 
 that no one can recognize that he himself has this 
 right, which, nevertheless, each and all possess. 
 
 Thus it appears, then, that the three characteristics 
 of this natural right, admitted by Hobbes, are, 1. that 
 it imposes no corresponding duties ; 2. that it is of 
 such a nature that every body has a right to violate it ; 
 and, 3. that no one can recognize it as belonging to 
 himself. What a prodigious difference is there between 
 any such meaning of the word right, and its meaning 
 in common acceptation ! The word right, as used and 
 understood by the best writers, and by the common 
 sense of all men, from the shepherd, who guards his 
 flock, to the legislator, who enacts laws, implies some- 
 thing which all must recognize as sacred, and which 
 demands from all respect. If I possess a right, I per- 
 fectly comprehend I and the whole world with me 
 that you, and every body else, are bound to respect it ; 
 that, by disregarding this right, you are false to a duty, 
 and violate a consecrated thing. My right, then, im- 
 poses a duty upon all others ; no other being has a 
 right to violate it; and thus all recognize that it 
 belongs peculiarly to me, and not to others ; so that 
 right, according to the universal understanding of man- 
 kind, has characteristics precisely opposite to those 
 which mark the pretended right of Hobbes. Be not 
 astonished, then, at meeting with the word right in a 
 system which makes all right impossible. We may 
 reconcile it with all systems, and interweave it with 
 them, if we will but alter and destroy the very idea that 
 the name of right expresses. 
 
 What I have now said of rights, as the word is defined
 
 THE SELFISH SYSTEM. HOBBES. 311 
 
 and employed by Hobbes, might be said with equal 
 truth of duties. What, according to him, are duties? 
 He recognizes but one class of these the duties of the 
 subject to the government ; there are no duties for 
 government ; duties are confined to subjects. And now, 
 I ask, what is the nature of these duties 1 And, suppos- 
 ing myself in the position of the subject, I find that, in 
 my relation to government, two kinds of cases may 
 arise ; first, those in which it appears to be for my 
 interest to obey ; and, second, those where obedience 
 seems to be against my interest. Now, in the former 
 case, to what motive does a man yield, when he obeys 
 and respects state authority 1 Evidently to the single 
 motive admitted by Hobbes, that is, self-interest well 
 understood. But what, then, shall the subject do in the 
 second case, where he finds obedience prejudicial to 
 his interests ? Has not Hobbes declared, that interest 
 is the only possible motive of volition ; and yet more, 
 that each is sole and sovereign judge of his own inter- 
 est, and that he may not be condemned for his judg- 
 ment ? What becomes, then, of the duty? By what 
 motive shall the subject still be led to obey and respect 
 government ? There is no such motive, if man is 
 constituted as Hobbes supposes. If, then, he pretends 
 that, in such cases, the subject must obey, Hobbes falls 
 into a manifest contradiction of his own system ; for, if 
 a man can feel that to be a duty which is not for his 
 interest, then must there be some other motive beside 
 self-interest, and Hobbes's system is false. But Hobbes 
 will say, it is always for our interest to obey govern- 
 ment, because the state of war is the worst of all states. 
 To this I reply, that if I see this to be for my interest,
 
 312 JOUFFROY. 
 
 then it is to the motive of interest I yield ; and duty 
 means, therefore, only interest well understood ; but if 
 I do not see it to be for my interest, how shall I be in- 
 fluenced by interest well understood, when I do not 
 understand my interest ? And if I do not understand 
 it, what motive to obedience remains? What becomes 
 of Hobbes's duty ? What signification has the word 1 
 Is it not plain that Hobbes must either give up the 
 word, as an unmeaning one, or contradict his system 
 by assigning it a meaning ? 
 
 So far, gentlemen, from there being any ground upon 
 which, according to Hobbes, an individual may be 
 constrained to do what is for his interest, when he 
 does not comprehend that it is so, the consequence 
 from his principle would lead to the exactly opposite 
 result that the individual has a right to violate such 
 duties, as it is pretended interest imposes, when he 
 does not see that they would advance his interest. 
 What is natural right, according to Hobbes? It is 
 precisely the right, possessed by each individual, of 
 seeking what he conceives to be his highest good, in 
 just the manner which he thinks best. Such is natural 
 right, in Hobbes's system. If he pretends, then, to 
 impose upon the subject the duty of obeying govern- 
 ment, when he sees it to be for his interest not to obey 
 it, he is imposing a duty which the subject has, accord- 
 ing to his own doctrine, a perfect right to neglect and 
 violate. 
 
 Now, what is duty, according to the common under- 
 standing of mankind, as manifested in every language? 
 It is something sacred in itself, something which we 
 are obliged to perform, and which is acknowledged and
 
 THE SELFISH SYSTEM. HOBBES. 313 
 
 recognized as sacred, not only by the person bound 
 to observe it, but by all others, who, recognizing it as 
 sacred, have, for that reason, a perfect right to demand 
 that it shall be respected. 
 
 Thus, when I see that I have a duty, I feel compelled 
 to discharge it ; and others feel, although my perform- 
 ance of the act may not affect them, yet because they 
 comprehend the obligations resting on a man in the 
 different situations of life, that it is my duty, and that 
 they have a right to say, "Do this, or be judged un- 
 worthy." Between this idea of duty, as it exists in 
 universal human consciousness, and the idea of interest 
 well understood, which Hobbes is obliged to substitute 
 for the true meaning of the word, there is a distinction 
 too wide to be overlooked a distinction v quite as im- 
 portant, as that which separates the signification of right 
 in his system from its common signification among 
 mankind. 
 
 Hobbes may use the words right and duty, therefore ; 
 but if he employs them in their general acceptation, he 
 falls into a monstrous and glaring contradiction. If, 
 on the other hand, and as apparently is the case, he 
 attaches to them a new and unwonted sense, we may 
 well inquire by what title and authority does he alter 
 thus the common meaning of words, and so deceive his 
 reader into the idea that rights and duties are, or can 
 be, recognized in such a system as his ? For one or 
 the other of these abuses of language, Hobbes must 
 seem liable to condemnation, in the judgment of every 
 reasonable man. 
 
 It is in vain, in a system which does not admit, 
 among the possible motives of human volition, the 
 
 VOL. I. B B
 
 314 JOUFFROY. 
 
 r ational motive, to pretend to discover any thing even 
 remotely resembling a right or a duty. The attempt 
 must always utterly fail. 
 
 When I yield to the impulse of passion, my act has 
 no moral character whatever, and I feel no right to 
 demand that others should regard me with respect ; for 
 I am not seeking to accomplish absolute good, but 
 merely to gratify my desire. Again, when I follow 
 interest well understood, my motive is still personal ; it 
 is not for absolute good, but for private good, that I act, 
 and I feel that there is nothing which gives my conduct 
 a claim to respect in my own or others' eyes; my happi- 
 ness is agreeable and pleasing in prospect, but I am 
 aware that it imposes no duties, and secures me no 
 rights. If men recognized no other motives than these 
 two of impulse and interest, then the ideas of rights 
 and duties would not exist. Whence come these ideas ? 
 On what condition can they originate? On one con- 
 dition only, and that is, that there is such a thing as 
 absolute good something good, not from the benefit it 
 brings to one or to every individual of our race, but 
 from the eternal nature of things. On this condition, 
 rights and duties become possible ; because, whenever 
 an act to be performed appears to have this character 
 of absolute good, at once I feel myself obliged to do it; 
 and, feeling this obligation, I am conscious of my right 
 to act without hinderance ; because, since every other 
 person may see, as I do, that it is absolutely good, and 
 feel, as I do, that I am bound to perform it, he must be 
 conscious of an obligation on his part not to prevent 
 me in its execution, but to remind me of my responsi- 
 bility, and even to demand that I should discharge my
 
 THE SELFISH SYSTEM. HOBBES. 315 
 
 duty, if he suffers from my neglect. Thus all rights 
 and duties are naturally derived from the rational mo- 
 tive. Suppress this motive, and duties and rights be- 
 come impossible ; the words themselves have no mean- 
 ing, and are of no further use in human speech. Under 
 whatever disguise or mask, then, the selfish or the 
 impulsive systems may present themselves, they can 
 never properly introduce the true ideas of duty or of 
 right. 
 
 We may well suppose that Hobbes was sensible of 
 the unfitness of his system, as a foundation for social 
 rights and duties, and that his wish to supply this defi- 
 ciency led to his hypothesis of a contract upon which 
 society is based. If this was his idea, he was guilty of 
 a great error ; for a contract presupposes the moral 
 motive, and in his system is just as impossible as rights 
 and duties. 
 
 Men, says Hobbes, feeling war to be the worst pos- 
 sible state of existence, united together ; and, desiring 
 at any cost to substitute peace, they agreed to establish 
 a power sufficiently strong to subdue individuals, with 
 the especial object of restraining them, and compelling 
 them to live in harmony. Such, according to Hobbes, 
 was the origin of many communities, and such the 
 foundation of the laws by which they are governed. 
 
 Let us adopt the hypothesis, gentlemen, and then ask 
 what is the meaning of such a contract, and what is its 
 authority over the individuals who enter into it. 
 
 Let us take, then, two men, constituted as Hobbes 
 supposes all men to be ; and now what will be a con- 
 tract to them, and how far will they feel themselves 
 bound by it ? They have entered into certain engage-
 
 316 JOUFFROV, 
 
 ments, for the purpose of securing their highest inter- 
 ests ; how far, now, may they depend upon each other's 
 respect for these engagements ? If each supposes that 
 the other will be governed by the agreement, only in so 
 far as he sees his own interests are promoted by it, 
 then, I say, the contract is useless ; for, before it was 
 formed, each might have expected from the other quite 
 as much. If, on the contrary, either anticipated that 
 the person with whom he enters into the contract will 
 observe its provisions, even where interest impels him 
 to disregard them, then, I ask, on what ground does he 
 rest such a hope ? By what reasoning can a man, con- 
 stituted as Hobbes asserts that we all are, feel himself 
 bound to respect an engagement which is inferior to 
 his interests ? On the contrary, would he not, in such 
 a case, have a most manifest and undeniable right to 
 violate it? His promise restrains him, says Hobbes. 
 Ay ! it would restrain men made as we are, but not 
 such as Hobbes describes. For why is a promise bind- 
 ing ? Because, and only because, reason declares it to 
 be so, and tells us plainly that it cannot be broken 
 without falsehood and infamy. Once admit that there 
 is no good which is absolute, and independent of per- 
 sonal interest, and a promise is an empty word. Now, 
 a promise is the very foundation of a contract, and con- 
 stitutes its strength. A contract, then, between two such 
 beings as Hobbes supposes men to be, would be unmean- 
 ing ; for to agree to do a thing, with the reservation that 
 we need not do it, if we think best, is not to make a 
 contract, but a mere mockery ; and if this were the 
 only kind of engagement possible among men, the 
 word contract would not be found in any language. If
 
 THE SELFISH SYSTEM. HOBBES. 317 
 
 Hobbes pretends, then, to establish social rights and 
 duties upon a primitive contract, in which society 
 originates, he has deceived himself; for contracts 
 presuppose duties, and a system excluding duties, d 
 fortiori, excludes contracts. But it is much to be 
 doubted whether Hobbes had any such intention, as we 
 have here supposed. His whole system proves how 
 little confidence he felt in the obligation of any con- 
 tracts, and how low he estimated them. He admitted 
 two possible modes in which society might originate ; 
 first, the consent of the individuals combining to estab- 
 lish it, or, in other words, a contract ; and, secondly, the 
 violent enslavement of individuals by one or many, that 
 is to say, the right of the strongest. And he goes 
 further ; he considers one form of society as legitimate 
 as the other, and asserts that one imposes equal duties 
 upon the subject with the other. He had so little faith 
 in the obligation of a contract that he trusted wholly in 
 force to maintain it. And finally, according to Hobbes, 
 government has a perfect right to disregard the contract 
 in which it originated ; it is equally guiltless, whether 
 it observes or violates it. Whether it is founded upon 
 contract or force, whether it benefits or injures its 
 subjects, their duty remains still the same. Govern- 
 ment may do wrong in the sight of Heaven, and may 
 act in opposition to its own true good, but it still 
 deserves the respect and the obedience of the subject. 
 If Hobbes seriously intended, then, to establish social 
 duties upon contract, he did all in his power to make 
 his readers disbelieve him. 
 
 Thus you see, gentlemen, that the word contract, in 
 the system of this philosopher, is as unmeaning as the 
 
 B B 2
 
 318 JOUFFROY. 
 
 words duties and rights. And we might say the same 
 of the word society ; for what is society but a visionary 
 and impracticable thing, if men are really such beings 
 as Hobbes pretends ? Society, as Hobbe.s describes it, 
 is not a. society, but a mere constrained juxtaposition 
 of individuals ; its members do not obey ; they yield ; 
 they are not governed by authority, but by force ; the 
 laws which restrain them are chains ; and, in a word, 
 all expressions descriptive of the grand relations origi- 
 nating ii the social state, lose their proper meaning, 
 and assume a false one, when applied to such commu- 
 nities as Hobbes, in conformity with his system, ima- 
 gines to exist. And the reason for this is plain ; a true 
 society necessarily implies true rights and duties, true 
 contracts and promises, a true obedience and authority, 
 true laws, each and all of which are impossible, if 
 there is no such thing as absolute good. Every system 
 which suppresses and denies the moral motive, is 
 forced, then, to mutilate at once the complex idea of 
 society, and every elementary idea which this pre- 
 supposes and includes. 
 
 Is this saying that individual interest has nothing to 
 do with the formation of society ? By no means. If a 
 philosopher should profess such an opinion, he would 
 be obliged to maintain, first, that the moral motive is 
 the only motive of human volitions, and that the selfish 
 motive neither exists nor exercises any control over our 
 actions; he would be obliged, in other words, in adopt- 
 ing such an idea of society and its constituent laws, to 
 form as false, though an entirely opposite conception of 
 a human being as Hobbes has done. The image of man 
 must resemble the reality in the principles of a system, if
 
 THE SELFISH SYSTEM. HOBBES. 319 
 
 we would have its practical results correspond to what 
 we actually see in human society. When we recognize 
 and admit all the elements of man's nature, his con- 
 duct and experience are easily explained, and especially 
 that wonderful phenomenon which we call society. 
 The communities of beavers are explicable by the 
 nature of beavers, and human communities are to be 
 accounted for by the principles of human nature. To 
 form an accurate idea, therefore, of the origin and 
 formation of human society, we must set-out from 
 a correct idea of human nature; here only can we 
 find true light to guide us all else is hypothesis and 
 contradiction. 
 
 I acknowledge at once that interest has much to do 
 with the first formation of society, and with the whole 
 of legislation ; and it would be very absurd to deny 
 it. But to pretend, on the other hand, with Hobbes 
 and Bentham, that interest, and interest alone, is the 
 cause of the foundation, organization, and main- 
 tenance of society, to assert that this principle 
 of our nature is the sole end of all law and right, 
 is openly to contradict real facts and universal common 
 sense. When we come to the discussion of the 
 science of jurisprudence, I will point out to you 
 the respective influence of the principle of utility, 
 and of the moral principle, in the work of legislation, 
 and will enable you distinctly to apprehend the 
 peculiar function of each. I limit myself, now, to 
 the simple statement of the fact that both of these 
 principles concur in the production of all systems 
 of legislation, and that he, therefore, who attempts 
 to explain the existence of society by the operation
 
 320 
 
 JOUFFROY. 
 
 of one of these principles only, must necessarily 
 find much that he cannot explain, and much that 
 he will mutilate and deform. 
 
 It will not be unprofitable for us to reflect, in 
 conclusion, upon the circumstances which led Hobbes 
 to this system which he so boldly maintained, which 
 Bentham, in our time, has reproduced, and which 
 will reappear, again and again, in every important 
 era of the history of philosophy, because fully ex- 
 pressing ^ne of the solutions although a partial and 
 narrow one of the grand moral problem. 
 
 Hobbes lived at the time of the English revolution. 
 Chance, and perhaps also the bias of his character, 
 threw him into connection with the party in favor 
 of absolute power ; that is to say, the party of the 
 Stuarts. The sight of the revolution and of its ex- 
 cesses could not but have the effect of confirming him 
 in his principles and his attachments. It seemed to 
 him that society was dissolved, because it was in a state 
 of revolution ; and he thought he saw the true cause 
 of its ruin in the overturn of established authority. 
 He was led, therefore, to tire conclusion, that societies 
 can exist, and men live in peace, only where power 
 is extremely strong, or, in other words, absolute ; and 
 he could not conceive that order was possible upon 
 any other condition. This idea was, without doubt, 
 the moving spring of Hobbes's philosophy ; and it 
 was under its influence that he examined the laws 
 of human nature, and of the origin of societies. 
 Hobbes was not a remarkable psychologist ; he was 
 .-> a logician ; and nothing are more opposed to each 
 other than logic and observation.) In his day, psy-
 
 THE SELFISH SYSTEM. HOBBES. 321 
 
 chology was in its cradle ; philosophers scarcely 
 regarded it at all ; and yet it is impossible to answer 
 questions relative to human nature, if we are ignorant 
 of the laws of that nature. 
 
 Hobbes, preoccupied as his mind was with favorite 
 ideas, and passions, and interests, found in man just 
 what he desired to find, and wholly overlooked what- 
 ever contradicted his conclusions. I do not condemn 
 him on this account. It was a most natural thing 
 for him to do. But thus it was, that he was led 
 to the adoption of the strange system which I have 
 described, repugnant as it is to all the facts of our 
 nature, and to all the notions of common sense. 
 Others professed similar ideas at the same time ; but 
 no one manifested, in the expression of them, equal 
 vigor and intellectual superiority. Among such writers 
 were two of eminence, both natives of France. The 
 first was Larochefoucauld, the author of the Maximes. 
 It would be unjust, I think, to consider the author 
 of the Maximes chargeable with all the extravagances 
 of Hobbes. The only object of this intelligent man 
 and admirable writer was to show, that there are but 
 few actions even among those apparently the most 
 disinterested and virtuous which might not be dic- 
 tated by a selfish motive. Between such a view as 
 this, and the view that every human action is abso- 
 lutely inspired by selfishness, there is a very wide 
 distinction. It was the aim of Larochefoucauld to 
 unmask, in every possible way, hypocrisy of conduct, 
 and to examine strictly the motives in which acts 
 originated, before pronouncing them virtuous : he 
 made war upon appearances, and was inclined, per-
 
 322 JOUFFROY. 
 
 haps, to attribute too much influence to selfishness 
 in the determinations of human choice. Thus far 
 Larochefoucauld did undoubtedly go; but this is all 
 that is taught or necessarily implied in his Maximes, 
 and I do not think we can justly attribute to him a 
 deeper meaning. 
 
 The second philosopher referred to, of whom it is 
 unnecessary to say much, was Helvetius ; in whose 
 book, entitled De L'Esprit, we find all the ethical 
 maxims of Hobbes clearly and positively announced. 
 Helvetius did not hesitate at all to declare, that man's 
 only motive for choice is the pursuit of pleasure 
 and the dread of pain ; and he boldly deduced the 
 consequences of his principle. Helvetius was the 
 child of Condillac ; the morality of the former sprung 
 from the metaphysics of the latter. And, indeed, 
 if we once admit that sensation is the germ of all 
 knowledge, we can scarcely avoid the conclusion that 
 agreeable sensations are the germ of all good. The 
 doctrine is in both cases precisely the same ; it is 
 only transferred from the intellect to the will. 
 
 Like many other authors of bad systems, Helvetius 
 was one of the best men in the world ; and his object 
 in writing his book was much more to exhibit talent 
 than to establish truth ; and in this he certainly suc- 
 ceeded. No doctrine could offer a better opportunity 
 for that skilful introduction of brilliant expression 
 and piquant anecdote, which renders the book DC 
 I? Esprit at orjce so entertaining, yet so full of melan- 
 choly suggestions. 
 
 Few philosophers have been of greater service than 
 Hobbes. Many writers, who have given a mutilated
 
 THE SELFISH SYSTEM. HOBBES. 323 
 
 and imperfect representation of human nature, have 
 so wrapped it up and veiled it by want of precision 
 of thought and expression, that it is difficult to dis- 
 cover what errors they have made ; and, as to the 
 consequences of their principles, sometimes they do 
 not perceive them themselves, or, if perceiving them, 
 they do not dare to push them to extreme results. Not 
 so with Hobbes. He folds his system in no orna- 
 mental drapery ; his style is perfectly simple, clear, 
 and dry ; he never employs an unnecessary word in 
 expressing his thought ; and there is no possibility 
 of misunderstanding either the meaning of his lan- 
 guage or the scope of his arguments. But this is 
 not his only merit. After distinctly exhibiting his 
 principle, he unhesitatingly deduces from it all its 
 consequences ; he fears not to admit and to maintain 
 all that necessarily results from it, destructive though 
 it may seem to morality, freedom, and society. In 
 reading Hobbes, we are compelled to acknowledge 
 the justice of his conclusions, and to grant that we 
 must either adopt them or reject his principle alto- 
 gether. Now, this, 1 gentlemen, is rendering a great 
 service to the cause of science. It is only when a 
 partial and imperfect system is exhibited with clearness 
 and boldness, that we can hope to expose and refute it. 
 So long as a system is enveloped in mystification, it 
 may be tolerated, however detestable its character; 
 but the instant when its revolting consequences are 
 laid bare, we are constrained to inquire whether 
 or not it is founded on truth. This is exactly what 
 occurred with regard to the system of selfishness. 
 Hobbes's exposition brought out so broadly all its
 
 324 JOUFFROY. 
 
 consequences, that the philosophers of his time were 
 led to scrutinize severely his principle ; and they were 
 not long in discovering that he had been guilty of muti- 
 lating and deforming human nature; and hence arose 
 that deep study of psychology which has, in our day, 
 brought so clearly to view the true elements of our 
 moral being. And thus to Hobbes's exertions we 
 are indebted for a distinctness and completeness in 
 the sciences of politics, ethics, and psychology, which, 
 but for his writings, we might long have wanted. 
 
 END OF VOL. I.