\ THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES ESSAYS ON THE ACTIVE POWERS OF MA N- > * ESSAYS ON THE ACTIVE POWERS OF MAN. By THOMAS ^E I D, D. D. F. R. S. Edin. PROFESSOR OF MORAL PHILOSOPHY IN THE UNIVERSITY OF GLASGOW. He bath Jhcwed thee, 0 Man, what is good. MiCAH. EDINBURGH: Printed FOR JOHN BELL, Parliament-Squar£, And G. G. J. & J. ROBINSON, London. M,DCC,LXXX\III. \ 1 t< CONTENTS Page INTRODUCTION, - - - - i ESSAY I. OF ACTIVE POWER IN GENERAL. Chap. i. Of the Notion of yl^ive Power ^ - - 5 2. 7" he fame SubjeEl^ - - - 13 ■ 3. Of Mr Locke's Account of our Idea of Power y 22 4. OfMx Hume's Opinion of the Idea of Power, - 26 5. Whether Beings that have no Will nor Under/landing may have ABive Power ? - - ~ 33 6. Of the efficient Caufes of the Phanomena of Nature y 41 7. Of the Extent of Human Power, - - 48 ESSAY n. OF THE WILL. Chap. i. Obfervations concerning the Will, " - - 59 2. 0/ the Influence of Incitements and Motives upon the — Will, - - - 67 3. Of Operations of Mind which may be called Voluntary, 78 -' 4. Corollaries, ^ - - - - 92 ESSAY III. OF THE PRINCIPLES OF ACTION. PARTI. Of the Mechanical Principles of Jaion. '^ Chap. t. Of the Principles of jl£lion in general, - 97 ■ 2. Injlin5l, - - - - 103 3. Of Habit, - - - 117 a 2 ESSAY % vi CONTENTS. ESSAY III. PART II. Of Animal Principles of AB'ion. Page Chap. i. Of Appetites, - - - 121 2. OfDeftres,.y - . - 131 3. Of Benevolent Affedion in general, - - I41 4. Of the particular Benevolent Affe^ions, - 148 5. Of Malevolent AffeElion, - - 166 6. OfPaJion, - - - 180 7. Of Difpofttion, ' - - 102 8. Of Opinion, - - - - 198 ESSAY III. PART III. Of the Rational Principles of ASiion. Chap. i. 'There are Rational Principles of A6lion in Man, -' 205. 2. Of Regard to our Good on the Whole, - - 208 3. The Tendency of this Principle, - 215 4. Defers of this Principle, - - - 221 ■ 5* Of the Notion of Duty, Redlitude. moral Obligation, 227 6. Of the Senfe of Duty, - - - 236 7. Of moral Approbation and Difapprobation^ - 244 ■ 8. Obfervations concerning Confcience, - - 252 ESSAY IV. OF THE LIBERTY OF MORAL AGENTS. Chap. i. The Notions of Moral Liberty and Necefity fated, 267 2. Of the Words Caufe and EjfeSl, A£lion, and AElive ' Power, - - - 275 — — 3. Canfes of the Ambiguity of thofe Words, - 281 Chap. CONTENTS. vu ^ Page Chap. 4. Of the Influence of Motives, - - 291 5. Liberty conftftent ivilb Government^ - - 302 6. Firfl Argument for LJberty, - - - 312 7. Second Argument, - - - 323 8. Third Argument, - - - 329 9. Of Arguments for Necejftty, - - - 333 The fame Subject, - - - 346 10. II. Of the PermiJJion of Evil, - - 3f5 ESSAY V. OF MORALS. Chap. I. Of the Firjl Principles of Morals, - 369 2. OfSyftems of Morals, _ _ . -gQ 3. Of Syjlems of Natural Jurifprudence, - 387 4. Whether an ASiion deferving Moral Approbation, mujl be done ivith the Belief of its being morally good, 39 c 5. Whether Jttjiice be a Natural or an Artifcial Virtue, 409 6. Of the Nature and Obligation of a Contrary • 44 c 7. That Moral Approbation implies a real Judgment, 467 ESSAYS ON THE ACTIVE POWERS of the HUMAN MIND, INTRODUCTION. TH E divifion of the faculties of the human mind into Un- derjlanding and Will is very ancient, and has been very ge- nerally adopted ^ the former comprehending all our fpeculative, the latter all our a<flive Powers. It is evidently the intention of our Maker, that man fhould be an adlive and not merely a fpeculative being. For this purpofe, certain adtive powers have been given him, limited indeed in many refpeds, but fuited to his rank and place in the creation. Ouv bufinefs is to manage thefe powers, by propofing to our- felves the beft ends, planning the moft proper fyftem of condud that is in our power, and executing it with induftry and zeal. This is true wifdom ; this is the very intention of our being. Every thing virtuous and praife-worthy muft lie in the right ufeof our power; every thing vicious and blameable in the abufe of it. What is not within the fphere of our power cannot be imputed to us either for blame or praife. Thefe are felf-evident A truths, INTRODUCTION. truths, to which every unprejudiced mind yields an immediate and invincible afTent. Knowledge derives its value from this, that it enlarges our power, and direds us in the application of it. For in the right employment of our ad;ive power confifts all the honour, digni- ty and worth of a man, and, in the abufe and perverfion of it, all vice, corruption and depravity. We are diflinguiflied from the brute-animals, not lefs by our active than by our fpeculative powers. The brutes are Simulated to various adlions by their inftinds, by their appetites, by their paflions. But they feem to be ne- ceflarily determined by the flrongeft impulfe, without any capa- city of felf-government. Therefore we do not blame them for what they do ; nor have we any reafon to think that they blame themfelves. They may be trained up by difcipline, but cannot be governed by law. There is no evidence that they have the conception of a law, or of its obligation. Man is capable of ading from motives of a higher nature. He perceives a dignity and worth in one courfe of condudl, a de- merit and turpitude in another, which brutes have not the capa- city to difcern. He perceives it to be his duty to a<5l the worthy and the ho- nourable part, whether his appetites and paflions incite him to it, or to the contrary. When he facrifices the gratification of the flrongeft appetites or paflions to duty, this is fo far from dimi- niftiing the merit of his condud, that it greatly increafes it, and affords, upon refledlion, an inward fatisfadion and triumph, of which brute-animals are not fufceptible. When he ads a contrary part, he has a confcioufnefs of demerit, to which they are no lefs ftrangers. Since, INTRODUCTION. Since, therefore, the active powers of man make fo important a part of his conftitution, and diftinguifh him fo eminently from his fellow-animals, they defer%'e no lefs to be the fubje<^ of phi- lofophical difquifition than his intellectual powers. A jufl: knowledge of our powers, whether intelledual or ac- tive, is fo far of real importance to us, as it aids us in the ex- ercife of them. And every man mufl acknowledge, that to adl properly is much more valuable than to think juftly or reafon acutely. A 2 ESSAY ESSAY L OF ACTIVE POWER IN GENERAL. CHAP. I. Of the Notion of A&ive Power. TO confider gravely what Is meant by Adtive Power, may feem altogether unneceflary, and to be mere trifling. It is not a term of art, but a common word in our language, ufed every day in difcourfe, even by the vulgar. We find words of the fame meaning in all other languages ; and there is no reafon to think that it is not perfectly underftood by all men who un- derftand the Englllh language. I believe all this is true, and that an attempt to explain a word fo well underftood, and to ftiow that it has a meaning, re- quires an apology. The apology is. That this term, fo well underftood by the vul- gar, has been darkened by philofophers, who, in this as in many other inftances, have found great difficulties about a thing which, to the reft of mankind, feems perfed:ly clear. This has been the more eafily effeifted, becaufe Power is a thing fo much of its own kind, and fo fimple in its nature, as not to admit of a logical definition. It is well known, that there are many things perfedly under- ftood, and of which we have clear and diftindt conceptions, which 6 E S S A Y I. CHAP. L which cannot be logically defined. No man ever attempted $o define magnitude ; yet there is no word whofe meaning is more difl:indly or more generally underftood. We cannot give a logi- cal definition of thought, of duration, of number, or of motion. When men attempt to define fuch things, they give no light. They may give a fynonymous word or phrafe, but it will proba- bly be a worfe for a better. If they will define, the definition will either be grounded upon a hypothefis, or it will darken the fubjed: rather than throw light upon it. The Ariftotelian definition of motion, that it is " A&us entis in " potentia^quatenus in potentta,^'' has beenjuftly cenfured by modern Philofophers ; yet I think it is matched by what a celebrated mo- dern Philofopher has given us, as the moft accurate definition of belief, to wit, " That it is a lively idea related to or aflbciated " with a prefent impreflion." Treatife of Human Nature, vol. i. p. 172. " Memory," according to the fame Philofopher, " is " the faculty by which we repeat our impreflions, fo as that " they retain a confiderable degree of their firfl vivacity, and " are fomewhat intermediate betwixt an idea and an Imprelllon." Euclid, if his editors have not done him injuftice, has at- tempted to define a right line, to define unity, ratio and number. But thefe definitions are good for nothing. We may indeed fufped: them not to be Euclid's ; becaufe they are never once quoted in the Elements, and are of no ufe. I fhall not therefore attempt to define adive power, that I may not be liable to the fame cenfure ; but fliall offer fome oblerva- tions that may lead us to attend to the conception we have of it in our own minds. I. Power is not an objed of any of our external fenfes, nor even an objed of confcioufhefs. That OF THE NOTION OF ACTIVE POWER. 7 That it is not feen, nor heard, nor touched, nor tafted, nor chap, i.^ fmclt, needs no proof. That we are not confcious of it, in the proper fenfe of that word, will be n6 lefs evident, if we re- flect, that confcioufnefs is that power of the mind by which it has an immediate knowledge of its own operations. Po\Ver is not an operation of the mind, and therefore no objed of cbn- fcioufneis. Indeed every operation of the mind is the exertion of fome power of the mind ; but we are confcious of the ope- ration only, the power lies behind the fcene; and though we may juftly infer the power from the operation, it muft be re- membered, that inferring is not the province of confcioufnefs, but of rcaion. I acknowledge, therefore, that our having ahy conception of idea of power is repuguant to Mr Locke's theory, that all our Am- ple ideas are got either by the external fenfes, or by confcioufnefs. Both cannot be true. Mr Hume perceived this repugnancy, and confiftently maintained, that we have no idea of power. Mr Locke did not perceive it. If he had, it might have led him to fufped his theory j for when theory is repugnant to facfl, it is eafy to fee which ought to yield. I am confcious that I have a conception or iJea of power, but, ftriclly fpeaking, I am not confcious that 1 have power. I fliall have occafion to (hew, that we have very early, from our conftitution, a convic'liou or belief of fome degree of adive power in ourfelves. This belief, however, is not confcioufnefs : For we may be deceived in it ; but the teftimony of confciouf- nefs can never deceive. Thus, a man who is (truck with a palfy in the night commonly knows not that he has loft the power of fpeech till he attempts to fpeak ; he knows not whether he can move his hands and arms till he makes the trial ; and if, with- out making trial, he confults his confcioufnefs ever fo attentive- ly, it will give him no information whether he has loft thefe powers, or iUll retains them. From ^ ESSAY I. » — ^ — ' CHAP. I. From this we muft conclude, that the powers we have are not an objed of confcloufnefs, though it would be foolifh to cenfure this way of fpeaking in popular difcourfe, which requires not accurate attention to the different provinces of our various fa- culties. The teftimony of confcloufnefs is always unerring, nor was it ever called in queflion by the greateft fceptics, ancient or modem. 2. A fecond obfervation is. That as there are fome things of which we have a dired, and others of which we have only a re- lative conception, power belongs to the latter clafs. As this diftindion is overlooked by moft writers In logic, I fliall beg leave to Illuflrate it a little, and then fhall apply It to the prefent fubjed. Of fome things we know what they are in themfelves ; our conception of fuch things I call direB. Of other things, we know not what they are in themfelves, but only that they have certain properties or attributes, or certain relations to other things ; of thefe oui* conception is only relative. To Illuftrate this by fome examples : In the unlverfity-library, I call for the book, prefs L, fhelf lo. No. lo. ; the library- keeper muft have fuch a conception of the book I want, as to be able to dlftlngulfh it from ten thoufand that are under his care. But what conception does he form of it from my words ? They inform him neither of the author, nor the fubjed, nor the lan- guage, nor the fize, nor the binding, but only of its mark and place. His conception of it is merely relative to thefe clrcum- ftances ; yet this relative notion enables him to diftinguifli it from every other book in the library. There are other relative notions that are not taken from ac- cidental relations, as in the example juft now mentioned, but from qualities or attributes eflential to the thing. Of OF THE NOTION OF ACTIVE POWER. < Of this kind are our notions both of body and mind. What CHAP, r. is body ? It is, fay Phllofophers, that which is extended, folid and divifible. Says the querift, 1 do not afk what the properties of body arc, but what is the thing itfelf ^ let me firft know diredly what body is, and then confider its properties ? To this demand I am afraid the querift will meet with no fatisfadory anfwer ; becaufe our notion of body is not diredl but relative to its qua- lities. We know that it is fomething extended, folid and divi- fible, and we know no more. Again, if It fhould be afked, What Is mind ? It is that which thinks. I afk not what it does, or what its operations are, but what it is ? To this I can find no anfwer j our notion of mind being not dired, but relative to its operations, as our notion of body Is relative to its qualities. There are even many of the qualities of body, of which we have only a relative conception. What Is heat In a body ? It is a quality which affeds the fenfe of touch In a certain way. If you want to know, not how It affeds the fenfe of touch, but what It Is In Itfelf ; this I confefs I know not. My conception of it Is not dired, but relative to the effed It has upon bodies. The notions we have of all thofe qualities which Mr Locke calls fecondary, and of thofe he calls powers of bodies, fuch as the power of the magnet to attrad iron, or of fire to burn wood, are relative. Having given examples of things of which our conception is only relative, it may be proper to mention fome of which It Is dired. Of this kind, are all the primary qualities of body ; fi- gure, extenfion, folidlty, hardnefs, fluidity, and the like. Of thefe we have a dired and Immediate knowledge from our fenfes. To this clafs belong alfo all the operations of mind of which we are confcious. I know what thought Is, what memory, what a purpofe, what a promife. B There 10 ESSAY I. CHAP. I. There are fome things of which we can have both a direcft and a relative conception. I can diredlly conceive ten thoufand men or ten thoufand pounds, becaufe both are objeds of fenfe, and may be feen. But whether I fee fuch an objed:, or dire(5lly con- ceive it, my notion of it is indiflind ; it is only that of a great multitude of men, or of a great heap of money ; and a fmall addition or diminution makes no perceptible change in the no- tion I form in this way. But I can form a relative notion of the fame number of men or of pounds, by attending to the re- lations which this number has to other numbers, greater or lefs. Then I perceive that the relative notion is diftin(St and fcientific. For the addition of a fingle man, or a fingle pound, or even of a penny, is ealily perceived. In like manner, I can form a diredl notion of a polygon of a thoufand equal fides and equal angles. This direct notion can- not be more diflintfl, when conceived in the mind, than that which I get by fight, when the objedl is before me ; and I find it fo indiftind:, that it has the fame appearance to my eye, or to my dired conception, as a polygon of a thoufand and one, or of nine hundred and ninety-nine fides. But when I form a rela- tive conception of it, by attending to the relation it bears to polygons of a greater or lefs number of fides, my notion of it becomes diftind and fcientific, and I can demonfl;rate the pro- perties by which it is diftinguifhed from all other polygons. From thefe inflances it appears, that our relative conceptions of things are not always lefs difi;ind, nor lefs fit materials for accu- rate reafoning, than thofe that are dired j and that the con- trary may happen in a remarkable degree. Our conception of power Is relative to its exertions or effeds. Power is one things its exertion is another thing. It is true, there can be no exertion without power; but there may be power that is not exerted. Thus a man may have power to fpeak when he is filentj he may have power to rife and walk when he fits flill. But OF THE NOTION OF ACTIVE POWER. n But though it be one thing to fpeak, and another to have the CHAI'. i.^ power of fpeaking, I apprehend we conceive of the power as fomething which has a certain relation to the efled. And of every power we form our notion by the effed which it is able to produce. 3. It is evident that power is a quality, and cannot exifl with- out a fubjed to which it belongs. That power may exiil: without any being or fubjed to which that power may be attributed, is an abfurdity, fhocking to every man of common underllanding. It is a quality which may be varied, not only in degree, but alfo in kind ; and we diftinguifli both the kinds and degrees by the effedts which they are able to produce. Thus a power to fly, and a power to reafon, are different kinds of power, their effeds being different in kind. But a power to carry one hundred weight, and a power to carry two hundred, are different degrees of the fame kind. 4. We cannot conclude the want of power from its not being exerted ; nor from the exertion of a lefs degree of power, can we conclude that there is no greater degree in the fubjed. Thus, though a man on a particular occafion faid nothing, we cannot conclude from that circumflance, that he had not the power of fpeech ; nor from a man's carrying ten pound weight, can we conclude that he had not power to carry twenty. 5. There are fome qualities that have a contrary, others that have not ; power is a quality of the latter kind. Vice is contrary to virtue, mifery to happinefs, hatred to love, negation to affirmation ; but there is no contrary to power. Weak- B 2 nefs 12 E S S A Y I. CHAP. I. nefs or impotence are defeds or privations of power, but not contraries to it. If what has been faid of power be ealily underftood, and rea- dily aflented to, by all who underftand our language, as I believe it is, we may from this juflly conclude. That we have a diftind notion of power, and may reafon about it with underltanding, though we can give no logical definition of it.. If power were a thing of which we have no idea, as fome Philofophers have taken much pains to prove, that is, if power were a word without any meaning, we could neither affirm nor deny any thing concerning it with underftanding. We fhould have equal reafon to fay that it is a fubftance, as that it is a qua- lity ; that it does not admit of degrees as that it does. If the underftanding immediately aflents to one of thefe affertions, and revolts from the contrary, we may conclude with certainty, that we put fome meaning upon the word power, that is, that we have fome idea of it. And it is chiefly for the fake of this con- clufion, that I have enumerated fo many obvious things concern- ing it. The term adive power is ufed, I conceive, to diftinguifh it from fpeculative powers. As all languages diflinguifh adlion from fpeculation, the fame difl;ind:ion is applied to the powers by which they are produced. The powers of feeing, hearing, remembering, diftinguifhing, judging, reafoning, are fpeculative powers ; the power of executing any work of art or labour is adive power. There are many things related to power, in fuch a manner, that we can have no notion of them if we have none of power. The exertion of adlive power we call aEl'ion; and as every adion produces fome change, fo every change muft be caufed by fome OFTHENOTIONOFACTIVEPOWER. 13 fome exertion, or by the ceflation of fome exertion of power. That chap. ii. which produces a change by the exertion of its power, we call the caufe of that change ', and the change produced, the effeEl of that caufe. When one being, by its adive power, produces any change upon another, the lall is faid to be pqffive, or to be aded upon. Thus we fee that adion and paffion, cuufe and effed, exertion and operation, have fuch a relation to adive power, that if it be underftood, they are underftood of confequence ; but if power be a word without any meaning, all thofe words which are related to it, nuift be words without any meaning. They are, however, common words in our language j and equivalent words have always been common in all languages. It would be very ftrange indeed, if mankind had always ufed thefe words fo familiarly, without perceiving that they had no meaning ; and that this difcovery fliould have been firft made by a Philofophcr of the prefent age. With equal reafon it might be maintained, that though there are words in all languages to exprefs fight, and words to fignify the various colours which are objeds of fight ; yet that all man- kind from the beginning of the world had been blind, and never had an idea of fight or of colour. But there are no abfurdities fo grofs as thofe which Philofophers have advanced concerning ideas. CHAP. II. The fame Subje£l. THERE are, I believe, no abftrad notions, that are to be found more early, or more univerfally, in the minds of men, than thofe of ading, and being aded upon. Every child that underftands *4 ESSAY I. CHAP. II. underftands the difllndlon between ftriking and being flruck, mufl have the conception of adlion and pailion. We find accordingly, that there Is no language fo Imperfed, but that it has adive and paffive verbs, and participles ; the one fig- nifying fome kind of adionj the other the being aded upon. This diftindion enters into the original contexture of all lan- guages. Adive verbs have a form and conftrudtlon proper to them- felves ; paffive verbs a different fonn and a different conflru6lion. In all languages, the nominative to an adlive verb is the agent; the thing aded upon is put in an oblique cafe. In paffive verbs, the thing adted upon is the nominative, and the agent, if expreC- fed, muit be in an oblique cafe ; as in this example : Raphael drew the Cartoons j the Cartoons were drawn by Raphael. Every diftindlon which we find m the ftrufture of all lan- guages, mufl: have been familiar to thofe who framed the lan- guages at firft, and to all who fpeak them with underftanding. It may be objeded to this argument, taken from the ftrudure of language, in the ufe of a6tive and paffive verbs, that adive verbs are not always ufed to denote an ad:ion, nor is the nomina- tive before an active verb, conceived in all cafes to be an agent, in the ftridl fenfe of that word j that there are many paffive verbs which have an adlive fignification, and adlive verbs which have a paffive. From thefe fadts, it may be thought a jufl: con- clufion, that in contriving the different forms of adllve and paf- five verbs, and their different conftruClion, men have not been governed by a regard to any diftindlion between adlion and paf- fion, but by chance, or fome accidental caufe. In anfwer to this objedion, the fad an which it Is founded, mufl OF THE NOTION OF ACTIVE POWER. 15 mud be admitted ; hut I think the conclufion not juftly drawn chap, il from it, for the following reafons : 1. It feems contrary to reafon, to attribute to chance or acci- dent, what is fubjed to rules, even though there may be excep- tions to the rule. The exceptions may, in fuch a cafe, be attri- buted to accident, but the rule cannot. There is perhaps hard- ly any thing in language fo general, as not to admit of excep- tions. It cannot be denied to be a general rule, that verbs and participles have an adive and a pallive voice ; and as this is a general rule, not in one language only, but in all the languages we are acquainted with, it fhews evidently that men, in the ear- lieft ftages, and in all periods of fociety, have diftinguifhedadlion from paflion. 2. It is to be obferved, that the forms of language are often ap- plied to purpofes different from thofe for which they were ori- ginally intended. The varieties of a language, even the moft perfect, can never be made equal to all the variety of human conceptions. The forms and modifications of language mull be confined within certain Imiits, that they may not exceed the ca- pacity of human memory. Therefore, in all languages, there muft be a kind of frugality ufed, to make one form of expref- fion ferve many different purpofes, like Sir Hudibras' dagger, which, though made to ftab or break a head, was put to many other ufes. Many examples might be produced of this frugali- ty in language. Thus the Latins and Greeks had five or fix cafes of nouns, to exprefs the various relations that one thing could bear to another. The genitive cafe muff have been at firft intended to exprefs fome one capital relation, fuch as that of poiTeflion or of property ; but it would be very difficult to enumerate all the relations which, in the progrefs of language, it was ufed to exprefs. The fame obl'crvatioa may be applied to other cafes of nouns. The i6 E S S A Y I. CHAP. II. The flighteft fimilltude or analogy is thought fufficlent to juf^ tify the extenfion of a form of fpeech beyond its proper mean- ing, whenever the language does not afford a more proper form. In the moods of verbs, a few of thofe which occur moll fre- quently are diftinguifhed by different forms, and thefe are made to fupply all the forms that are wanting. The fame obferva- tion may be applied to what is called the voices of verbs. An adiive and a paiUve are the capital ones ; fome languages have more, but no language fo many as to anfwer to all the variations of human thought. We cannot always coin new ones, and there- fore muft ufe fome one or other of thofe that are to be found in the language, though at firft intended for another purpofe. 3. A third obfervation in anfwer to the objedlion is. That we can point out a caufe of the frequent mifapplication of adive verbs, to things which have no proper adlivity : A caufe which extends to the greater part of fuch mifapplications, and which confirms the account I have given of the proper intention of adive and pallive verbs. As there is no principle, that appears to be more univerfally ac- knowledged by mankind, from the fii'ft dawn of reafon, than, that every change we obferve in nature mufl have a caufe; fo this is no fooner perceived, than there arifes in the human mind, a flrong defire to know the caufes of thofe changes that fall within our obfervation. Felix qui potuit rerum cognofccre catifas, is the voice of nature in all men. Nor is there any thing that more early di- Itinguiflies the rational from the brute creation, than this avidi- ty to know the caufes of things, of which I fee no fign in brute- animals. ■It muft furely be admitted, that in thofe periods wherein lan- guages are formed, men are but poorly furniftied for carrying on this invelHgation with fuccefs. We fee, that the experience of thoufands of years is neceflary to bring men into the right track in OF THE NOTION OF ACTIVE POWER. 17 In this jnvcfligation, if indeed they can yet be Hiid to be brought CUAP^il. into it. What innumerable errors rude ages mufl fall into, with regard to caufes, from impatience to judge, and inability to judge right, we may conje«5ture from reafon, and may fee from experi- ence; from which I think, it is evident, that fuppofing adivc verbs to have been originally intended to exprefs what is properly cal- led adion, and their nominatives to exprefs the agent ; yet, in the rude and barbarous ftate wherein languages are formed, there muft be innumerable mifapplications of fuch verbs and nomina- tives, and many things fpoken of as adlive, which have no real adivity. To this we may add, that it is a general prejudice of our early years, and of rude nations, when we perceive any thing to be changed, and do not perceive any other thing which we can be- lieve to be the caufe of that change, to impute it to the thing itfelf, and conceive it to be adive and animated, fo far as to have the power of producing that change in itfelf. Hence, to a child, or to a favage, all nature feems to be animated ; the fea, the earth, the air, the fun, moon, and ftars, rivers, fountains and groves, are conceived to be adive and animated beings. As this is a fentiment natural to man in his rude flate, it has, on that account, even in polilhed nations, the verifimilitude that is required in poetical fic- tion and fable, and makes perfonification one of the moft agreeable figures in poetry and elofjuence. The origin of this prejudice probably is, that we judge of other things by ourfelves, and therefore are difpofed to afcribe to them that life and adivity which we know to be in ourfelves. A little girl afcribes to her doll, the pafTions and fentiments flie feels in herfclf. Even brutes feem to have fomething of this nature. Ayoung cat, when (he fees any brifk motion in a feather or a draw, is prompted, by natural inftind, to hunt it as (he would hunt a moufe. C Whatever i8 E S S A Y I. v. CHAP. II. Whatever be the origin of this prejudice in mankind, it has a. powerful influence upon language, and leads men, in the ftruc- ture of language, to afcribe action to many things that are merely paflive ; becaufe, when fuch forms of fpeech were invented, thofe things were really believed to be adive. Thus we fay, the wind blows, the fea rages, the fun rifes and fets, bodies gravitate and move. When experience difcovers that thefe things are altogether in- adlive, it is eafy to correal our opinion about them ; but it is not fo eafy to alter the efbablifhed forms of language. The moft perfe6l and the mofl: poliHied languages are like old furniture, which is never perfedlly fuited to the prefent tafte, but retains fomething of the fafliion of the times when it was made. Thus, though all men of knowledge believe, that the fuccef- fion of day and night is owing to the rotation of the earth round Its axis, and not to any diurnal motion of the heavens ; yet we find ourfelves under a neceility of fpeaking in the old flyle, of the fun's rifing and going down, and coming to the meridian. And this fliyle is ufed, not only In converfing with the vulgar, but when men of knowledge converfe with one another. And if we ihould fuppofe the vulgar to be at laft fo far enlightened,, as to have the fame belief with the learned, of the caufe of day and night, the fame ftyle would ftlll be ufed. From this inftance we may learn, that the language of man- kind may furnlfh good evidence of opinions which have been early and unlverfally entertained, and that the forms contrived for expreiling fuch opinions, may remain In ufe after the opinions which gave rife ta them have been greatly changed. Adllve verbs appear plainly to have been firft contrived to ex- prefs adion. They are Hill In general applied to this purpofe. And though we find many inllances of the application of adive verbs OF THE NOTION OF ACTIVE POWER. 19 verbs to thinj^s which we now believe not to be adive, this one;ht to be afcribed to mens having once had the belief that thofe things are adive, and perhaps, in fome cafes, to this, that forms of exprelhon are commonly extended, in courfc of time, beyond their original intention, either from analogy, or hecanfe more proper forms for the purpofe nre not found in lan- guage. Even the mifapplication of this notion of adtion and adlive power fliews that there is fuch a notion in the human mind, and flaews the neceiTity there is in philofophy of diftinguifhing the proper application of thefe words, from the vague and improper application of them, founded on common language, or on po- pular prejudice. Another argimient to fliew that all men have a notion or idea of adive power is, that there are many operations of mind com- mon to all men who have reafon, and neceflary in the ordinary conduct of life, which imply a belief of adive power in our- felves and in others. All our volitions and efforts to ad, all our deliberations, our purpofes and promifes, imply a belief of adive power in our- felves ; our counfcls, exhortations and commands, imply a belief of adive power in thofe to whom they are addrefled. If a man (hould make an efTort to fly to the moon; if he fhould even deliberate about it, or refolve to do it, we fliould conclude him to be lunatic ; and even lunacy would not account for his condud, unlefs it made him believe the thing to be in his power. If a man promifes to pay me a fura of money to-morrow, with- out believing that it will then be in his power, he is not an ho- neft man ; and, if 1 did not believe that it will then be in his power, I fliould have no dependence on his proniife. C 2 All CHAP. II. 20 ESSAY I. CHAP. 11. All our power is, without doubt, derived from the Author of our being, and, as he gave it freely, he may take it away when he will. No man can be certain of the continuance of any of his powers of body or mind for a moment ; and, therefore, in every promife, there is a condition underflood, to wit, if we live, if we retain that health of body and foundnefs of mind which is neceflary to the perfoi-mance, and if nothing happen-, in the providence of God, which puts it out of our power. The rudefl; favages are taught by nature to admit thefe condi- tions in all promifes, whether they be exprefTed or not ; and na man is charged with breach of promife, when he fails through the failure of thefe conditions. It is evident, therefore, that, without the belief of fome ac- tive power, no honefl man would make a promife, no wife man would trufi; to a promife ; and it is no lefs evident, that the be- lief of adlive power, in ourfelves or in others, implies au idea or notion of adive power. The fame reafoning may be applied to every inftance wherein we give counfel to others, wherein we perfuade or command. As long, therefore, as mankind are beings who can deliberate and refolve and will, as long as they can give counfel, and exhort, and command, they muft believe the exiftence of axSive power in themfelves, and in others, and therefoi-e muft have a notion or idea of adive power. It might farther be obferved, that power is the proper and immediate object of ambition, one of the moft univerfal paf- fions of the human mind, and that which makes the greateft fi- gure in the hiftory of all ages. Whether Mr Hume, in defence of his fyftem, would maintain that there is no fuch pallion in mankind as ambition, or that ambition is not a vehement defire of power, or that men may have a vehement defire of power, without having any idea of power, I will not pretend to divine. I OF THE NOTION OF ACTIVE POWER. 21 I cannot help repeating my apology for infifting fo long in the CHAP, ii.^ refutation of fo great an abfiirdity. It is a capital dodrine in a late celebrated fyfteni of human nature, that we have no idea of power, not even in the Deity ; that we are not able to difco- ver a fingle inftance of it, either in body or fpirit, either in fuperior or inferior natures ; and that we deceive ourfclves when we imagine that we are poffefled of any idea of this kind. To fupport this important doclrine, and the out-works that are railed in its defence, a great part of the firft volume of the Treatife of Human Nature is employed. That fyftem abounds with conclufions the moft abfurd that ever were advanced by any Philofopher, deduced with great acutencfs and ingenuity from principles commonly received by Philofophers. To rejed: fuch conclufions as unworthy of a hearing, would be difrefpedl- ful to the ingenious author ; and to refute them is difficult, and appears ridiculous. It is difficult, becaufe we can hardly find principles to reafon from, niore evident than thofe we wifli to prove ; and it appears ridiculous, becaufe, as this author juftiy obfervcs, next to the ridicule of denying an evident truth, is that of taking much pains to prove it. Proteflants complain, with juftice, of the hardfhip put upon them by Roman Catholics, in requiring them to prove that bread and wine is not flefh and blood. They have, however, fubmit- tcd to this hardfhip for the fake of truth. I think it is no lefs hard to be put to prove that men have an idea of power. What convinces myfelf that I have an idea of power is, that I am confcious that 1 know what I mean by that word, and, while I have this confcioufnefs, I difdain equally to hear argu- ments for or againft my having fuch an idea. But if we would convince thofc, who, being led away by prejudice, or by autho- rity. 22 E S S A Y I. CHAP. IL rify^ deny that they have any fuch idea, we muft condefcend to ufe fuch arguments as the fubjed will afford, and fuch as we fhould ufe with a man who fliould deny that mankind have any idea of magnitude or of equality. The arguments I have adduced are taken from thefe five to- pics: I. That there are many things that we can affirm or deny concerning power, with underflanding. 2. That there are, In all languages, words fignlfying, not only power, but fignifying many other things that imply power, fuch as, adion and paffion, caufe and effed, energy, operation, and others. 3. That in the llruc- ture of all languages, there is an adive and pafllve form in. verbs and participles, and a different conftrudion adapted to thefe forms, of which diverfity no account can be given, but that it has been intended to diftinguifli adlion from paffion. 4. That there are many operations of the human mind familiar to every man come to the ufe of reafon, and neceflary in the ordinary con- dud of life, which imply a convidlon of fome degree of power in ourfelves and In others. 5. That the defire of power is one of the ftrongeft paffions of human nature. CHAP. III. Of Mr Locke's Account of our Idea of Power. THIS author, having refuted the Cartefian dodrlne of innate ideas, took up, perhaps too raflily, an opinion that all our fimple Ideas are got, either by fenfatlon or by refledlon j that Is, by our external fenfes, or by confcloufnefs of the operations of our own minds. Through the whole of his Effay, he fhews a fatherly affec- tion to this opinion, and often drains very hard to reduce our fimple ideas to one of thofe fources, or both. Of this, feveral inftances Mr LOCKE'S ACCOUNT OF POWER. 43 inftances might be given, in his account of our idea of fub- CHAP. IIL ftance, of duration, of perfonal identity. Omitting thefe, as foreign to the prcfent fubjed, 1 fhall only take notice of the ac- count he gives of our idea of power. The fum of it is, That obferving, by our fenfes, various changes in objedls, we coUedl a pofllbility in one objedl to be changed, and in another a pofllbihty of making that change, and fo come by that idea which we call power. Thus we fay the fire has a power to melt gold, and gold has power to be melted ; the firfl he calls active, the fecond palHve power. He thinks, however, that we have the raoft diftindt notion of a<ftive power, by attending to the power which we ourfelves ex- ert, in giving motion to our bodies when at reft, or in directing our thoughts to this or the other objedl as we will. And this ■way of forming the idea of power he attributes to reflexion, as he refers the former to fenfation. On this account of the origin of our idea of power, I would beg leave to make two remarks, with the refpe(ft* that is moft juflly due to fo great a Philofopher, and fo good a man. 1. Whereas he diftinguifhes power into aHive and pajfive, I con- ceive paflive power is no power at all. He means by it, the pof- fibility of being changed. To call this poiver, feems to be a mifapplication of the word. I do not remember to have met ■with the phrafe pajfive power in any other good autlior. Mr Locke feems to have been unlucky in inventing it; and it de- ferves not to be retained in our language. Perhaps he was unwarily led into it, as an oppofite to adive po^wer. But 1 conceive we call certain powers acJive, to diftin- guifli H ESSAY I. CHAP. Ill, guifli them from other powers that are called fpeculal'ive. As all mankind diflinguifh action from fpeculation, it is very proper to diftinguifh the powers by which thofe different oper tions are performed, into adive and fpeculative. Mr Locke indeed acknow- ledges that active power is more properly called power j but I fee no propriety at all in pallive power j it is a powerlefs power, and a contradidlion in terms. 2. I would obferve, that Mr Locke feems to have impofed upon hlmfelf, in attempting to reconcile this account of the idea of power to his favourite dodrine. That all our fimple ideas are ideas of fenfation, or of refledion. There are two fleps, according to his account, which the mind takes, in forming this idea of power ; Jirji, It obferves changes in things j and, fecondly, From thefe changes, it infers a caufe of them, and a power to produce them. If both thefe lieps are operations of the external fenfes, or of confcioufnefs, then the idea of power may be called an idea of fenfation, or of refledion. But, if either of thofe fleps requires the co-operation of other powers of the mind, it will follow, that the idea of power cannot be got by fenfation, nor by reflec- tion, nor by both together. Let us, therefore, conlider each of thefe fteps by itfelf. Firjl, We obferve various changes in things. And Mr Locke takes it for granted, that changes in external things are obferved by our fenfes, and that changes in our thoughts are obferved by confcioufnefs. ' I grant that it may be faid, that changes in things are ob- ferved by our fenfes, when we do not mean to exclude every other faculty from a fhare in this operation. And it would be ridicu- lous to cenfure the phrafe, when it is fo ufed in popular difcourfe. But Mr LOCKE'S ACCOUNT OF POWER. 25 But it is neccfHiry to Mr LockIe's purpofe, that changes in chap, iir^ external things fliould be obferved by the fenfes alone, excluding every other faculty ; becaufe every faculty that is ncceflary in order to obferve the change, will claim a fliarc in the origin of the idea of power. Now, it is evident, that memory is no Icfs neccfTIiry than the fenfes, in order to our obferving changes in external things, and therefore the idea of power, derived from the changes obferved, may as jullly be afcribed to memory as to the fenfes. Every change fuppofes two ftates of the thing changed. Both ihefe ftates may be part ; one of them at leafl muft be part ; and one only can be prefent. By our fenfes we may obferve the pre- fent ftate of the thing ; but memory muft fupply us with the part ; and, unlefs we remember the paft ftate, we can perceive no change. The fame obfervation may be applied to confcioufnefs. The truth, therefore, is, that, by the fenfes alone, without memory, or by confcioufnefs alone, without memory, no change can be obferved. Every idea, therefore, that is derived from obferving changes in things, muft have its origin, partly from memory, and not from the fenfes alone, nor from confcioufnefs alone, nor from both together. The fecond ftep made by the mind in forming this idea of pov.cr is this : From the changes obferved we colledl a caufe of thofe changes, and a power to produce them. Here one might afk Mr Locke, whether it is by our fenfes that we draw this conclufion, or is it by confcioufnefs ? Is rea- foning the province of the fenfes, or is it the province of con- fcioufnefs ? If the fenfes can draw one conclufion from premifes, D they 26 E S S A Y I. CHAP. IV. they may draw five hundred, and demonflrate the whole ele- ments of Euclid. Thus, I think, it appears, that the account which Mr Locke himfelf gives of the origin of our idea of power, cannot be re- conciled to his favourite dodrine, That all our fimple ideas have their origin from fenfation or refledion ; and that, in attempting to derive the idea of power from thefe two fources only, he un- awares brings in our memory, and our reafoning power, for a {hare in its origin. CHAP. IV. Of Mr Hume's Opinion of the Idea of Power. THIS very ingenious author adopts the principle of Mr Locke before mentioned. That all our fimple ideas are de- rived either from fenfation or refledlion. This he feems to un- derftand, even in a ftrider fenfe than Mr Locke did. For he will have all our fimple ideas to be copies of preceeding impref- fions, either of our external fenfes or of confcioufnefs. " After " the moft; accurate examination," fays he, " of which I am " capable, I venture to affirm, that the rule here holds without " any exception, and that every fimple idea has a fimple im- " prefilon which refembles it, and every fimple imprellion a " correfpondent idea. Every one may fatisfy himfelf in this " point, by running over as many as he pleafes." I obferve here, by the way, that this conclufion is formed by the author rafhly and unphilofophically. For it is a conclufion that admits of no proof, but by indudion ; and it is upon this ground that he himfelf founds it. The indudion cannot be per- fedl till every fimple idea that can enter into the human mind be examined, and be fhewn to be copied from a refembling im- prefilon Mr HUME'S OPINION OF POWER. 27 prcffion of fcnCc or of confcioufnefs. No man can pretend to CHAP, iv. have made this examination of all our funple ideas without ex- ception; and, therefore, no man can, confidently with the rules of philofophifniG;-, afllire us, that this conclufion holds without any exception. The author profelles, in his title-page, to introduce into moral fuhjeds the experimental method of reafoning. This was a very laudahle attempt ; but he ought to have known, that it is a rule in the experimental method of reafoning, That conclufions efta- bliflied by indudion ought never to exclude exceptions, if any fuch fliould afterwards appear from obfervation or experiment. Sir Isaac Newton, fpeaking of fuch conclufions, fays, " Et fi " quando in experiundo poflea reperiatur aliquid, quod a parte " contraria faciat ; tum demum, non fine iftis exceptionibus af- " firmetur conclufio opportebit." " But," fays our author, " I " will venture to afiirm, that the rule here holds without any ex- " ception." Accordingly, throughout the whole treatife, this general rule is confidered as of fufficient authority, in itfelf, to exclude, even from a hearing, every thing that appears to be an exception to it. This is contrary to the fundamental principles of the ex- perimental method of reafoning, and therefore may be called rafli and unphilofophical. Having thus cftabliflied this general principle, the author does * great execution by it among our ideas. He finds, that we have no idea of fubllance, material or fpiritual; that body and mind are only certain trains of related imprelTions and ideas; that we have no idea of fpace or duration, and no idea of power, adlive or intelledive. Mr Locke ufed his principle of fenfation and refledion with greater moderation and mercy. Being unwilling to thrufi the D 2 ideas 28 E S S A Y I. CHAP. IV. ideas we have mentioned into the limbo of non-exiftence, he ftretches fenfation and refledion to the very utmoft, in order to receive thefe ideas within the pale ; and draws them into it, as it were by violence. But this author, inflead of fhewing them any favour, feems fond to get rid of them. Of the ideas mentioned, it is only that of power that con- cerns our prefent fubjed. And, with regard to this, the author boldly affirms, " That we never have any idea of power ; that " we deceive ourfelves when we imagine we are poflefTed of any " idea of this kind." He begins with obferving, " That the terms efficacy, agency, " power, force, energy, are all nearly fynonymous ^ and therefore " it is an abfurdlty to employ any of them in defining the reft. " By this obfervation," fays he, " we rejed at once all the vul- " gar definitions which Philofophers have given of power and " efficacy.^^ Surely this author was not ignorant, that there are many things of which we have a clear and diftindl conception, which are fo fimple in their nature, that they cannot be defined any other way than by fynonymous words. It is true that this is not a logical definition, but that there is, as he affirms, an abfurdity in ufing if, when no better can be had, I cannot perceive. He might here have applied to power and ejficacy what he fays, in another place, of pri^le and humility. " The pafllons of pride " and humility" he fays, " being fimple and uniform impref- , " fions, it is impofiible we can ever give a jufi definition of " them. As the words are of general ufe, and the things they ** reprefent the mod common of any, every one, of himfelf, •• will Mr HUME'S OPINION OF POWER. 39 " will he able to form a jufl notion of them without danger of CHAP. IV. " miftake." ' He mentions Mr Locke's account of the idea of power, That, obferving various changes in things, we conclude, that there mull be fomewhere a power capable of producing them, and fo arrive at laft, by this real'oning, at the idea of power and effi- cacy. " But," fays he, " to be fatisfied that this explication is more " popular than philofophical, we need but refled: on two very " obvious principles ; fifjl. That reafon alone can never give " rife to any original idea j and, fecondly. That reafon, as dl- " ftinguifhed from experience, can never make us conclude, " that a caufe, or produdive quality, is abfolutely requifite to " every beginning of exiftence." Before v/e confider the two principles which our author op- pofes to the popular opinion of Mr Locke, I obferve, Firjl, That there are fome popular opinions, which, on that very account, deferv-e more regard from Philofophers, than this author is willing to bellow. That things cannot begin to cxifl, nor undergo any change, without a caufe that hath power to produce that change, is in- deed fo popular an opinion, that, 1 believe, this author is the firft of mankind that ever called it in queflion. It is fo popular, that there is not a man of common prudence who does not ad from this opinion, and rely upon it every day of his life. And any man who fliould condud himfelf by the contrary opinion would foon be confined as infane, and continue in that flate till a fuHkicnt caufe was found for his enlargement. Such a popular opinion as this, (lands upon a higher authori- ty 3° ESSAY 1. CHAP. IV. ty than that of philofophy, and philofophy muft ftrike fail to it, if fhe would not render herfelf contemptible to every man of com- mon underftanding. For though, in matters of deep (peculation, the multitude muft be guided by Philofophers, yet, in things that are within the reach of every man's underftanding, and upon which the whole condudt of human life turns, the Philofopher muft fol- low the multitude, or make himfelf perfedly ridiculous. Secondly, I obferve, that whether this popular opinion be true or falfe, it follows from mens having this opinion, that they have an idea of power. A falfe opinion about power, no lefs than a true, implies an idea of power ; for how can men have any opinion, true or falfe, about a thing of which they have no idea ? The Jirji of the very obvious principles which the author op- pofes to Mr Locke's account of the idea of power, is, Thatrea- fon alone can never give rife to any original idea. This appears to me fo far from being a very obvious princi- ple, that the contrary is very obvious. Is it not our reafoning faculty that gives rife to the idea of reafoning itfelf ? As our idea of fight takes its rife from our be- ing endowed with that faculty ; fo does our idea of reafoning. Do not the ideas of demonftration, of probability, our ideas of a fyllogifm, of major, minor and conclufion, of an enthymeme, dilemma, forites, and all the various modes of reafoning, take their rife from the faculty of reafon ? Or is it poilible, that a being, not endowed with the faculty of reafoning, fliould have thefe ideas ? This principle, therefore, is fo far from being ob- vioufly true, that it appears to be obvioufly falfe. The Mr HUME'S OPINION OF POWER. The fccond obvious principle is, That reafon, as diftinguifhed CHAP. IV. from experience, can never make us conchidc, that a caufe, or produdlive quality, is abiblutely requifite to every beginning of exiftence. In fome Eflays on the Intelledual Powers of Man, I had occafion to treat of this principle, That every change in nature muft have a caufe; and, to prevent repetition, I beg leave to refer the reader to what is faid upon this fubjedl, EJfay VT. chap. 6. I endeavoured to fhew that it is a firft princi- ple, evident to all men come to years of underftanding. Be- fides its having been univerfally received, without the lead doubt, from the beginning of the world, it has this fure mark of a fir ft principle, that the belief of it is abfolutely neceflary in the ordinary affairs of life, and, without it, no man could adl with common prudence, or avoid the imputation of inJanity. Yet a Philofopher, who ac^ed upon the finn belief of it every day of his life, thinks fit, in his clofet, to call it in queftion. He infinuates here, that we may know it from experience. I endeavoured to (hew, that we do not learn it from experience, for two reafons. Fir^, Becaufe it is a necefHiry truth, and has always been re- ceived as a neceflary truth. Experience gives no information of what is necelTary, or of what muft be. We may know from experience, what is, or what was, and from that may probably conclude what (hall be in like circum- ftances ; but, with regard to what muft; necefl^arily be, exjjeri- ence is perfectly filent. Thus we know, by unvaried experience, from the beginning of the world, that the fun and ftars rife in the eaft and fet in the weft. But no man believes, that it could not polTibly have been otherwife, 32 ESSAY I. CHAP, iv^ otherwife, or that it did not depend upon the will and power of him who made the world, whether the earth fliould revolve to the eaft or to the wefl. In like manner, if we had experience, ever fo conftant, that every change in nature we have obferved, actually had a caufe, this might afford ground to believe, that, for the future, it fhall be fo ; but no ground at all to believe that it muft be fo, and cannot be otherwife. Another reafon to fhew that this principle is not learned from -experience is, That experience does not fliew us a caufe of one in a hundred of thofe changes which we obferve, and therefore can never teach us that there muft be a caufe of all. Of all the paradoxes this author has advanced, there is not one more Ihocking to the human underftanding than this, That things may begin to exift without a caufe. This would put an end to all fpeculation, as well as to all the bufmefs of life. The employment of fpeculative men, lince the beginning of the world, has been to inveftigate the caufes of things. What pity is it, they never thought of putting the previous quellion, Whe- ther things have a caufe or not ? This queftion has at laft been ftarted j and what is there fo ridiculous as not to be maintained by fome Philofopher? Enough has been faid upon it, and more, I think, than it de- ferves. But, being about to treat of the adlive powers of the human mind, 1 thought it improper to take no notice of what has been faid by fo celebrated a Philofopher, to fhew, that there is not, in the human mind, any idea of power. CHAP. OF BEINGS THAT HAVE NO UNDERSTANDING. 33 CHAP. V. CHAP. V. Whether Beings that have no Will nor Under/landing may have A&ive Power ? THAT adive power is an attribute, which cannot exifl: but in fome being poflelTed of that power, and the fubjed; of that attribute, I take for granted as a felf-evident truth. Whe- ther there can be adtive power in a fubjed which has no thought, no underdanding, no will, is not fo evident. The ambiguity of the words power, caufe, agent, and of all the words related to thefe, tends to perplex this queftion. The weaknefs of human underftanding, which gives us only an in- dirccl: and relative conception of power, contributes to darken our realbning, and Ihould make us cautious axid modeft in our detenninations. We can derive little light in this matter from the events which we obferve in the courfe of nature. We perceive changes innu- mer:ible in things without us. We know that thofe changes mufl be produced by the adive power of fome agent ; but we neither perceive the agent nor the power, but the change only. Whether the things be adlive, or merely pallive, is not eafily dif- covered. And though it may be an objedl of curiofity to the fpeculative few, it does not greatly concern the many. To know the event and the circumftances that attended it, .ind to know in what circumrtances like events may be expeded, may be of confequence in the condud of life ; but to know the real efficient, whether it be matter or mind, whether of a fupe- rior or inferior order, concerns us little. E Thus 34 . E S S A Y I. CHAP. V. Thus it is with regard to all the effedls we afcribe to na- ture. Nature is the name we give to the efficient caufe of innumera- ble effedls which fall daily under our obfervation. But if it be afked what nature is ? Whether the firft unlverfal caufe, or a fubordinate one, whether one or many, whether intelligent or unintelligent ? Upon thefe points we find various conjedures and theories, but no folid ground upon which we can reil. And I apprehend the wifeft men are they who are fenfible that they know nothing of the matter. From the courfe of events in the natural world, we have fuf- ficient reafon to conclude the exiftence of an eternal intelligent Firft Caufe. But whether he adls immediately in the production of thofe events, or by fubordinate intelligent agents, or by in- ftruments that are unintelligent, and what the number, the na- ture, and the different offices of thofe agents or inftruments may be ; thefe I apprehend to be myfteries placed beyond the limits of human knowledge. We fee an eftablifhed order in the fucceflion of natural events, but we fee not the bond that con- nedts them together. Since we derive fo little light, v/ith regard to efficient cau(es and their ad:ive power, from attention to the natural world, let us next attend to the moral, I mean, to human actions and con- dud. Mr Locke obferves very juftly, " That, from the obferva- '• tion of the operation of bodies by our fenfes, we have but a " very imperfect obfcure idea of adlive power, fince they afford us " not any idea in themfelves of the power to begin any adion, " either of motion or thought." He adds, " That we find in " ourfelves a power to begin or forbear, continue or end feveral " adlions of our minds and motions of our bodies, barely by a " thought OF BEINCIS THAT HAVE NO UNDERSTANDING. 35 " thouglit or preference of the mind, ordering, or, as it were, CHAP, v.^ " coumianding the doing or not doing fuch a particuhir adtion. " This power which the mind has tlius to order the confidera- " tion of any idea, or the forbearing to confider it, or to pre- " fer the motion of any part of the body to its I'eft, and -y/Vdr ver- " fa, in any particnhir inftance, is that which we call the ivill. " The adiiai exercife of that power, by diredling any particular " adion, or its forbearance, is that which we call volition or " willing^ "^Yv^ According to Mr Locke, therefore, the only clear notion or idea we have of active power, is taken from the power which we fmd in ourfelves to give certain motions to our bodies, or a certain direction to our thoughts ; and this power in ourfelves can be brought into adlion only by willing or volition. From this, I think, it follows, that, if we had not will, and that degree of underftanding which will neceflarily im- plies, we could exert no adive power, and confequently could have none : For power that cannot be exerted is no power. It follows alfo, that the adlive power, of which only we can have any diftindl conception, can be only in beings that have under- ftanding and will. ^^^ Power to produce any effedl implies power not to produce it. We can conceive no way in which power may be deter- mined to one of thefe rather than the other, in a being that has no will. Whatever is the effed of adive power muft be fomething that is contingent. Contingent exiftence is that which depended upon the power and will of its caufe. Oppofed to this, is necef- fary exiltcnce, which we afcribe to the Supreme Being, becaufe his exiftence is not owing to the power of any being. The fmic diftindion there is between contingent and neceflary truth. E 2 That 36 E S S A Y I. CHAP. V. That the planets of our fyftem go round the fun from weft to eaft, is a continofent truth ; becaufe it depended upon the power and will of him who made the planetary fyftem, and gave motion to it. That a circle and a right line can cut one another only in two points, is a truth which depends upon no power nor will, and therefore is called neceftary and immutable. Contingency, therefore, has a relation to adlive power, as all ad:ive power is exerted in contingent events ; and as fuch events can have no exiftence, but by the exertion of adlive power. When I obferve a plant growing from its feed to maturity, I know that there muft be a caufe that has power to produce this effed:. But I fee neither the caufe nor the manner of its ope- ration. / But in certain motions of my body and diredllons of my thought, I know, not only that there muft be a caufe that has power to produce thefe effeds, but that I am that caufe ; and I am confcious of what 1 do in order to the production of them. From the confcioufnefs of our own adlivity, feems to be de- rived, not only the cleareft, but the only conception we can form of adivity, or the exertion of adlive power. As I ain unable to form a notion of any intelledlual power different in kind from thofe I poflefs, the fame holds with re- fped to adlive power. If all men had been blind, we ftiould have had no conception of the power of feeing, nor any name for it in language. If man had not the powers of abftradlion and reafoning, we could not have had any conception of thefe operations. In like manner, if he had not fome degree of ac- tive power, and if he were not confcious of the exertion of it in his voluntary adlions, it is probable he could have no con- ception of adlivity, or of acSlive power. A OF BEINGS THAT HAVE NO UNDERSTANDING. 37 A train of events following one another ever fo regularly, 'xll^^LZ^ .could never lead us to the notion of a caufe, if we had not, from our conftitution, a convidion of the necelTity of a caufe to eve- ry event. And of the manner in which a caufe may exert its adive power, we can have no conception, but from confcioufnefs of the manner in which our own adlive power is exerted. With regard to the operations of nature, it is fufficient for us to know, that, whatever the agents may be, whatever the manner of their operation, or the extent of their power, they depend upon the firft caufe, and are under his control ; and this indeed is all that we know ; beyond this we are left in darknefs. But, in what regards human adions, we have a more immediate concern. It is of the highefl importance to us, as moral and account- able creatures, to know what adions are in our own power, be- caufe it is for thefe only that we can be accountable to our Ma- ker, or to our fellow-men in fociety ; by thefe only we can me- rit praife or blame ; in thefe only all our prudence, wifdom and virtue muft be employed 3 and, therefore, with regard to them, the wife Author of nature has not left us in the dark. Every man is led by nature to attribute to himfelf the free de- terminations of his own will, and to believe thofe events to be in his power which depend upon his will. On the other hand, it is felf-evident, that nothiug is in our power that is not fubjedt to our will. We grow from childhood to manhood, we digeft our food, our blood circulates, our heart and arteries beat, we are fome- times fick and fomttimi s in health ; all thefe things muft be done by the power of fomc agent 3 but they are not done by our 38 E S S A Y I. CHAP. V. om- power. How do we know this ? Becaufe they are not fubjedt to our will. This is the infallible "criterion by which we diftinguifh what is our doing from what is not ; what is in our power from what is not. Human power, therefore, can only be exerted by will, and we are unable to conceive any active power to be exerted without will. Every man knows infallibly that what is done by his con- fcious will and intention, is to be imputed to him, as the agent or caufe ; and that whatever is done without his will and inten- tion, cannot be imputed to him with truth. We judge of the adions and condud: of other men by the fame rule as we judge of our own. In morals, it is felf-evi- dent that no man can be the objedl either of approbation or of blame for what he did not. But how fhall we know whether it is his doing or not ?ij[f the adlion depended upon his will, and if he intended and willed it, it is his adlion in the judgment of all mankind. But if it was done without his knowledge, or without his will and intention, it is as certain that he did It not, and that it ought not to be imputed to him as the agent. When there is any doubt to whom a particular adtion ought to be imputed, the doubt arifes only from our ignorance of fadls J when the fads relating to it are known, no man of un- derflanding has any doubt to whom the adtion ought to be im- puted. The general rules of imputation are felf-evident. They have been the fame in all ages, and among all civilized nations. No man blames another for being black or fair, for having a fever or the falling licknefs ; becaufe thefe things are believed not to be in his power ; and they are believed not to be in his power, becaufe they depend not upon his will. We can never conceive that OF BEINGS THAT HAVE NO UNDERSTANDING. 39 that a man's duty goes beyond his power, or that his power goes CHAP, v.^ beyond what depends upon his will. Reafon leads us to afcribe unlimited power to the Supreme Being. But what do we mean by unlimited power ? It is power to do whatfoever he wills. To fuppofe him to do what he does not will to do, is abfurd. The only diftincfl conception I can form of adlive power is, that is is an attribute in a being by which he can do certain things if he wills. This, after all, is only a relative conception. It is relative to the effed, and to the will of producing it. Take away thefe, and the conception vaniflies. They are the handles by which the mind takes hold of it. When they are taken away, our hold is gone. The fame is the cafe with regard to other relative conceptions. Thus velocity is a real flate of a body, about which Philofophers reafon with the force of demon- ftration ; but our conception of it is relative to fpace and time. What is velocity in a body ? It is a flate in which it pafles through a certain fpace in a certain time. Space and time are very different from velocity ; but we cannot conceive it but by its relation to them. The effect produced, and the will to pro- duce it, are things different from acftive power, but we can have no conception of it, but by its relation to them. Whether the conception of an efficient caufc, and of real ac- tivity, could ever have entered into the mind of man, if we had not had the experience of a(^ivity in ourfelves, I am not able to determine with certainty. The origin of many of our concep- tions, and even of many of our judgments, is not fo eafily traced as Philofophers have generally conceived. No man can recol- \e6t the time when he firfl got the conception of an efficient caufe, or the time when he firfl got the belief that an cflicient caufe is nccelfary to every change in nature. The conception of an efficient caufe may very probably be derived from the ex- perience 40 E S S A Y I. CHAP. V.^ perlence we have had in very early life of our own power to produce certain effefts. But the belief, that no event can hap- pen without an efficient caufe, cannot be derived from expe- rience. We may learn from experience what is, or what was, but no experience can teach us what neceflarily mufl be. In like manner, we probably derive the conception of pain from the experience we have had of it in ourfelves ; but our be- lief that pain can only exifl in a being that hath life, cannot be got by experience, becaufe it is a neceflary truth ; and no ne- cefTary truth can have its attellation from experience. If it be fo that the conception of an efficient caufe enters in- to the mind, only from the early conviction we have that we are the efficients of our own voluntary adlions, (which 1 think is moft probable) the notion of efficiency will be reduced to this. That it is a relation between the caufe and the efFed, fimilar to that which is between us and our voluntary adions. This is furely the moft diftindl notion, and, 1 think, the only notion we can form of real efficiency. Now It is evident, that, to conftitute the relation between me and my action, my conception of the adion, and will to do it, are eflential. For what I never conceived, nor willed, I never did. If any man, therefore, affirms, that a being may be the effi- cient caufe of an adion, and have power to produce it, which that being can neither conceive nor will, he fpeaks a language which I do not underfland. If he has a meaning, his notion of power and efficiency muft be eflentially different from mine ; and, until he conveys his notion of efficiency to my underftand- ing, I can no more aflent to his opinion, than if hefliould affirm, that a being without life may feel pain. It OF THE PHiENOMENA OF NATURE. It fecms, therefore, to me mod probable, that fuch beings only as have fome degree of underftanding and will, can pofTefs ac- tive power ; and that inanimate beings mufl be merely paflive, and have no real adivity. Nothing we perceive without us af- fords any good ground for afcribing aflive power to any inani- mate being ; and every thing we can difcover in our own con- flitution, leads us to think, that adive power cannot be exerted without will and intelligence. CHAP. VI. Of the efficient Catifes of the Phanomena of Nature. IF adlive power, in its proper meaning, requires a fubjedl en- dowed with will and intelligence, what Ihall we fay of thofe adive powers which Philofophers teach us to afcribe to matter ; the powers of corpufcular attradlion, magnetifm, eledlricity, gravitation, and others ? Is it not univerfally allowed, that hea- vy bodies defcend to the earth by the power of gravity ; that, by the fame power, the moon, and all the planets and comets, are retained in their orbits ? Have the moft eminent natural Philofophers been impofuig upon us, and giving us words in- flcad of real caufes ? In anfwcr to this, I apprehend, that the principles of natural philofophy have, in modern times, been built upon a foundation that cannot be Ihaken, and that they can be culled in quertiou only by thofe who do not undcrftand the evidence on which they (land. But the ambiguity of the words caufe, agency^ aElivc power, and the other words related to thefe, has led many to un- derftand them, when ufed in natural philofuphy, in a wrong fenfe, and in a fcnfe which is neither ncccflary for eftablifliing F the 42 E S S A Y 1. CHAP. VI. the true principles of natural phllofophy, nor was ever meant by the mofl enlightened in that fcience. To be convinced of this, we may obferve, that thofe very Phi- lofophers who attribute to matter the power of gravitation, and other active powers, teach us, at the fame time, that matter is a fubftance altogether inert, and merely paffive ; that gravitation, and the other attra6live or repulfive powers which they afcribe to it, are not inherent in its nature, but imprefled upon it by fome external caufe, which they do not pretend to know, or to explain. Now, when we find wife men afcribing action and ac- tive power to a fubftance which they exprefsly teach us to con- fider as merely paflive and afted upon by fome unknown caufe, we muft conclude, that the adtion and adive power afcribed to it are not to be underftood ftridily, but in fome popular fenfe. It ought llkewife to be obfei'ved, that although Philofophers, for the fake of being underftood, muft fpeak the language of the vulgar, as when they fay, the fun rifes and fets, and goes through all the figns of the zodiac, yet they often think diffe- rently from the vulgar. Let us hear what the greateft of natu- ral Philofophers fays, ia the 8th definition prefixed to his Pr'inci- pia, " Voces autem attradionis, impulfus, vel propenfionis cu- '• jufcunque in centrum, indifferenter et pro fe mutuo promlfcue " ufurpo ; has voces non phyfice fed mathematice confixlerando. " Unde caveat ledtor, ne per hujus modi voces cogitet me fpe- " ciem vel modum adtionis, caufamve aut rationem j^yficam, " alicubi definire ; vel centris (quae funt punda mathematica) " vires vere et phyfice tribuere, fi forte centra trahere, aut vires " centrorum eft'e, dixero." In all languages, adion is attributed to many things which all men of common underftanding believe to be merely paflive j thus we fay, the wind blows, the rivers flow, the fea rages, the fire burns, bodies move, and impel other bodies. Every OF THE PHENOMENA OF NATURE. 43 Every objedl which undergoes any change, mufl be either ac- CHAP, vr. tive or palTive in that change. This is felf-evident to all men from the firrt dawn of reafon ; and therefore the change is al- ways exprefTed in language, either by an active or a pallive verb. Nor do I know any verb, exprelFive of a change, which does not imply either a<flion or palllon. The thing either changes, or it is changed. But it is remarkable in language, that when an external caufe of the change is not obvious, the change is al- ways imputed to the thing changed, as if it were animated, and had adlive power to produce the change in itfelf. So we fav, the moon clianges, the fun rifes and goes down. Thus acllve verbs arc very often applied, and adlive power imputed to things, which a little advance in knowledge and ex- perience teaches us to be merely pailive. This proj^erty, com- ' mon to all languages, I endeavoured to account for in the fe- cond chapter of this Eflay, to which the reader is referred. A like irregularity may be obferved in the ufe of the word figmfying can/e, in all languages, and of the words related to it. Our knowledge of caufes is very fcanty In the moft advanced ftate of fociety, much more is it fo in that early period in which language is formed. A ftrong defire to know the caufes of things, is common to all men in every Hate ; but the experience of all ages fhews, that this keen appetite, rather than go empty, will feed upon the hulks of real knowledge where the fruit can- not be found. While we are very much in the dark with regard to the real agents or caufes which produce the phxnomena of nature, and have, at the fame time, an avidity to know them, ingenious men frame conjcdures, which thofe of weaker underflanding take for truth. The fare is coarfe, but appetite makes it go down. F 2 Thus. '44 ESSAY I. V. CHAP. VI. Thus, In a very ancient fyftem, love and ftrife were made the caufes of things. Plato made the caufes of tilings to be mat- ter, ideas, and an efEcient archited. Aristotle, matter, form, and privation. Des Cartes thought matter, and a certain quan- tity of motion given it by the Almighty at firft, to be all that is neceffiu-y to make the material world. Leibnitz conceived the whole univerfe, even the material part of it, to be made up of monodes, each of which is active and intelligent, and produces in itfelf, by its own active power, all the changes it undergoes frpm the beginning of its exiftence to eternity. In common language, we give the name of a caufe to a reafon, a motive, an end, to any circumflance which is connedled with the efFed, and goes before it. Aristotle, and the fchoolmen after him, diftinguiflied four kinds of caufes, the efficient, the material, the formal, and the final. This, like many of Aristotle's diftindlions, is only a di- ftindion of the various meanings of an ambiguous word j for the efficient, the matter, the form and the end, have nothing common in their nature, by which they may be accounted fpe- cies of the fame genus; but the Greek word which Ve tranflate cavfe, had thefe four different meanings in Aristotle's days, and we have added other meanings. We do not indeed call the matter or the fonn of a thing its caufe ; but we have final caufes, inflrumental caufes, occafional caufes, and 1 know not how many others. Thus the word caufe has been fo hackneyed, and made to hare lb many different meanings in the writings of Philofophers, and in the difcourfe of the vulgar, that its original and proper mean- ina; is loft in the crowd. With regard to the pha:nomena of nature, the important end of knowing their caufes, befides gratifying our curiofity, is, that OF THE PHiENOMENA OF NATURE. 45 ihat wc may know when to expedl them, or how to bring them CHAP. VI. ubout. This is very often of real importance in life; and tliis jnirpofe is fcrved, by knowing what, by the coiirfe of nature, goes before tlicm and is connedled with them ; and this, there- fore, we call the cau/c of fuch a phxnonienon. If a magnet be brought near to a mariner's compafs, the needle, which was before at reft, immediately begins to move, and bends its courfe towards the magnet, or perhaps the contrary way. If an imlearned failor is afked the caufe of this motion of the needle, he is at no lofs for an anfwer. He tells you it is the magnet j and the proof is clear ', for, remove the magnet, and the elTed ccafes ; bring it near, and the cffed: is again pro- duced. It is, therefore, evident to fenfe, that die magnet is the caufe of this effect. A Cartefian Philofopher enteVs deeper into the caufe of this phasnomenon. He obferves, that the magnet does not touch the needle, and therefore can give it no impulfe. He pities the ig- norance of the failor. The effect is produced, fays he, by mag- netic clTluvia, or fubtile matter, which paflcs from the magiiet to the needle, and forces it from its place. He can even fliew you, in a figure, where thefe magnetic effluvia iflue from the magnet, what round they take, and what way they return home again. And thus he thinks he comprehends perfedly how, and by what caufe, the motion of the needle is produced. A Newtonian Philofopher enquires what proof can be offered for the exiftcnce of magnetic effluvia, and can find none. He therefore holds it as a fidion, a hypothefis ; and he has learned that hypothefes ought to have no place in the pliilofophy of na- ture. He confelles his ignorance of the real caufe of this motion, and thinks, that his bullnefs, as a Philofopher, is onlv to find from experiment the laws by which it is regulated in aP cafes. Thefe -46 E S S A Y I. CHAP. VI. Thefe three perfons difFer much in their fentiments with re- gard to the real caufe of this phaenomenon ; and the man who knows moft is he who is fenfible that he knows nothing of the matter. Yet all the three fpeak the fame language, and acknow- ledge, that the caufe of this motion is the attradive or repulfive power of the magnet. What has been faid of this, may be applied to every phaeno- menon that falls within the compafs of natural philofophy. We deceive ourfelves, if we conceive, that we can point out the real efficient caufe of any one of them. The grandefl difcovery ever made in natural philofophy, was that of the law of gravitation, which opens fuch a view of our planetary fyftem, that it looks like fomething divine. But the author of this difcovery was perfectly aware, that he difcovered no real caufe, but only the law or rule, according to which the unknown caufe operates. Natural Philofophers, w^io think accurately, have a precife meaning to the terms they ufe in the fcience ; and when they pretend to fhew the caufe of any phaenomenon of nature, they mean by the caufe, a law of nature of which that phaenomenon is a necelFary confequence. The whole objed of natural philofophy, as Newton exprefsly teaches, is reducible to thefe two heads j firft, by jufl: indudion from experiment and obfervation, to difcover the laws of nature, and then to apply thofe laws to the folution of the phenomena of nature. This was all that this great Philofopher attempted, and all that he thought attainable. And this indeed he attained in a great meafure, with regard to the motions of our planetary fyllem, and with regard to the rays of light. But fuppofing that all the phsenomena that fall within the reach OF THE PIIiENOMENA OF NATURE. 47 reach of our fcnfcs, were accoiintccl for from general laws of na- CiiAP. vi. ture, jiiflly deduced from experience ; that is, fuppofmg natu- ral philofophy brought: to its utmoft perfedion, it does not dif- cover the efficient caufe of any one phaenomenon in nature. The laws of nature are the rules according to which the ef- fe£ls are produced ; but there muft be a caufe which operates according to thefe rules. The rules of navigation never navi- gated a fliip. The rules of architedure never built a houfe. Natural philofophers, by great attention to the courfe of na- ture, have difcovered many of her laws, and have very happily applied them to account for many phasnomena ; but they have never difcovered the efFicient caufe of any one phenomenon ; nor do thofe who have diltinct notions of the principles of the fcience, make any fuch pretence. Upon the theatre ofnature we lee Innumerable effects, which-' require an agent endowed with active 'power j but the agent is behind the fcene. Whether it be the Supreme Caufe alone, or a fubordinate caufe or caufes ; and if fubordinate caufes be em- ployed by the Almighty, what their nature, their number, and ■ their different offices may be, are things hid, for wife reafous without doubt, from the human eye. It is only in human adions, that may be imputed for praife or blame, that it is neceflfary for us to know who is the agent ; and in this, nature has given us all the light that is necefTary for our condutl. CHAP. ESSAY I. CHAP. VII. Of the Extent of Human Power. EVERY thing laudable and praife-worthy in man, muft con- lift in the proper exercife of that power which is given him by his Maker. This is the talent which he is required to occupy, and of which he muft give an account to him who com- mitted it to his truft. To fome perfons more power is given than to others ; and to the fame perfon more at one time and lefs at another. Its ex- iftence, its extent, and its continuance, depend folely upon the pleafure of the Almighty j but every man that is accountable muft have more or lefs of it. For, to call a perfon to account, to approve or difapprove of his condudt, who had no power to do good or ill, is abfurd. No axiom of Euclid appears more evi- dent than this. As power is a valuable gift, to under-rate it is ingratitude to the giver ; to over-rate it, begets pride and prefumption, and leads to unfuccefsful attempts. It is therefore, in every man, a point of wifdom to make a juft eftimate of his own power. ^Idferre recufent, quid valeant humeri. We can only fpeak of the power of man in general ; and as our notion of power is relative to its effedis, we can eftimate its extent only by the effects which it is able to produce. It would be wrong to eftimate the extent of human power by the effedls which it has adlually produced. For every man had power to do many things which he did not, and not to do many things OF THE EXTENT OF HUMAN POWER. 49 things wliich he did ; othcrwife he could not be an ohiecft either CHAP. V'ir. of approbation or of difapprobation, to any rational being. The efleds of human power are either immediate, or they are more remote. The immediate eficcfts, I think, are reducible to two heads. We can give certain motions to our own bodies ; and we can give a certain direction to our own thoughts. Whatever we can do beyond this, muft be done by one of thefe means, or both. We can 'produce no motion in any body in the univerfe, but by moving firft our own body as an inftrument. Nor can we produce thought in any other perfon, but by thought and mo- tion in ourfelves. Our power to move our own body, is not only limited in its extent, but in its nature is fubjed to mechanical laws. It may be compared to a fpring endowed with the power of contra<5ling or expanding itfelf, but which cannot contradl without drawing equally at both ends, nor expand without pufhing equally at both ends ; fo that every adion of the fpring is always accompanied with an equal readtion in a contrary diretflion. We can conceive a man to have power to move his whole bo- dy in any diredtion, without the aid of any other body, or a power to move one part of his body without the aid of any other part. But philofophy teaches us that man has no fuch power. If he carries his whole body in any direction with a certain quantity of motion, this he can do only by pufliing the earth, or fome other body, with an equal quantity of motion in the con- G trary ^o E S S A Y I. CHAP. VI!. trary direaion. If he but ftretch out his arm in one diredion, * — " ' the reft of his body is pufhed with an equal quantity of mo- tion in the contrary diredlion. This is the cafe with regard to all animal and voluntary mo- tions, which come within the reach of our fenfes. They are perfonned by the contraction of certain mufcles ; and a mufcle, when it is contracted, draws equally at both ends. As to the motions antecedent to the contra6tion of the mufcle, and confe- quent upon the volition of the animal, we know nothing, and can fay nothing about them. We know not even how thofe immediate effedls of our power are produced by our willing them. We perceive not any necef- fary connedion between the volition and exertion on our part, and the m.otion of our body that follows them. Anatomifts inform us, that every voluntary motion of the body is performed by tlae contradlion of certain mufcles, and that the mufcles are contraded by fome influence derived from the nerves. But, without thinking in the leaft, either of muf- cles or nerves, we will only the external efTedl, and the inter- nal machinery, without our call, immediately produces that effed. This is one of the wonders of our frame, which we have rea- fon to admire ; but to account for it, is beyond the reach of our underflanding. That there is an eftabliflied hannony between our willing cer- tain motions of our bodies, and the operation of the nerves and mufcles which produces thofe motions, is a fad known by expe- rience. This volition is an ad of th^ mind. But whether this ad of the~TTuii^~Tiave^~any phyfical effed upon the nerves and mufcles 5 or whether it be only an occafion of their being aded upon OF THE EXTENT OF HUMAN POWER. ^r upon by fome other efficient, accordinc^ to the eftublifhed laws CITAP. viL of nature, is hid froin us. So dark is our conception of our own power when wc trace it to its origin. We have good rcafon to believe, that matter had its origin from mind, as well as all its motions ; but how, or in what man- ner, ic is moved by mind, we know as little as how it was created. It is pofTible therefore, for any thing we know, that what we call the immediate effeds of our power, may not be fo in the Uridcrt fenfe. Between the will to produce the efl'edt, and the produdion of it, there may be agents or inftruments of which we are ignorant. This may leave fome doubt, whether wc be in the flridteft fenfe, the efficient caufe of the voluntary motions of our own body. But it can produce no doubt with regard to the moral cftimation of our adions. The man who knows that fuch an event depends upon his will, and who deliberately wills to produce it, is, in the ftridefl moral fenfe, the caufe of the event; and it is juftly imputed to him, whatever phyfical caufes may have concurred in its pro- duction. Thus, he who malicioufly intends to Hioot his neighbour dead, and voluntarily does it, is undoubtedly the caufe of his death, though he did no more to occafion it than draw the trigger of the gim. He neither gave to the ball its velocity, nor to the powder its expanfive force, nor to the flint and fteel the power to ftrike fire ; but he knew that what he did muff be followed by the man's death, and did it with that intention; and therefore he is juftly chargeable with the murder. Philofophers may therefore difputc innocently, whether we G 2 ' be 5a ESSAY I. CHAP. vn. be the proper efficient caufes of the voluntary motions of our own body J or whether we be only, as Malebranche thmks, the occafional caufes. The determination of this queftion, if it can be determined, can have no efFed on human condudt. The other branch of what is immediately in our power, is to give a certain dlr^dion to our own thoughts. This, as well as the firft branch, is limited in various ways. It is greater in fome perfons than in others, and in the fame perfon is very different, accord- ing to the health of his body, and the ftate of his mind. But that men, when free from difeafe of body and of mind, have a confiderable degree of power of this kind, and that it may be greatly increafed by pradice and habit, is fufficiently evident- from experience, and from the natural convidion of all man- kind. Were we to examine minutely into the connedion between, our volitions, and the diredion of our thoughts which obeys, thefe volitions ; were we to confider how we are able to give attention to an objed for a certain time, and turn our attention to another when we chufe, we might perhaps find it difficult tO' determine, whether the mind itfelf be the fole efficient caufe of- the voluntary changes in the diredion of our thoughts, or whe- ther it requires the aid of other efficient caufes. I fee no good reafon why the difpute about efficient and oc- cafional caufes, may not be applied to the power of direding- our thoughts, as well as to the power of moving our bodies. In both cafes, I apprehend the difpute is endlefs, and, if it could be: brought to an ilTue, would be fruitlefs. Nothing appears more evident to our reafon, than that there- mull be an efficient caufe of every change that happens in na- ture. But when I attempt to comprehend the manner in which an efficient caufe operates, either upon body or upon mind, there OF THE EXTENT OF HUMAN POWER. S3 there Is a darknefs which my faculties arc not able to pene- chap^vi'. tratc. However finall the immediate effefts of human power feem to be, its more remote effcdls are very confiderablc. In this refpedl, the power of man may be compared to the Nile, the Ganges, and other great rivers, which make a figure upon the globe of the earth, and, travcrfing vafl; regions, bring fomctimes great benefit, at other times great mifchief to many, nations ; yet, when we trace tliofc rivers to their fource, we fmd them to rife from inconfiderable fountains and rills. The command of a mighty prince, what is it, but the found of his breatli, modified by his organs of fpeech ? But it may have great confequences; it may raife armies, equip fleets, and fpread war and defolation over a great part of the earth. The meaneft of mankind has confiderablc power to do good, and more to hurt himfelf and others. From this I think we may conclude, that, although the dege- neracy of mankind be great, and juftly to be lamented, yet men, in general, are more difpofed to employ their power in doing good, than in doing hurt to their fellow-men. The lafl is much more in their power than tlic firft ; and, if they were as much difpofed to it, human fociety could not fubfift, and the fpecies mud foon perifli from the eaith. We may firll confider the efTecls which may be produced by human power upon the material fyflem. It is confined indeed to the planet which we inhabit ; we can- not remove to another j nor can we produce any change in the annual or diunial motions of our own. But, 54 ESSAY I. CHAP. vli. gut:^ by human power, great changes may be made upon tlie face of the earth ; and thofe treafures of metals and minerals that are florcd up in its bowels, may be difcovered and brought forth. The Supreme Being could, no doubt, have made the earth to fiipply the wants of man, without any cultivation by human la- bour. Many inferior animals, who neither plant, nor fow, nor fpin, are provided for by the bounty of Heaven. But this is not the cafe with man. He has adive powers and ingenuity given him, by which he can do much for fupplying his wants ', and his labour is made ne- cellary for that purpofe. His wants are more than thofe of any other animal that inha- bits this globe ; and his refources are proportioned to them, and put within the fphere of his power. The earth Is left by nature in fuch a flate as to require culti- vation for the accommodation of man. It is capable of cultivation, in moft places, to fuch a degree, that, by human labour, it may afford fubfiftence to an hundred times the number of men it could in its natural ftate. Every tribe of men, in evei'y climate, muft labour for their fubfiftence and accommodation ; and their fupply is more or lefs comfortable, in proportion to the labour properly employed for that purpofe. It is evidently the intention of Nature, that man fliould be la- borious, and that he fhould exert his powers of body and mind for his own, and for the common good. And, by his power properly applied, he may make great improvement upon the fer- tility OF THE EXTENT OF HUMAN POWER. 55 tllity of the earth, and a great addition to his o-Mvn accommoda- cha?. vir. tion and comfortable ftate. By clearing, tilling and manuring tlic ground, by planting and fowing, by building cities and harbours, draining marfhes and lakes, making rivers navigable, and joining them by canals, by manufaduring the rude materials which the earth, duly culti- vated, produces in abundance, by the mutual exchange of com- modities and of labour, he may make the bai'ren wildernefs the habitation of rich and populous ftates. If \vc compare the city of Venice, the province of Holland, the empire of China, with thofe places of the earth which ne- ver felt the hand of induflry, we may form foinc conception of the extent of human power upon the material fyftcm, in changing the face of the eartli, and furnilhing the accommoda- tions of human life. But, in order to produce thofe happy changes, man himfclf inuft be improved. His animal faculties are fufiicient for the prcfervation of the fj)ecies ; they grow up of themfelves, like the trees of the foreft, which require only the force of nature and the influences of Heaven. His rational and moral faculties, like the earth itfelf, arc rude and barren by nature, but capable of a high degree of culture ; ami this culture he muft receive from parents, from inflru<ftors, from thofe with whom he lives in fociety, joined with his own indurtry. If wc confider the changes that may be produced by man upon his own mind, and upon the minds of others, they appear to be great. Upon 56 E S S A Y I. CHAP.viT. Upon his ovm mind he may make great improvement, In ac- quiring the treafures of ufeful knowledge, the habits of flcill in arts, the habits of wifdom, prudence, felf-command, and every other virtue. It is the conftitution of nature, that fuch qualities as exalt and dignify human nature are to be acquired by proper exertions ; and, by a contrary condud, fuch qualities as debafe it below the condition of brutes. Even upon the minds of others, great efFed:s may be produced by means within the compafs of human power ; by means of good education, of proper inflrudlion, of perfuafion, of good example, and by the difcipline of laws and government. That thefe have often had great and good effeds on the civili- zation and improvement of individuals, and of nations, cannot be doubted. But what happy efFeds they might have, if applied univerfally with the fkill and addrefs that is within the reach of human wifdom and power, is not eafily conceived, or to what pitch the happinefs of human fociety, and the improvement of the fpecies, might be carried. What a noble, what a divine employment of human power is here afligned us ? How ought it to roufe the ambition of pa- rents, of inftrudtors, of lawgivers, of magiftrates, of every man in his ftation, to contribute his part towards the accomplifhment of fo glorious an end ? The power of man over his own and other minds, when we trace it to its origin, is involved in darknefs, no lefs than his power to move his own and other bodies. How far we are properly efficient caufes, how far occafional ■caufes, I cannot pretend to determine. We know that habit produces great changes in the mind 5 but how OF TUT. EXTENT OF HUMAN POWER. 57 how it docs fo, v,c know not. ^Vc know, that example has a CHAP. vir» powerful, anil, in the early period of life, ahnofl: an irrtfiftihle elYcti ; but we know not how it produces this elTcdl. The com- munication of thonj^ht, fcntiment and palllon, from one mind to another, has foraethinj^ in it as myfterious as the communication of motion from one body to another. We perceive one event to follow another, according to efta- blillied laws of nature, and we are accuftomed to call the firil the caufe, and the lafl the effect, without knowing what is the bond that unites them. In order to produce a certain event, we ufe means which, by laws of nature, are connedcd with that event ; and we call ourfelves the caufe of that event, though other eilicient caufes may have had the chief hand in its pro- dudion. Upon the whole, human power, in its exigence, in Its extent, and in its exertions, is entirely dependent upon God, and upon the laws of nature which he has eftabliilied. This ought to banilh pride and arrogance from the moft mighty of the fons of men. At the fame time, that degree of power which we have received from the bounty of Heaven, is one of the noblefl; gifts of God to man ; of which we ought not to be infenfible, that we may not be ungrateful, and that we may be excited to make the proper ufe of it. The extent of human power is pcrfei^ly fm'ted to the ftate of man, as a (late of improvement and difcipline. It is fufPicient to animate us to the noblefl exertions. By the proper exercifc of this gift of God, human nature, in individuals and in Ibcicties, may be exalted to a high degree of dignity and felicity, and the earth become a paradifc. On the contrary, its perverfion and nbufe is the caufe of moft of the evils that afHi<5t human life. H ESSAY ESSAY ir. OF THE WILL. CHAP. I. Obfcrvai'iom concerning the WilL EVERY man is confcious of a power to determine, in things whicli he conceives to depend upon his determination. To this power we give the name of w/V/y and, as it is ufual, in the operations of the mind, to give tlie fame name to the power and to the ad of that power, the term iv'tll is often put to figni- fy the adt of determining, which more properly is called voli- tion. Volition, tliereforc, fignifies the acft of willing and determin- ing, and will is put indifferently to lignify cither the power of willing or the ad. But the term leill has ^'ery often, efpccially In the writings of Philofophers, a more e.xtenfive meaning, which we muft careful- ly dirtinguifla from that which we have. now given. In the general divifion of our faculties into underflandhig and will, our pafllons, appetites and affedions arc comprehended under the will ; and lb it is m.ade to figiiify, not only our de- termination to ad or not to ad, but cverv motive :'.nd incite- ment to ndion. H 2 It ^0 £ S S A Y IT. CHAP. J. It Is this, probably, that has led fome Philofophers to reprefent defire, averfion, hope, fear, joy, forrow, all our appetites, paf- fions and alTedions, as different modifications of the will, which, I think, tends to confound things which are very different in their nature. The advice given to a man, and his determination cohfequent to that advice, are things fo different in their nature, that it would be improper to call them modifications of one and the fame thing. In like manner, the motives to adion, and the de- termination to ad or not to ad, are things that have no com- mon nature, and therefore ought not to be confounded under one name, or reprefented as different modifications of the fame thing. For this reafon, in fpeaking of the will in this Effay, I do not comprehend under that term any of the incitements or motives which may have an influence upon our determinations, but fole- ly the determination itfelf, and the power to determine. Mr Locke has confidered this operation of the mind more at- tentively, and diftinguifhed it more accurately, than fome very ingenious authors w^ho wrote after him. He defines volition to be, " An ad of the mind knowingly " exerting that dominion it takes Itfelf to have over any part " of the man, by employing it in, or with-holding it from any " particular adion." It may more briefly be defined. The determination of the mind to do, or not to do fomething which we conceive to be in our power. If this were given as a flridly logical definition, It would be liable to this objedion, that the determination of the mind is only OBSERVATIONS CONCERNING THE WILL. 6r CHily another term for volition. But it ought to be obferved, CIIAP. i. that the niort limple ads of the mind do not admit of a logical defniition. The way to form a clear notion of theni is, to re- fled attentively upon them as we feel them in ourfelves. With- out this relleclion, no definition can give us a diftintl conception of them. For this rcafon, rather than fift any definition of the will, I fliall make fome obfervations upon it, whicli may lead us to re- fled upon it, and to dillinguilh it from other ads of mind, which, from the ambiguity of words, are apt to be confounded with it. FirJ}, Every ad of will muft have an objed. He that wills muft will fomething; and that which he wills is called the ob- jcd of his volition. As a man cannot think without thinking of ibmething, nor remember without remembering fomething, fo neither can he will without willing fomething. Every ad of will, therefore, muft have an objcd ; and the perfon who wills muft have fome conception, more or lefs diftind, of what he wills. By this, things done voluntarily arc diftingulflied from things done merely from inftind, or merely from habit. A healthy child, fome hours after its birth, feels the fenfatioa of hunger, and, if applied to the breaft, fucks and fwallows Its food very perfedly. We have no reafon to think, that, be- fore it ever fucked, it has any conception of that complex opera- tion, or how it is performed. It cannot, therefore, with pro- priety, be faid, that it wills to fuck. Numberlefs inftances might be given of things done by animals without any previous conception of what they are to do ; without the intention of doing it. They ad by fome inward blind iin- pulfe. ^2 E S S A Y II. CH-AP. I. pulfe, of which the efficient caufe is hid from us ; and though "^ ' there is an end evidently intended by the action, this intention is not in the animal, but in its Maker. Other things are done by habit, which cannot properly be called voluntary. We fhut our eyes feveral times every minute while we are awake 3 no man is confcious of willing this every time he does it. A fecond obfcrvation is, That the immediate objed of will muft be fome adion of our own. By this, will is diftinguiflied from two adls of the mind, which fometimes take its name, and thereby are apt to be con- founded with it p thefe are defire and command. The diftindlion between will and defire has been well explain- ed by Mr Locke; yet many later writers have overlooked it, and have reprefented defire as a modification of will. Defire and will agree in this, that both mufl have an objed, of which w^e mufi: have fome conception j and therefore both muflr be accompanied with fome degree of underftanding. But' they differ in feveral things. The objed of defire may be any thing which appetite, pafilon or affedion, leads us' to purfue ; it may be any event which we think good for us, or for thofe to whom we are well affeded. 1 may defire meat, or drink, or eafe from pain : But to fay that I will meat, or will drink, or will eafe from pain, is not Englifh. . There is therefore a difiindion in common language between defire and will. And the dillindion is, That v/hat we willmufl be an adion, and our own adion ;, what we defire may not be our own adion, it may be no adion at all. A OBSERVATIONS CONTCERNING THE WILL. 63 A man tlellres that his children maybe happy, and tliat they CIIAP. i. may bcliavc well. Their being happy is no udion at all 3 their behaving well is not his adion but theirs. With regard to our own adions, we may defire what we do not will, and will what we do not defire ^ nay, what we have a great avcrfion to. A man a-thirfl has a (Irong defire to drink, but, for fome par- ticular reafon, he determines not to gratify his defire. A judge, from a regard to juftlce, and to the duty of his office, dooms a criminal to die, while, from humanity or particular affedion, he defires that he ihould live. A man for health may take a nau- feous draught, for which he has no defire but a great avcrfion. Defire therefore, even when its objed is fome action of our own, is only an incitement to will, but it is not volition. The deter- mination of the mind may be, not to do what we defire to do. But as defire is often accompanied by will, we are apt to over- look the diftindion between them. The command of a perfon is fomctimes called his will, fome- timcs his defire ; but when thefe words are ufed properly, they fignify three dilTerent ads of the mind. The immediate objed of will is fome adion of our own ; the objcd of a command is fome adion of another peribn, over whom we claim authority ^ the objed of defire may be no adion .at all. In giving a command all thefe ads concur 3 and as they go together, it is not uncommon in language, to give to one the name which properly belongs to another. A command being a voluntary adion, there muft be a will to give 64 E S S A Y II. CHAP, i.^ g|yg j-}jg command : Some defire is commonly the motive to that ad; of will, and the command is the effect of it. Perhaps it may be thought that a command is only a defire exprefied by language, that the thing commanded fliould be done. But it is not fo. For a defire may be expreOed by language ■when there is no command j and there may poflibly be a com- mand without any defire that the thing commanded fliould be done. There have been inftances of tyrants who have laid grie- vous commands upon their fubjeds, in order to reap the penalty of their difobedience, or to fumifh a pretence for their puniih- ment. We might farther obfer\^e, that a command is a fecial a(5t of the mind. It can have no exiftence but by a communication of thought to fome intelligent being ; and therefore implies a belief that there is fuch a being, and that we can communicate our thoughts to him. Defire and will are folitary a6ls, which do not imply any fuch communication or belief. "^ The immediate object of volition therefore, mufl be fome adlion, and our own action. A third obfervation is. That the objed: of our volition mufl be fomething which we believe to be in our power, and to de- pend upon our will. A man may defire to make a vifit to the moon, or to the planet Jupiter, but he cannot will or determine to do it ; becaufe he knows it is not in his power. If an infane perfon fhould make an attempt, his infanity muft firft make him believe it to be in his power. A OBSERVATIONS CONCERNING THE WILL. 65 A man In his flcep mny be ftrnck witli a pally, which deprives CHAP. I. hiin of tlie power of fpcech ; when he awakes, he attempts to f|K-ak, not knowing; that he has loft the power. }5ut when he knows by experience that the power is gone, he ceafes to make the effort. The fame man, knowing that fome perfons have recovered the power of fijecch after they had loll it by a paralytica! ftroke, may now and then make an effort. In this effort, iiowever, there is not properly a will to fpcak, but a will to try whether he can fpeak or not. In like manner, a man may exert his ftrength toraifc a weight which is too heavy for him. liut he always does this, either from the belief that he can raife the weight, or for a trial whe- ther he can or not. It is evident therefore, that what we will niuft be believed to be in our power, and to depend upon our will. The next obfervation is, That when we will to do a thing im- mediately, the volition is accompanied with an eiforc to execute that which we willed, y If a man wills to raife a great weight from the ground by the llrengih of his arm, he makes an eflfort for that purpofe propor- tioned to the weight he determines to raife. A great weight re- quires a great effort ; a fmall weight a Icfs effort. We fay in- deed, thjt to raife a very fmall body requires no effort at all. But this, I ai:)|)rehend, muft be underftood either as a figurative way of fpeaking, by which things very fmall are accounted as nothing; or it is owing to our giving no attention to very final! efforts, and therefore having no name for them. Great efforts, wlicthcr of body or mind, arc attended with difficulty, and wlien long continued produce laflltude, which re- I quires 66 E S S A Y II. CHAP. I. quires that they fliould be intermitted. This leads us to refled " upon them and to give them a name. The name effort is com- monly appropriated to them ; and thole that are made with eafe, and leave no fenfible efted, pafs without obfervation and with- out a name, though they be of the fame kind, and differ only in degree from thofe to which the name is given. This effort we are confcious of, if we will but give attention to it ; and there is nothing in which we are in a more flrid fenfe adive. The laji obfervation is. That in all determinations of the mind that are of any importance, there mufl be fomething in the pre- ceding flate of the mind that difpofes or inclines us to that de- termination. If the mind were always in a flate of perfect indifference, without any incitement, motive, or reafon, to adt, or not to ad:, to ad one way rather than another, our adive power, having no end to purfue, no rule to dired its exertions, would be given in vain. We fliould either be altogether inadive, and never will to do any thing, or our volitions would be perfedly unmeaning and. futile, being neither wife nor foolilh, virtuous nor vicious. We have reafon therefore to think, that to every being to whom God hath given any degree of adive power, he hath alfo given fome principles of adion, for the diredion of that power to the end for which it was intended. It is evident that, in the conftitution of man, there are various principles of adion fuited to our flate and fituation. A particu- lar confideration of thefe is the iubjed of the next effay ; in this we are only to confider them in general, with a view to ex- amine the relation they bear to volition, and how it is influ- enced by them. CHAP, OBSERVATIONS CONCERNING THE WILL. 67 CHAT. II. ' .. ' C H A P. II. Of the Influence of Incitements and Motives upon the Will. WE come into the world ignorant of every thing, yet we muft do many things in order to our fubfirtence and well-being. A new-born child may be carried in arms, and kept warm by his nurfe \ but he muil fuck and fwallow his food for himfelf. And this muft be done before he has any concep- tion of fucking or fwallowing, or of the manner in which they are to be performed. He is led by nature to do thefe adions without knowing for what end, or what he is about. This we call tnftiuEl. In many cafes there Is no time for voluntary determination. The motions muft; go on fo rapitlly, that the conception and vo- lition of every movement cannot keep pace with them. In fome cafes of this kind, inftind, iu others habit, comes in to our aid. When a man ftumblcs and lofes his balance, the motion ne- ceftarv to prevent his fall would come too late, if it were the confcquence of thinking what is fit to be done, and making a voluntary efiort for that purpofe. He does this inftindively. When a man beats a drum or plays a tune, he has not time to dired every particular beat or ftop, by a voluntary determina- tion ; but the habit which may be acquired by exercifc, anfwers the purpofe as well. By inftind therefore, and by habit, we do many things with- out any exercife either of judgment or will. In other adions the will Is exerted, but without judgment. 1 2 Suppofe 6a E S S A Y II. CHAP. II. Suppofe a man to know that, in order to live, he mufl: eat. What (hall he eat ? How much ? And how often ? His reafon can anfwer none of thefe queftions j and therefore can give no diredion how he fhould determine. Here again nature, as an in- dulgent parent, fupplies the defedls of his reafon ; giving him ap- petite, which fhews him when he is to eat, how often, and how much J and tafle, which informs him what he is, and what he Is not to eat. And by thefe principles he is much better direded than he could be without them, by all the knowledge he can ac- quire. As the Author of nature has given us fome principles of adlon- to fupply the defeds of our knowledge, he has given others to^ lupply the defeds of our wifdom and virtue.. The natural delires, affedions and paflions, which are common to the wife and to the foolifli, to the virtuous and to the vicious, and even to the more fagacious brutes, ferve very often to dired the courfe of human adions. By thefe principles men may perform the moft laborious duties of life, without any regard to duty 5 and do what is proper to be done, without regard to propriety ; like a veflel that is carried on In her proper courfe by a pro- fperous gale, without the (kill or judgment of thofe that are a- board. Appetite, a(Iedion, or pallibn, give an Impulfe to a certain adion. In this impulfe there is no judgment implied. It may- be weak or ftrong; we can even conceive It Irrefiftible. In the cafe of madnefs it Is fo. Madmen have their appetites and paf^ lions y but they want the power of felf-government ; and there- fore we do not Impute their adions to the man but to the dif- eafe. In adions that proceed from app*etlte or paffion, we are pa(^" iive In part, and only In part adive. They are therefore part- INFLUENCE OF MOTIVES UPON THE WILL. ^9 ly imputed to the pafllon ; and If it is fnppofcd to be irrcfiftiblc, ^ wc do not impute them to the man at all. Even an American favagc judg;es in this manner : When in a fit of drunkcnnefs he kills his friend : As foon as he comes to himfclf, he is very forry for what he has done j but pleads that drink, and not he, was the caufe. We conceive brute-animals to have no fuperior principle to control their appetites and palllons. On this account, their ac- tions are not fubjedl to law. Men are in a like ftate in infancy, in madnefs, and in the delirium of a fever. They have appe- tites and palTlons, but they want that which makes them moral agents, accountable for their condu<fl, and objedts of moral ap- probation or of blame. In fome cafes, a flronger Impulfe of appetite or pafllon may oppofe a weaker. Here alfo there may be determination and' adion without judgment. Suppofe a foldier ordered to inount a breach, and cenain of prefent death if he retreats, this man needs not courage to go on, fear is fufficient. The certainty of prefent death if he retreats, is an overbalance to the probability of being killed if he goes on. Tlie man is pufhed by contrary forces, and it re- quires neither judgment nor exertion to yield to the ItrongelK A hungry dog adts by the fame principle, if meat is fet before him, with a threatening to beat him if he touch it. Hunger pufties him forward, fear pufhes him back with more force, and the ftrongeft force prevails. Thus we fee, that, in many even of our voluntary aclions, we may acl from the impulfe of appetite, affedion, or jnilion, without CHAP. ir. 70 ESSAY II. CHAP. IL -without any exerclfe of judgment, and much in the fame man« ner as brute-animals feem to a.&.. Sometimes, however, there is a calm in the mind from the gales of pafllon or appetite, and the man is left to work his way, in the voyage of Life, without thofe impulfes which they give. Then he calmly weighs goods and evils, which are at too great a diftance to excite any pafllon. He judges what is befl; upon the whole, without feeling any bias drawing him to one fide. He judges for himfelf as he would do for another in his fituation ; and the determination is wholly imputable to the man, and not in any degree to his pafllon. Every man come to years of underftanding, who has given any attention to his own condudt, and to that of others, has, in his mind, a fcale or meafure of goods and evils, more or lefs exadt. He makes an efl:imate of the value of health, of repu- tation, of riches, of pleafure, of virtue, of felf-approbation, and of the approbation of his Maker. Thefe things, and their con- traries, have a comparative importance in his cool and delibe- xate judgment. When a man confiders whether health ought to be preferred •to bodily ftrength, fame to riches, whether a good confcience and the approbation of his Maker, to every thing that can come in competition with it ; this appears to me to be an exercife of judgment, and not any impulfe of pafllon or appetite. Every thing worthy of purfuit, muft be fo, either intrinfically, and upon its own account, or as the means of procuring fomething that is intrinfically valuable. That it is by judgment that we difcern the fitnefs of means for attaining an end, is felf-evident ; and in this, I think, all Philofophers agree. But that it is the office of judgment to appreciate the value of an end, or the preference INFLUENCE OF MOTIVES UPON THE WILL. ^x preference due to one end above another, is not granted by fome ^hap. ir.^ Philofophers. In determining what is good or ill, and, of different goods, which is bcft, they think we muft be guided, not by judgment, but by fome natural or acquired tafte, which makes us rclilh one thing and diflike another. Thus, if one man prefers cheefe to lobflers, anotlicr lobfters to cheefe, it is vain, fay they, to apply judgment to determine which is right. In like manner, if one man prefers pleafure to virtue, another virtue to pleafure, this is a matter of tafle, judg- ment has nothing to do in it. This feems to be the opinion of fome Fhilofophers. I cannot help being of a contrary opinion. I think we may form a judgment, both in the queftion about cheefe and lobfters and in the more important queftion about pleafure and virtue. When one man feels a more agreeable relifli in cheefe, ano- ther in lobfters, this, I grant, requires no judgment ; it de- pends only upon the conftitution of the palate. But, if we would determine which of the two has the befl tafte, I think the queftion muft be determined by judgment ; and that, with a fraall Ihare of this faculty, we may give a very certain determi- nation, to wit, that the two taftes are equally good, and that both of the perfons do equally well, in preferring what fuits their palate and their llomach. Nay, I apprehend, that the two perfons who differ in their tafte will, notwithftanding that diftcrencc, agree perfedly in their judgment, that both taftes are upon a footing of equality, and that neither has a juft claim to preference. Thus it appears, that, in this inftance, the office of tafle is very 72 E S S A Y II. CHAP. IL very different from that of judgment ; and that men, who differ moft in tafte, may agree perfectly in their judgment, even with refpedt to the taftes wherein they differ. To make the other cafe parallel with this, it mufl be fup- pofed, that the man of pleafure and the man of virtue agree in, their judgment, and that neither fees any reafon to prefer the one courfe of life to the other. If this be fuppofed, I fhall grant, that neither of thefe perfons has reafon to condemn the other. Each chufes according to his tafte, in matters which his befl judgment determines to be per- fectly indifferent. But it is to be obferved, that this fuppofitlon cannot have place, when we fpeak of men, or indeed of moral agents. The man who is incapable of perceiving the obligation of virtue, when he ufes his beft judgment, is a man in name, but not in reality. He is incapable either of virtue or vice, and is not a moral agent. Even the man of pleafure, when his judgment Is unblafled, fees, that there are certain things which a man ought not to do, though he ftiould have a tafte for them. If a thief breaks into his houfe and carries off his goods, he is perfedlly convinced that he did wrong and deferves punifhment, although he had as ftrong a relifli for the goods as he himfelf has for the pleafures he purfues. It is evident, that mankind, in all ages, have conceived two parts in the human conftitution that may have influence upon our voluntary adions. Thefe we call by the general names of pajfion and reofon ; and we Ihall find, in all languages, names that are equivalent. Under INFLUEN'CE OF MOTIVES UPON THE WILL. 73 Under the former, we comprehend various principles of ac- CHAP. ir. lion, funihir to thofe we obfcrvc in brute-animals, and in men who have not the ufe of reafon. Appetites, offe&ious, pajjions^ are the names by which they are denominated ; and thcfe names are not fo accurately thftinguinied in common language, but that they are ufed fomewhat promifcuoufly. This, however, is common to them all, that they draw a man toward a certain objed, without any farther view, by a kind of violence ; a vio- lence which indeed may be refifted if the man is mailer of him- felf, but cannot be refifted without a ftruggle. Cicero's phrafe for exprefling their influence is, " Horainem " hue et illuc rapiunt." Dr Hutcheson ufes a iimilar phrafe, " (^libus agitatur mens et brute quodam impetu fertur." There is no exercile of reafoa or judgment neceflary in order to feel their influence. "With regard to this part of the human conftitutlon, I fee no difference between the vulgar and Philolbphers. As to the other part of our conftltution, which is commonly called reafon, as oppofed to pafCon, there have been very fubtile difputes among modern Philolbphers, whether it ought to be called reafon, or be not rather fome internal fenfe or tafle. "Whether it ought to be called reafon, or by what other name, I do not here enquire, but what kiud of influence it has upon our voluntary actions. As to this point, I think, all men muft allow that this is the manly part of our conllitution, the other the brute part. This operates in a calm and difpafTionate manner ; a manner fo like to judgment or reafon, that even thofe who ilo not allow it to be called by that name, endeavour to account for its having al- K ways 7+ ESSAY ir. CHAT^iL ways had the namej becaufe, in the manner of its operation, it has a fimilitude to reafon. As the fimilitude between this principle and reafon has led mankind to give it that name, fo the diflimilitude between it and paflion has led them to fet the two in oppofition. They have confidered this cool principle, as having an influence upon our adlions fo different from pailion, that what a man does cool- ly and deliberately, without paffion, is imputed folely to the man, whether it have merit or demerit ; whereas, what he does from paflion is imputed in part to the paflion. If the paflion be conceived to be irrefiftible, the adtion is imputed folely to it, and not at all to the man. If he had power to refift, and ought to have refifted, we blame him for not doing his duty j but, in proportion to the violence of the paflion, the fault is alleviated. By this cool principle, we judge what ends are moft worthy to be purfued, how far every appetite and paflion may be in- dulged, and when it ought to be refifled. It direds us, not only to refift the impulfe of paflion when it would lead us wrong, but to avoid the occafions of inflaming it ; like Cyrus, who refufed to fee the beautiful captive prin- cefs. In this he a6ted the part both of a wife and a good man j firm in the love of virtue, and, at the fame time, confcious of the weaknefs of human nature, and unwilling to put it to too fevere a trial. In this cafe, the youth of Cyrus, the incompara- ble beauty of his captive, and every circumftance which tended to inflame his defire, exalts the merit of his condudl in refifting it. It is in fuch adlions that the fuperiority of human nature ap- pears, and the fpecific difference between it and that of brutes. lx\ them we may obferve one paflion combating another, and the flrongeft prevailing^ but we perceive no calm principle in their conftitution, INFLUENCE OF MOTIVES UPON THE WILL. 75 Gonftitution, thatis fuperior to every paflion, and able to give chaiml law to it. The difference between thcfe two parts of our conftitution may be farther illurtratcd by an inflance or two wherein pailion prevails. If a man, upon great provocation, flrike another when he ought to keep the peace, he blames himt'elf for what he did, and acknowledges that he ought not to have yielded to his paf- Gon. Every other pcrfon agrees with his fober judgment. They think he did wrong in yielding to his paflion, when he might and ought to have refifled its impulfe. If they thought it im- poffible to bear the provocation, they would not blame him at all ; but believing that it was in his power, and was his duty, they impute to him fome degree of blame, acknowledging, at the fame time, that it is alleviated in proportion to the provoca- tion ; Co that the trefpafs is imputed, partly to the man, and partly to the paffion. But, if a man deliberately conceives a defign of mifchief againft his neighbour, contrives the means, .ind executes it, the adion admits of no alleviation, it is perfedt- ly voluntary, ahd he bears the whole guilt of the evil in- tended and done. If a man, by the agony of the rack, is made to difclofe a fe- cret of importance, with which he is entrulted, we pity him more than we blame him. We confider, that fuch is the wcak- nefs of human nature, that the refolutlon, even of a good man, might be overcome by fuch a trial. But if he have ftrength of mind, which even the agony of the rack could not fubduc, we admire his fortitude as truly heroical. Thus, I think, it appears, that the common fenfe of men (which, in matters of common life, ought to have great authori- ty) has led them to diftinguilh two parts iu the huinuu conllitu- K. 2 tion. y6 E S S A Y II. CHAP. 11. tion, which have nifluence upon our vokmtary determinations. There is an irrational part, common to us with brute-animals, confifling of appetites, affedions and pafTions, and there is a cool and rational part. The firft, in many cafes, gives a flrong impulfe, but without judgment, and without authority. The fe- cond is always accompanied with authority. All wifdom and virtue confill in following its did:ates ; all vice and folly in dlf- obeying them. We may refill the Impulfes of appetite and paf- fion,.not only without regret, but with lelf-applaufe and triumph; but the calls of reafon and duty can never be refifted, without remorfe and felf-conderanation. The ancient Philofophers agreed with the vulgar, in making this diftinftion of the principles of acflion. The irrational part the Greeks called o^iJin. Cicero calls it appetUus, taking that word in an extenfive fenfe, fo as to include every propenfity to adtion which is not grounded on judgment. The other principle the Greeks called ^cuf ; Plato calls It the iyr/xenxoi-, or leading principle. " Duplex en'im eft vis animorum at-^ " que natura^ fays Cicero, una pars in oppetitu pofita eji, qua ejl " Of;:**) Grace, qua hominem hue et illuc rapit; altera in ratione, qua " docet, et explanat, quid faciendum fugiendumvefitj ita Jit ut ratio " prafit appetitus obtemperet.''^ The reafon of explaining this dillindion here Is, that thefe two principles influence the will in diiferent ways. Their In- fluence differs, not in degree only, but in kind. This difference we feel, though it may be difKcult to find words to exprefs it. We may perhaps more eafily form a notion of it by a fimili- tude. It Is one thing to pufh a man from one part of the room to> another ; it is a thing of a very different nature to ufe argu- ments to perluade him to leave his place, and go to another,. He INFLUENCE OF MOTIVES UPON THE WILL. 77 He may yield to the force which puHics him, without any exer- CHARir. cife of liis rational faculties ; nay, he mufl: yield to it, if he do not oppofe an equal or a greater force. His liberty is impaired in foinc degree ; and, if he has not power fuflicient to oppofe, his liberty is quite taken away, and the motion cannot be im- puted to him at all. The influence of appetite or pafllon feems to me to be very like to this. If the paflion be fuppofed irre- fiftiblc, we impute the adion to it fulely, and not to the man» If he had power to refill, but yields after a flruggle, we impute the adion, partly to the man, and partly to the paffion. If we attend to the other caie, when the man is only urged by arguments to leave his place, this refembles the operation of the cool or rational principle. It is evident, that, whether he yields to the arguments or not, the determination is wholly his own ad, and is entirely to be imputed to him. Argimients, whatever be the degree of their ftrength, dimlnifh not a man's liberty ; they may produce a cool convidlion of what we ought to do, and they can do no more. But appetite and palllon give an impulfe to ad and impair liberty, in proportion to their Ilrength. With mofl men, the Impulfe of paflion is more efiedual than bare convidion ; and, on this account, orators, who would per- fuade, find it necefiary to addrefs the paflions, as well as to con- vince the underftanding ; and, in all fyftcms of rhetoric, thefe two have been confidered as different intentions of the orator^ and to be accompliflied by different means. C II A P. 78 E S S A Y II. CHAP. in. CHAP. III. Of Operations of Mind ivhicb may be called Voluntary. THE faculties of underftanding and will are eafi^y diflin- guifhed in thought, but very rarely, if ever, disjoined in operation. In moft, perhaps in all the operations of mind for which we have names in language, both faculties are employed, and we are both intelle(5live and adtive. Whether it be poffible that intelligence may exifl without fome degree of ad;ivity, or impoflible, is perhaps beyond the reach of our faculties to determine ; but, I apprehend, that, in fadl, they are always conjoined in the operations of our minds. It is probable, I think, that there is fome degree of adlivity in thofe operations which we refer to the underflanding ; accor- dingly, they have always, and in all languages, been expreffed by adtive verbs ; as, I fee, I hear, I remember, I apprehend, I judge, I reafon. And it is certain, that every adl of will mufl be ac- companied by fome operation of the underflanding j for he that wills mufl apprehend what he wills, and apprehenfion belongs to the underflanding. The operations I am to confider in this chapter, I think, have commonly been referred to the underflanding ; but we fhall find that the will has fo great a (hare in them, that they may, with propriety, be called voluntary. They are thefe three, attention^ deliberation, and fxed purpofe or refolution. Attention may be given to any objedl, either of fenfe or of intelledl. OF VOL UNTARY OPERATIONS. 79 jntelleft, in order to form a diftind notion of it, or to difcover CHAP. III. its nature, its attributes, or its relations. And fo great is the cffcd of attention, that, without it, it is iinpofliblc to acquire or retain a dlllind: notion of any objed: of thought. If a man hear a dilcourfe without attention, what does he car- ry away with him ? If he fee St Peter's or the Vatican without attention, What account can he give of it ? While two per- fons are engaged in interefting difcourfe, the clock {Irikes with- in their hearing, to which they give no attention, What is the confequence ? The next minute they know not whether the clock ftruck or not. Yet their ears were not fliut. The ufual imprellion was made upon the organ of hearing, and upon the auditory nerve and brain ; but from inattention the found either was not perceived, or pafled in the twinkling of an eye, without leaving the leaft veftige in the memory. A man fees not what is before his eyes when his mind is oc- cupied about another objedl. In the tumult of a battle a man may be fliot through the body without knowing any thing of the matter, till he difcover it by the lofs of blood or of ftrcns-th. 'o* The moft acute fenfation of pain may be deadened, if the at- tention can be vigoroufly direded to another objetfl. A gentle- man of my acquaintance, in the agony of a fit of the gout, ufed to call for the chefs-board. As he was fond of that game, he acknowledged that, as the game advanced and drew his at- tention, the fenfe of pain abated, and the time feemcd much fhorter. Archimedes, it is faid, being intent upon a mathematical propofition, when Syracufe was taken by the Romans, knew not the calamity of the city, till a Roman foldier broke in upon his retirement. So E S S A Y II. CHAP. Ill, retiremenf , and gave him a deadly wound ; on which he lament- ed only that he had loft a fine demonftration. It is needlefs to multiply Inftances to fliew, that when one faculty of the mind is intenfely engaged about any objedl, the other faculties are laid as it were fafl: afleep. It may be farther obferved, that if there be any thing that can he called genius in matters of mere judgment and reafoning, it feems to confifl chiefly in being able to give that attention to the fubjed which keeps it iteady in the mind, till we can furvey it accurately on all fides. There is a talent of imagination, which bounds from earth to heaven, and from heaven to earth in a moment. This may be favourable to wit and imagery ; but the powers of judging and reafoning depend chiefly upon keeping the mind to a clear [ and fteady view of the fubjed. Sir Isaac Newton, to one who complimented him upon the force of genius, which had made fuch improvements in mathe- matics and natural philofophy, is faid to have made this reply, which was both modefl: and judicious, That, if he had made any improvements in thofe fciences, it was owing more to patient at- tention than to any other talent. Whatever be the effedls which attention may produce, ( and I apprehend they are far beyond what is commonly believed,} it is for the moft part in our power. Every man knows that he can turn his attention to this fub- jedl or to that, for a longer or a fliorter time, and with more or lefs intenfenefs, as he pleafes. It is a voluntary ad:, and depends upon his will. But what was before obferved of the will in general, is appli- cable OF VOLUNTARY OPERATIONS. 8i cable to this particular exertion of it, That the mind is rarely P^'^|';^"' ill a flate of indilTerence, left to turn its attention to the ob- jedt which to realbn appears moft deferving of it. There is, for the moft part, a bias to feme particular object, more than to any- other J and this not from any judi^ment of its deferving our attention more, but from foine impulfe or proptnfity, grounded on nature or habit. It is well known that things new and uncommon, things grand, and things that are beautiful, draw our attention, not in proportion to the intereft we have, or think we have in them, but in a much greater proportion. Whatever moves our paflions or affe(flions draws our atteu" tion, very often, more than we wifli. You defire a man not to think of an unfortunate event which torments him. It admits of no remedy. The thought of it an- fwers no purpofe but to keep the wound bleeding. He is per- fedlly convinced of all you fay. He knows that he would not feel the afflidion, if he could only not think of it ; yet he hard- ly thinks of any thing elfe. Strange ! when happinefs and mi- fery ftand before him, and depend upon his choice, he chufes mifery, and reje<^s happinefs with his eyes open! Yet he wifhes to be happy, as all m.cn do. How fliall we re- concile this contradiction between his judgment and his con- ducfl? The account of it feems to me to be this : The afflicfling event draws his attention fo ftrongly, by a natural and blind force, that he either hath not the power, or hath not the vigour, of mind to refift its impulfe, though he knows that to yield to it is mifery, without any good to balance it. L Acute ESSAY II. Acute bodily pain draws oar attention, and makes it very difficult to attend to any thing elfe, even when attention to the pain ferves no other purpofe but to aggravate it tenfold. The man who played a game at chefs in the agony of the gout, to engage his attention to another objedl, aded the reafon- able part, and confulted his real happinefs ; but it required a great effort to give that attention to his game, which was necef- fary to produce the effed intended by it.. Even when there is no particular object that draws away our attention, there is a defultorinefs of thought in man, and in fome more than in others, which makes it very difficult to give that fixed attention to important objed:s which reafon requires. It appears, I think, from what has been faid, that the atten- tion we give to objeds, is for the moft part voluntary : That a great part of wifdom and virtue confifls in giving a proper di-^ redlon to our attention j and that however reafonable this ap- pears to the judgment of every man, yet, in fome cafes, it re- quires an effort of felf-command no lefs than the mofl heroic virtues. Another operation that may be called vduntary^ is delibera- tion about what we are to do or to forbear. Every man knows that it Is In his power to deliberate or not to deliberate about any part of his conduft ; to deliberate for a Ihorter, or a longer time, more carelefsly, or more ferioully : And when he has reafon to fufpedt that his affedion may bias his judgment,, he may either honelily ufe the beft means in his power to form an impartial judgment, or he may yield to his bias, and only feek arguments to juftify what inclination leads him to do. In all thefe points, he determines, he wills, the right or the wrong. The OF VOLUNTARY OPERATIONS. 83 The general rules of deliberation arc perfectly evident to rca- chap, iir. fon when we conlidcr them abftradly. They are axioms ia morals. Wc ought not to deliberate in cafes that are perfectly clean No man deliberates whether he ought to chufe happincfs or mi- fcry. No honeit man deliberates whether he fliall Ileal his neigh- bour's property. When the cafe is not clear, when it is of im- portance, and when there is time for deliberation, wc ought to deliberate with more or lefs care, In proportion to the Import- ance of the adlion. In deliberation we ought to weigh things in an even balance, and to allow to every confideration the weight which, in fober judgment, we think it ought to have, and no more. This is to deliberate impartially. Our deliberation fliould be brought to an IfTue in due time, fo that we may not lofe the opportunity of adling while we deliberate. The axioms of Euclid do not appear to me to have a greater degree of felf-evidence, than thefe rules of deliberation. And as far as a man ads according to them, his heart approves of him, and he has confidence of the approbation of the Searcher of hearts. But though the manner in which we ought to deliberate be evident to reafon, it Is not always eafy to follow it. Our appe- tites, our afiedions and paflions, oppofe all deliberation, but that which Is employed in finding the means of their gratification. Avarice may lead to deliberate upon the ways of making money, but it does not difiinguilh between the honeil and the dilhoneit. We ought furely to deliberate how far every appetite and paf- fion may be indulged, and what limits fliould be fet to it. But our appetites and palfions pufh us on to the attainment of their objeds, in the fhortcft road, and without delay. L 2 Tiuu 84 E S S A. Y II. CHAP. III. Thus it happens, that, if we yield to their impulfe, we fliall often tranfgrefs thofe rules of deliberation, which reafon approves. In this conflia between the didlates of reafon, and the blind im- pulfe of pallion, we mufl voluntarily determine. When we take part with our reafon, though in oppofition to paflion, we ap- prove of our own condudl. What we call a fault of ignorance, is always owing to the- want of due deliberation. When we do not take due pains to be rightly informed, there is a fault, not indeed in adiing ac- cording to the light we have, but in not uling the proper means to get light. For if we judge wrong, after uling the proper means of information, thei'e is no fault in ading according to that wrong judgment ; the error is invincible. The natural confequence of deliberation on any part of our condud:, is a determination how we fhall ad 3 and if it is not brought to this ilTue it is loft labour. There are two cafes in which a determination may take place ; when the opportunity of putting it in execution is prefent, and when it is at a diftance. When the opportunity is prefent, the determination to ad is immediately followed by the adion. Thus, if a man determine to rife and walk, he immediately does it, unlefs he is hindered by force, or has loll the power of walking. And if he fit ftill when he has power to walk, we conclude infallibly that he has not determined, or willed to walk immediately. Our determination or will to ad, is not always the refult of deliberation, it may be the effed of fome paffion or appetite, without any judgment interpofed. And when judgment is in- terpofed, we may determine and ad either according to that judgment or contrary to it. When OF VOLUNTARY OPERATIONS. ■ 9^ When a man fits down hungry to dine, he eats from appetite, C!i\P. iir. very often without exercifing his judgment at all ; nature in- vites and he obeys the call, as the ox, or the horfe, or as an in- fant does. When we converfe with perfons whom we love or refpect, we fay and do civil things merely from affedion or from refpe(ft. They flow fpontancoufly from the heart, without requiring any judgment. In fuch cafes we adl as brute-animals do, or as child- ren before the ufe of reafon. We feel an impulfe in our na- ture, and we yield to it. When a man eats merely from appetite, he does not confider the pleafure of eating, or its tendency to health. Thefe coiifi- derations are not in his thoughts. But we can fuppofe a man who eats with a view to enjoy the pleafure of eating. Such a nian reafons and judges. He will take care to ufe the proper means of procuring an appetite. He will be a critic in tafles, and make nice difcriminations. This man ufes his rational fa- culties even in eating. And however contemptible this applica- tion of them may be, it is an exercife of which, I apprehend, brute-animals are not capable. In like manner, a man may fay or do civil things to another, not from affedtion, but in order to ferve fome end by it, or be- caufe he thinks it his duty. To a(5l with a view to fome dillant interefl, or to act from a fenfe of duty, feems to be proper to man as a reafonable being ; but to a£l merely from pallion, from appetite, or from afleclion, is common to him with the brute-animals. In the lail cafe there is no judgment required, but in the firft there is. To acft againft what one judges to be for his real good upon the whole, is folly. To act againft what he judges to be his du- ty, S6 ESSAY II. CHAP. Ill, ty^ ]g immorality. It cannot be denied that there are too many inftances of both in human Hfe. Video 7neliora proboque, deteriora feqttor, is neither an impoflible, nor an unfrequent cafe. "While a man does what he really thinks wifefl and heft to be done, the more his appetites, his affeftions and paffions draw him the contrary way, the more he approves of his own con- dud, and the more he is entitled to the approbation of every rational being. The ^/6/r<y operation of mind I mentioned, which may be cal- led voluntary, Is, A fixed purpofe or refolutlon with regard to our future condudt. This naturally takes place, when any adllon, or courfe of ac- tion, about which we have deliberated, is not immediately to be executed, the occafion of adiing being at fome diflance. A fixed purpofe to do, fome time hence, fomething which we believe fhall then be in our power, is ftrldly and properly a de- termination of will, no lefs than a determination to do it in- flantly. Every definition of volition agrees to it. Whether the opportunity of doing what we have determined to do be prefent or at fome diflance, is an accidental circumftance which does not affedl the nature of the determination, and no good reafon can be afligned why It fhould not be called volition in the one cafe, as well as in the other. A purpofe or refolutlon, therefore, is truly and properly an adl of will. Our purpofes are of two kinds. We may call the one particu- lar, the other general. By a particular purpofe, I mean that which has for its objedl an individual adion, limited to one time and place ; by s. general \)nx\io(Q, that of a courfe or train of adion, intended for fome general end, or regulated by fome general rule. Thus, OF VOLUNTARY OPERATIONS. 87 Tlius, I may purpofe to go to London next winter. When p'^'"^''^'^; the time comes, 1 execute my purpofe, if I continue of the fame mind j and the purpofe, when executed, is no more. Thus it is with every particuhir purpofe. A general purpofe may continue for life ; and, after many par- ticular adiions have been done in confcq^uence of it, may re- main and regulate future adions. Thus, a young man propofes to follow the profefllon of law, of medicine, or of theology. This general purpofe diredls the courfe of his reading and lludy. It drredts him in the choice- of his company and companions, and even of his diverfions. It determines his travels and the place of his abode. It has in- fluence upon his drefs and manners, and a confiderable elTec^ in forming his charader. There are other fixed purpofes which have a ftill greater ef- fe<ft in forming the charader. I mean fuch as regard our mo- ral conduct. Suppofe a man to have exercifed his intelle»flual and moral faculties, fo far as to have dillind notions of juftice and inju- ftice, and of the confequences of both, and, after due delibera- tion, to have formed a fixed purpofe to adhere inflexibly to ju- nice, and never to handle the wages of iniquity. Is not this the man whom we flaould call a juft man ? We confider the moral virtues as inherent in the mind of a good man, even when there is no opportunity of exercifing them. And what is it in the mind which we can call the virtue of ju- flice, when it is not exercifed ? It can be nothing but a fixed purpofe, or determination, to acft according to the rules of ju- ftice, when there is opportunity. The 88 E S S A V IT. CHAP. HI. The Roman law defined jufllce, A Jleady and perpetual will to (rive to every man his due. When the opportunity of doing juftice is not prefent, this can mean nothing ehe than a fteady parpofe, which is very properly called will. Such a purpofe, if it is ftea- dy, will infallibly produce jufl conduct ; for every known tranf- crellion of juftice demonftrates a change of purpofe, at leafl for that time. What has been fald of juftice, may be fo eafily applied to every other moral virtue, that it is unneceflary to give inftances. They are all fixed purpofes of ading according to a certain rule. By this, the virtues may be eafily diftinguiflied, in thought at leaft, from natural affedtions that bear the fame name. Thus, benevolence is a capital virtue, which, though not fo neceflliry to the being of fociety, is entitled to a higher degree of appro- bation than even juftice. But there is a natural affedtion of be- nevolence, common to good and bad men, to the virtuous and to the vicious. How fliall thefe be diftinguiflied ? In practice, indeed, we cannot diftinguifli them in other men, and with difficulty in ourfelves ; but in theory, nothing is more eafy. The virtue of benevolence is a fixed purpofe or refolution to do good when we have opportunity, from a convidtion that it is right, and is our duty. The affedtion of benevolence is a propenfity to do good, from natural conftitution or habit, with- out regard to reditude or duty. There are good tempers and bad, which are a part of the conftitution of the man, and ai'e really involuntary, though they often lead to voluntary adions. A good natural temper is not virtue, nor is a bad one vice. Hard would it be indeed to think, that a man fliould be born under a decree of reprobation, be- caufe he has the misfortune of a bad natural temper. The OF VOLUNTARY OPERATIONS. 89 The Phyfiog-nomifl; faw, in the features of Socrates, the f^g- chap. iir. natures of many bad difpofitlons, which that good man acknow- ledged he feh within him ; but the triumph of his virtue was the greater in having conquered them. In men who have no fixed rules of condu(fl, no felf-govern- ment, the natural temper is variable by numberlefs accidents. The man who is full of affedion and benevolence this hour, when a crofs accident happens to ruffle him, or perhaps when an eafterly wind blows, feels a flrange revolution in his temper. The kind and benevolent affedlions give place to the jealous and malignant, which are as readily indulged in their turn, and for the fame reafon, becaufe he feels a propenfity to indulge them. We may obferve, that men who have exercifed their rational powers, are generally governed in their opinions by fixed prin- ciples of belief; and men who have made the greateft advance m felf-government, are governed, in their pradlice, by general fixed purpofes. Without the former, there would be no fleadi- nefs and confiftence in our belief j nor without the latter, in our condud;. When a man is come to years of underdanding, from his edu- cation, from his company, or from his ftudy, he forms to him- felf a fet of general principles, a creed, which governs his judg- ment in particular points that occur. If new evidence is laid before him which tends to overthrow any of his received principles, it requires in him a great degree of candour and love of truth, to give it an impartial examination, and to form a new judgment. Moil men, when they are fixed in their principles, upon what they account fufficient evidence, can hardly be drawn into a new and ferious examination of them, M They 90 ESSAY II. CHAP. ]n. They get a habit of believing them, which Is flrengthened by repeated ads, and remains Immoveable, even when the evidence upon which their belief was at firfl grounded, is forgot. It is this that makes converfions, either from religious or political principles, fo difficult. A mere prejudice of education ftlcks faft, as a propofitlon of Euclid does with a man who hath long ago forgot the proof. Both Indeed are upon a fimllar footing. We reft in both, be- caufe we have long done fo, and think we received them at firll upon good evidence, though that evidence be quite forgot. When we know a man*s principles, we judge by them, rather than by the degree of his underftanding, how he will determine in any point which is connedied with them. Thus, the judgment of moft men who judge for themfelves Is governed by fixed principles ; and, I apprehend, that the con- dudl of moft men who have any felf-government, and any con- fiftency of conduct, Is governed by fixed purpofes. A man of breeding may, m his natural temper, be proud, pat fionate, revengeful, and In his morals a very bad man ; yet, in good company, he can ftlfle every pafllon that is inconfiftent with good breeding, and be humane, modeft, complaifant, even to thofe whom In his heart he defpifes or hates. Why is this man, who can command all his pallions before company, a Have to them in private ? The reafon is plain : He has a fixed refolu- tion to be a man of breeding, but hath no fuch refolution to be a man of virtue. He hath combated his moft violent pafllons a thoufand times before he became mafter of them In company. The fame refolution and perfeverance would have given him the eGirunand of them when alone, A OF VOLUNTARY OPERATIONS. 91 A fixed rcfolution retains its influence upon the condu(fl, even CHAP. ii». \vhen the motives to it are not in view, in the fame manner as a fixed principle retains its influence upon the belief, when the evidence of it is forgot. The former may be called a habit of the w/7/, the latter a habit of the underjiandlng. By fuch habits chiefly, men are governed in their opinions and in their prac- tice. A man who has no general fixed purpofes,may be fiiid, as Pope fays of moft: women, (I hope imjuftly) to have no charadler at all. He will be honefl; or diflionclt, benevolent or malicious, compaflionate or cruel, as the tide of his paflions and affections drives him. This, however, I believe, is the cafe of but a few in advanced life, and thefe, with regard to condud:, the wcakefl: and moft contemptible of the fpecies. A man of fome conftancy may change his general purpofes once or twice in life, feldom more. From the purfuit of plea- fure in early life, he may change to that of ambition, and from ambition to avarice. But every man who ufes his reafon in the conduct of life, will have fome end, to which he gives a pre- ference above all others. To this he fteers his courfe ; his pro- je(fls and his actions will be regulated by it. Without this, there would be no confiftency in his condud;. He would be like a ftiip in the ocean, which is bound to no port, under no govern- ment, but left to the mercy of winds and tides. We obferved before, that there are moral rules refpeding the attention we ought to give to objeds and refpeding our delibe- rations, which are no lefs evident than mathematical axioms. The fame thing may be obferved with refpedl to our fixed pur- pofes, whether particular or general. Is it not felf-cvident, that, after due deliberation, we oughc to refolve upon that condud, or that courfe of condud, which, JM 2 to 9* ESSAY 11. CHAP. IV. to our fober judgment, appears to be befl and mofl approvable ? That we ought to be firm and fteady in adhering to fuch refo- lutions, while we are perfuaded that they are right ; but open to conviction, and ready to change our courfe, when we have good evidence that it is wrong ? Ficklenefs, inconftancy, facility, on the one band, wilfulnefs, inflexibility, and obllinacy, on the other, are moral qualities, refpedlng our purpofes, which every one fees to be wrong. A manly firmnefs, grounded upon rational convldlion, is the pro- per mean which every man approves and reveres. CHAP. IV. Corollaries. FROM what has been faid concerning the will, it appears, frj, That, as fome ads of the will are tranfient and mo- mentary, fo others are permanent, and may continue for a long, time, or even through the whole courfe of our rational life. When T will to ftretch out my hand, that will is at an end as- foon as the adion is done. It is an adt of the will which be- sfins and ends in a moment. But when I will to attend to a mathematical propofition, to examine the demonflratlon, and the confequences that may be drawn from it, this will may con- tinue for hours. It mufl continue as long as my attention con- tinues ; for no man attends to a mathematical propofitipn longer than he wills. The fame thing may be faid of deliberation, with regard,, (either to any point of couuud:, or with regard to any general courfe COROLLARIES. ^ courfe of condud. We will to deliberate as long as. we do dc- CHAP. iv. liberate > and that may be for days or for weeks. A purpofc or refolution, which we have fliewn to be an act of the will, may continue for a great part of life, or for the whole, after we are of age to form a refolution. Thus, a merchant may refolve, that, after he has made fuch a fortune by traffic, he will give it up, and retire to a country life. He may continue this refolution for thirty or forty years, and execute it at laft ; but he continues it no longer than he wills, for he may at ^ny time change his refolution. There are therefore a6ls of the will which are not tranfient and momentary, which may continue long, and grow into a habit. This deferves the more to be obiei-ved, becaufe a very eminent Philofopher has advanced a contrary principle, to wit. That all the ads of the will are tranfient and momentary ; and from that principle has drawn very important conclufions, with regard to what conftltutes the moral charader of man. hfeconi corollary is. That nothing in a man, wherein the will is not concerned, can juftly be accounted either virtuous or im- moral. That no blame can be imputed to a man for what is altoge- ther involuntary, is fo evident in itfelf, that no arguments can make it more evident. The pradice of all criminal courts, in all enlightened nations, is founded upon it. If it fliould be thought an objedion to this maxim, that, by the laws of all nations, children often fuffer for the crimes of parents, in which they had no hand, the anfwer is eafy. Yor,JirJ}, Such is the connedion between parents and children, that 94 E S S A Y II. CHAP. IV. that the punllhment of a parent miift hurt his children whether the law will or not. If a man is fined, or imprifoned ; If he lofes life, or limb, or eftate, or reputation, by the hand of juftice, his children fuffer by neceflary confequence. Secondly When laws intend to appoint any punidmient of innocent children for the father's crime, fuch laws are either unjuft, or they are to be confidered as adts of police, and not of jurifprudence, and are intended as an expedient to deter parents more effectually from the commlffion of the crime. The innocent children, in this cafe, are facrlficed to the public good, in like manner, as, to prevent the fpreading of the plague, the found are fliut up with the infeded in a houfe or fhip, that has the infed;ion. By the law of England, if a man is killed by an ox goring him, or a cart running over him, though there be no fault or negledl in the owner, the ox or the cart is a deodand, and is confif- cated to the Church. The Legiflature furely did not intend to punifli 'the ox as a criminal, far lefs the cart. The intention evidently was, to inlplre the people with a facred regard to the life of man. When the Parliament of Paris, with a fimilar intention, or- dained the houfe in which RavIUiac was born, to be razed to the ground, and never to be rebuilt, it would be great weaknefs to conclude, that the wife judlcatui'e intended to punlfh the houfe. If any judicature fhould. In any inftance, find a man guilty, and an obje6l of punllhment, for what they allowed to be alto- gether involuntary, all the world would condemn them as men who knew nothing of the firft and mofl fundamental rules of jullice. I have endeavoured to fliew, that, in our attention to objeds, in order to form a right judgment of them ; in our deliberation about particular adions, or about general rules of condud ; In our COROLLARIES. 95 our purpofcs and refolutions, as well as in the execution of them, chap. iv. the will has a j)rincii'al fliare. If any man could be found, who, in the whole courfc of his life, had given due attention to things that concern him, had deliberated duly and impartially about his coiidudl, had formed his refolutions, and executed them ac- cording to his befl: judgment and capacity, furely fuch a man might hold up his face before God and man, and plead inno- cence. He muft be acquitted by the impartial Judge, whatever his natural temper was, whatever his pallions and affedions, as far as they were involuntary. A tlj'ird corollary is. That all virtuous habits, when we diftin- guilh them from virtuous actions, confift in fixed purpofes of adling according to the rules of virtue, as often as we have op- portunity. We can conceive in a man a greater or a lefs degree of fleadi- nefs to his purpofes or refolutions ; but that the general tenor of his condutl: fhould be contrary to them, is impollible. The man who has a determined refolution to do his duty in every inftance, and who adheres fteadily to his refolution, is a perfedl man. The man who has a determined purpofe of car- rying on a courfe of adlion which he knows to be wrong, is a. hardened offender. Between thefe extremes there are many in- termediate degrees of virtue and vice. ESSAY ESSAY JII. OF THE PRINCIPLES OF ACTION. PART I. Of the Mechanical Principles of AEl'ion. CHAP. I. Of the Principles of AElion in general. IN the ftrid phllofophical fenfe, nothing can be called the aftion of a man, but what he previoufly conceived and willed or de- termined to do. In morals we commonly employ the word in this fenfe, and never impute any thing to a man as his doing, in which his will was not interpofed. But when moral imputation is not concerned, we call many things adions of the man, which he neither previoufly conceived nor willed. Hence the adions of men have been diftinguilbed into three claffes, the voluntary, the involuntary, and the mixed. By the lafl: are meant fuch adions as are \mdcr the command of the will, but are commonly per- formed without any interpofition of will. We cannot avoid ufing the word aElion in this popular fenfe, without deviating too much from the common ufe of language 5 and it is in this fenfe we ufe it when we enquire into the prin- ciples of adion in the human mind. V>y principles of adion, I undcrftand every thing that incites us to ad. N If 9« ESSAY III. CHAP. I, If there were no incitements to adiion, adive power would be given us in vain. Having no motive to dired: our adlive ex- ertions, the mind would, in all cafes, be in a ftate of perfed in- difference, to do this or that, or nothing at all. The adive power would either not be exerted at all," or its exertions would be perfedly unmeaning and frivolous, neither wife nor foolifh, neither good nor bad. To every adion that is of the fmalleft importance, there muft be fome incitement, fome motive, fome reafon. It is therefore a moft important part of the philofophy of the human mind, to have a diflind and juft view of the various prin- ciples of adion, which the Author of our being hath planted in our nature, to arrange them properly, and to affign to every one its rank. By this it is, that we may difcover the end of our being, and the part which is affigned us upon the theatre of life. In this part of the human conllitution the noblefl work of God that falls within our notice, we may difcern moft clearly the cha- rader of him who made us, and how he would have us to em- ploy that adive power which he hath given us. I cannot without great diffidence enter upon this fubjed, ob- ferving that almoft every author of reputation, who has given at:- tention to it, has a fyftem of his own ; and that no man has been fo happy as to give general fatisfadion to thofe who came after him. There is a branch of knowledge much valued, and very juftly, which we call knowledge of the world, knowledge of mankind, knowledge of human nature : This, I think, confifts in knowing from what principles men generally ad ; and it is commonly the fruit of natural fagacity joined with experience. A OF THE PRINCIPLES OF ACTION. 99 A man of fagacity, who has had occafion to deal in mtercftlng chap, i. matters, with a great variety of perfons of diflcrent age, fcx, rank and profclTion, learns to judge what may be expeded from men in given circinnftances ; and how they may be mofl; efFec- tually induced to ad the part which he defircs. To know this is of fo great importance to men in adlive life, that it is called knowing men, and knowing human nature. This knowledge may be of confiderable ufe to a man who would fpeculate upon the fubjedt we have propofed, but is not, by itfelf, futPicient for that purpofe. The man of the world conjedlures, perhaps with great proba- bility, how a man will adl in certain given circumllances ; and this is all he wants to know. To enter into a detail of the va- rious principles which influence the adtions of men, to give them diftind names, to define them, and to afcertain their different provinces, is the bufmefs of a philofoplier, and not of a man of the world ; and, indeed, it is a matter attended with great diffi- culty from various caufes. Firji, On account of the great number of adive principles that influence the adions of men. Man has, not without reafon, been called an epitome of the univerfe. His body, by which his mind is greatly affeded, being a part of the material fyftem, is fubjed to all the laws of inani- mate matter. During fome part of his exiftence, his flate is very like that of a vegetable. He rifes, by imperceptible degrees, to the animal, and, at lafl, to the rational life, and has the prin- ciples that belong to all. Another caufe of the difficulty of tracing the various principles of adion in man, is, That the fame adion, nay, the fame courfc and train of adiou may proceed from very different principles. N a Men loo ESSAY III. CHAP. I. Men who are fond of a hypothefis, commonly feek no other proof of US truth, but that it ferves to account for the ap- pearances which it is brought to explain. This is a very flip- pery kind of proof in every part of philofophy, and never to be truiled ', but leafl of all, when the appearances to be accounted for are. human adtions. Moft actions proceed from a variety of principles concurring in their diredlon ; and according as we are difpofed to judge favourably or unfavourably of the perfon, or of human nature in general, we impute them wholly to the befl, or wholly to the ■worft, overlooking others which had no fniall Ihare in them. The principles from which men afb can be difcovered only in thefe two ways; by attention to the condud: of other men^ or by attention to our own condu<ft, and to what we feel in our- felves. There is much uncertainty in the former, and much difficulty in the latter. Men differ much In their charad^ers ; and we can obferve the condudl of a few only of the fpecles. Men differ not only from other men, but from themfelves at different times, and on dif- ferent occalions ; according as they are in the company of their fuperiors, inferiors, or equals j according as they are in the eye of flrangers, or of their familiars only, or in the view of no hu- man eye j according as they are in good or bad fortune, or in good or bad humour. We fee but a fmall part of the adlions of our mofl familiar acquaintance ; and what we fee may lead us to a probable conjedture, but can give no certain knowledge of the principles from which they acl. A man may, no doubt, know with certainty the principles from which he himfelf ad:s, becaufe he is confcious of them. But this knowledge requires an attentive refledlion upon the operations of his own mind, which is very rarely to be found. It OF THE PRINCIPLES OF ACTION. ici It is perhaps more eafy to find a man who has formed a jufl notion CHAP. I. of the cliarader of man in general, or of thofc of his familiar acquaintance, than one who has a jufl notion of Ins own cha- racter. Moll men, through pride and felf-flattery, are apt to think themfelves better than they really are ; and fome, perhaps from melancholy, or from falfe principles of religion, arc led to think themfelves worfe than they really are. It requires, therefore, a very accurate and impartial examina- tion of a man's own heart, to be able to form a diftind notion of the various principles which influence his conduct:. That this is a matter of great difliculty, we may judge from the very different and contradidory fyftems of Philofophers upon this fubjedt, from the earliefl ages to this day. During the age of Greek Philofophy, the Platonifl, the Peri- patetic, the Stoic, the Epicurean, had each his own fyftem. In the dark ages, the Schoolmen and the MylHcs had fyftems dia- metrically oppofite ; and, fince the revival of learning, no con- troverfy hath been more keenly agitated, efpecially among Bri- tifli Philofophers, than that about the principles of adion in the human conftitution- They have determined, to the fatisfadion of the learned, the forces by which the planets and comets traverfe the boundlefs regions of fpace ; but have not been able to determine, with any degree of unanimity, the forces which every man is confcious of m himfelf, and by which his condud is directed. Some admit no principle but felf-love ; others refolve all into love of the pleafures of fenfe, varioufly modified by the aflocia- tion of ideas ; others admit difinterefled benevolence along with feLf-love ; others reduce all to realon and pallion ; others to piC- fion JD2 ESSAY III. CHAP.i. fion alone J nor is there lefs variety about the number and dif- tribution of the paffions. The names we give to the various principles of adlion, have fo little precifion, even in the befl and pureft writers in every language, that, on this account, there is no fmall difEculty in giving them names, and arranging them properly. The words appetite, pojfion^ offeEl'iotiy iuterejl, reafon^ cannot be faid to have one definite fignification. They are taken fome- times in a larger, and fometimes in a more limited fenfe. The fame principle is fometimes called by one of thofe names, fome- times by another ; and principles of a very different nature are often called by the fame name. To remedy this confufion of names, it might perhaps feem proper to invent new ones. But there are fo few entitled to this privilege, that I ihall not lay claim to it ; but fhall endeavour to clafs the various principles of human adlion as diftindlly as I am able, and to point out their fpecific differences j giving them fuch names as may deviate from the common ufe of the words as little as poflible. There are fome principles of adtlon which require no atten- tion, no deliberation, no will. Thefe, for diflindlion's fake, we fliall call mechanical. Another clafs we may call animal, as they feem common to man with other animals. A third clafs we may call rational, being proper to man as a rational creature. CHAP, T INSTINCT. CHAP. II. hiJlhiEl. H E mechanical principles of adion may, I think, be re- duced to two fpecies, inJlinEls and babUs. 103 By Inflindl, I mean a natural blind impulfe to certain adlions, without having any end in view, without deliberation, and very often without any conception of what we do. Thus a man breathes while he Is alive, by the alternate con- traction and relaxation of certain mufcles, by which the chef!:, and of confcquence the lungs, are contracted and dilated. There is no reafon to think, that an infant new-born, knows that breathing is neceflary to life in its new ftate, that he knows how it muft be performed, or even that he has any thought or conception of that operation ; yet he breathes as foon as he is born with perfedl regularity, as if he had been taught, and got the habit by long pradlice. By the fame kind of principle, a new-born child, when its ftomach is emptied, and nature has brought milk into the mo- ther's breaft, fucks and fwallows its food as perfedly as if it. knew the principles of that operation, and had got the habit of working according to them. Sucking and fwallowing are very complex operations. Ana- tomifts defcribe about thirty pairs of mufcles that muft be em- ployed in every draught. Of thofe mufcles, every one muft be ferved by its proper nerve, and can make no exertion but by fomc influence communicated by the nerve. The exertion of all thofc mufcles and nerves is not fimultaneous. They muft fucceed CH\P. II. I04 ESSAY III. CHAP. II. fucceed each other in a certain order, and their order is no lefs necellliry than the exertion itfelf. This regular train of operations is carried on according to the niceft rules of art, by the infant, who has neither art, nor fcience, nor experience, nor habit. That the infant feels the uneafy fenfation of hunger, I admit; and that it 'fucks no longer than till this fenfation be removed. But who informed it that this uneafy fenfation might be re- moved, or by what means ? That it knows nothing of this is evident ; for it will as readily fuck a finger, or a bit of ilick, as the nipple. By a like principle it is, that infants cry when they are pain- ed or hurt ; that they are afraid when left alone, efpecially in the dark; that they ftart when in danger of falling; that they are terrified by an angry countenance, or an angry tone of voice, and are foothed and comforted by a placid countenance, and by foft and gentle tones of voice. In the animals we are befl acquainted with, and which we look upon as the more perfect of the brute-creation, we fee much the fame inflinds as in the human kind, or very fimilar ones, fuited to the particular date and manner of life of the animal. Befides thefe, there are in brute-animals inflinds peculiar to each tribe, by which they are fitted for defence, for offence, or for providing for themfelves, and for their offspring. It is not more certain, that nature hath furniflied various animals with various weapons of ofience and defence, than that the fame nature hath taught them how to ufe them ; the bull and the ram to butt, the horfe to kick, the dog to bite, the lion INSTINCT. IC5 lion to life his paws, tlie boar his tuHcs, the fcrpent his fangs, CHAP.ir. and the bee and wafp their fting. The manufadlures of animals, If we may call them by that name, prefent us with a wonderful variety of inflinds, belong- ing to particular fpecies, whether of the focial or of the folitary kind ; the nefls of birds, fo fimilar in their fituation and archi- tedure ii the fame kind, fo various in different kinds ; the webs of fpiders, and of other fpinning animals ; the ball of the filk- worm i the ncfts of ants and other mining animals ; the combs of wafps, hornets and bees j the dams and houfes of beavers. The inftind of animals is one of the moft delightful and in- ftrudive parts of a moft pleafant ftudy, that of natural hiftory; and deferves to be more cultivated than it has yet been. Every manufacturing art among men was invented by fome man, improved by others, and brought to perfedion by time and experience. Men learn to work in it by long pradice, which i-roduces a habit. The arts of men vary in every age, and in every nation, and are found only in thofe who have been taught them. The manufactures of animals differ from thofe of men in many flriking particulars. No animal of the fpecies can claim the invention. No ani- mal ever introduced any new improvement, or any variation from the former pradice. Every one of the fpecies has equal (kill from the beginning, without teaching, without experience or habit. Every one has its art by a kind of infpiration. I do not mean that it is infpired witk the principles or niles of the art, but with the ability and inclination of working in it to per- fedion, without any knowledge of its principles, rules or end. O The io6 ESSAY III. CHAP. II. The more fagacious animals may be taught to do many things which they do not by inftincl. What they are taught to do, they do with more or lefs fklll, according to their fagacity and their training. But, in their own arts, they need no teaching nor training, nor Is the art ever improved or loft. Bees gather their honey and their wax, they fabricate their combs and rear their young at this day, neither better nor worfe than they did when Virgil fo fweetly fung their works. The work of every animal is Indeed like the works of nature,, perfedl in Its kind, and can bear the moft critical examination of the mechanic or the mathematician. One example from the animal laft mentioned may ferve to Illuftrate this. Bees, It Is well known, conftru(5t their combs with fmall cells on both fides, fit both for holding their ftore of honey, and for rearing their young. There are only three poffible figures of the cells, which can make them all equal and fimilar, without any ufelefs nterftlces. Thefe are the equilateral triangle, thefquare, and the regular hexagon. It Is well known to mathematicians, that there is not a fourth way poffible. In which a plane may be cut Into little fpaces that fhall be equal, fimilar and regular, without leaving any Inter- ftices. Of tlie three, the hexagon is the moft proper, both for convenlency and ftrength. Bees, as if they knew this, make their cells regular hexagons. As the combs have cells on both fides, the cells may either be exadly oppofite, having partition agalnft partition, or the bot- tom of a cell may reft upon the partitions between the cells on the other fide, which will ferve as a buttrefs to ftrengthen It. The laft way Is beft for ftrength ; accordingly, the bottom of each cell refts agalnft the point where three partitions meet on the other fide, which gives it all the ftrength poftible* The 1 N S T I N C T. T07 The bottom of a cell may either be one plane perpendicular chap. ir. to the fide-partitions, or it may be compofed of feveral planes, meeting in a foliJ angle in the middle point. It is only in one of thefe two ways, that all the cells can be fimilar without lofing room. And, for the fame intention, the planes of which the bottom is compofed, if there be more than one, mufl be three in number, and neither more nor fewer. It has been demonftrated, that, by making the bottoms of the cells to confift of three planes meeting in a point, there is a faving of material and labour no way inconfiderable. The bees, as if acquainted with thefe principles of folld geometry, follow them mod accurately ; the bottom of each cell being compofed of three planes which make obtufe angles with the fide-parti- tions, and with one another, and meet in a point in the middle of the bottom ; the three angles of this bottom being fupported by three partitions on the other fide of the comb, and the point of it by the common interfedtion of thofe three partitions. One inflance more of the mathematical fkill difplayed in the ftruclure of a honey-comb deferves to be mentioned. It is a curious mathematical problem, at what precife angle the three planes which compofe the bottom of a cell ought to meet, in order to make the greatefl poflible faving, or the leall expence, of material and labour. . This is one of thofe problems, belonging to the higher parts of mathematics, which are called problems of maxima and mini- ma. It has been refolved by fome mathematicians, particularly by the ingenious Mr Maclaurin, by a fluxionary calculation, which is to be found in the Tranfa(^Ioiis of the Royal Society of London. He has determined precifely the angle required ^ and he found, by the mofl exadt menfuration the fubjed could O 2 admit. io8 ESSAY III. CHAP. II. admit, that it is the very angle, in which the three planes in the- bottom of the cell of a honey-comb do actually meet. Shall we afk here, who taught the bee the properties of folids, and to refolve problems of maxima and minima ? If a honey- comb were a work of human art, every man of common fenfe would conclude, without hefitation, that he who invented the conflrudlion, mail have underftood the principles on which it is conflruded. We need not fay that bees know none of thefe things. They work moft geometrically, without any knowledge of geometry ; fomewhat like a child, who, by turning the handle of an organ^ makes good raufic, without any knowledge of mufic. The art is not in the child, but in him who made the organ. In like manner, when a bee makes its combs fo geometrically, the geometry is not in the bee, but in that great Geometrician who made the bee, and made all things in number, weight and meafure,. To return to inftinds in man ; thofe are mofl remarkable which appear in infancy, when we are ignorant of every thing neceflary to bur prefervation, and therefore mufl; periih, if we had not an invifible Guide, who leads us blind -fold in the way we fliould take, if we had eyes to fee it. Befides the inftinds which appear only in infancy, and are. intended to fupply the want of underftanding in that early pe- riod, there are many which continue through life, and which fupply the defeds of our intelledual powers in every period. Of thefe we may obferve three clafles. Firfi^ There are many things neceflary to be done for our pre- fervation, INSTINCT. 109 fervation, which, even when we will to do, we know not the ci!AP. 11. means by which they inuft be done. A man knows that he mufl fwallow his food before it can nourifli him. But this adion requires the co-operation of ma- ny nerves and mufclcs, of which he knows nothing; and if it were to be direded folely by his underftanding and will, he would llarve before he learned how to perform it. Here inftind comes in to his aid. He needs do no more than will to fwallow. All the rcquifite motions of nerves and muf- cles immediately take place in their proper order, without his knowing or willing any thing about them. If we afk here, whofe will do thefe nerves and mufcles obey ? Not his, furely, to whom they belong. He knows neither their names, nor nature, nor office ; he never thought of them. They are moved by fome impulfe, of which the caufe is unknown, without any thought, will or intention on his part, that is, they are moved inlHndivelv. ft This is the cafe, in fome degree, in every voluntary motion of our body. Thus, I will to ftretch out my arm. The effedl im- mediately follows. But we know that the arm is ftrctched out by the contradlion of certain mufcles ; and that the mufcles are contradled by the influence of the nerves. I know nothing, I think nothing, either of nerves or mufcles, when I ftretch out my arm ; yet this nervous influence, and this contraction of the mufcles, uncalled by me, immediately produce the effect which I willed. This is, as if a weight were to be raifed, which can be raifed only by a complication of levers, pullies, and other me- chanical powers, that are behind the curtain, and altogether un- known to me. I will to raife the weight ; and no fooner is this volition exerted, than the machinery behind the curtain falls to ■work and raifes the weight. Tf no ESSAY III. CHAP. II, If fuch a cafe fiiould happen, we would conclude, that there is fome perfon behind the curtain, who knew my will, and put the machine in motion to execute it. The cafe of my willing to llretch out my arm, or to fwallow my food, has evidently a great fimilarity to this. But who it is that flands behind the curtain, and fets the internal machinery a-going, is hid from us ; fo flrangely and wonderfully are we made. This, however, is evident, that thofe internal motions are nt)t willed nor intended by us, and therefore are iuftindlive. A fecond cafe in which we have need of inllind, even in ad- vanced life, is. When the adtion muft be fo frequently repeated, that to intend and will it every time it is done, would occupy too much of our thought, and leave no room for other necef- fary employments of the mind. We muft breathe often every minute whether awake or afleep. We muft often clofe the eye-lids, in order to preferve the luftre of the eye. If thefe things required particular attention and volition every time they are done, they would occupy all our thought. Nature therefore gives an impulfe to do them as often as is neceflary, without any thought at all. They confume no time, they give not the leaft interruption to any exercife of the mind ', becaufe they are done by inftind. A third cafe, in which we need the aid of inftind, is, When the adion muft be done fo fuddenly, that there is no time to think and determine. When a man lofes his balance, either on foot or on horfeback, he makes an inftantaneous effort to recover it by inftin(5t. The effort would be in vain, if it waited the de- termination of reafon and will. When .any thing threatens our eyes, we wink hard, by inftindt, and can hardly avoid doing fo, even when we know that the ftroke INSTINCT. Ill flroke is aimed in jeft, and that we are perfedly fafe from dan- CHAP. n. ger. I liave feen this tried upon a wa52;er, which a man was to gain if he could keep his eyes open, while another aimed a ftroke at them in jefl. The difficulty of doing this fliews that there may be a ftruggle between inflinrt and will ; and that it is not eafy to refill; the impulfe of inftinft, even by a ftrong refolution not to yield to it. Thus the merciful Author of our nature, hath adapted our in- (lindls to the defedts, and to the weaknefs of our underfland- ing. In infancy we are ignorant of every thing j yet many things muft be done by us for our prefervation : Thefe are done by inflind. When we grow up there are many motions of our limbs and bodies necefTary, which can be performed only by a curious and complex internal machinery ; a machinery of which the bulk of mankind are totally ignorant, and which the moft fkilful anatomifl knows but imperfedly. All this machinery is fet a-going by inftinc^. We need only to will the external motion, and all the internal motions, previoufly neceffary to the effeft, take place of themfelves, without our will or command. Some actions muR be fo often repeated, through the whole of life, that, if they required attention and will, we lliould be able to do nothing elfe : Thefe go on regularly by inftincft. Our prefervation from danger often requires fuch fudden ex- ertions, that there is no time to think and to determine : Accord- ingly we make Inch exertions by inftincft. Another thing in the nature of man, which I take to be part- ly, though not wholly, iiiflindtive, is his pronenefs to imita- tion. Aristotle obferved, long ago, that man is an Imitative a- nimal. He is fo in more refpedls than one. He is difpofed to 112 ESSAY III. CHAP. 11. to imitate what be approves. In all arts men learn more, and more agreeably, by example than by rules. Imitation by the chifTel, by the pencil, by defcription profaxc and poetical, and by adlion and gefture, have been favourite and elegant enter- tainments of the whole fpecies. In all thefe cafes, however, the imitation is intended and willed, and therefore cannot be faid to be inftindive. But, I apprehend, that human nature difpofes us to the imita- tion of thofe among whom we live, when we neither defire nor will it. Let an Englilhman, of middle age, take up his refidence in Edinburgh or Glafgow ; although he has not the leaft intention to ufe the Scots dialed, but a firm refolution to preferve his own pure and unmixed, he will find it very difficult to make good his intention. He will, in a courfe of years, fall in- fenfibly, and without intention, into the tone and accent, and even into the words and phrafes of thofe he converfes with j and nothing can preferve him from this, but a flrong difgufl to eve- ry Scoticifm, which perhaps may overcome the natural inflind;. It is commonly thought that children often learn to flammer by imitation 3 yet I believe no perfon ever defired or willed to learn that quality, I apprehend that inftindive imitation has no fmall influence in forming the peculiarities of provincial dialeds, the peculiari- ties of voice, geflure, and manner, which we fee in fome fami- lies, the manners peculiar to different ranks, and different pro- feflions j and perhaps even in forming national charaders, and the human character in general. The inflances that hiftory furnifhes of wild men, brought up from early years, without the fociety of any of their own fpe- cies INSTINCT. nj cies are Co few that we cannot build conclufions upon them with CHAP. ir. great certainty. But all I have heard of agreed in this, that the wild man gave but very flender indications of the rational facul- ties ; and, with regard to his mind, was hardly diftinguifhable from the more fagacious of the brutes. There is a confiderable part of the lowcft rank in every na- tion, of whom it cannot be faid that any pains have been taken by themfelves, or by others, to cultivate their underftanding, or to form their manners ; yet we fee an immenfe difference between them and the wild man. This difference is wholly the effedl of foclety ; and, I think, it is in a great meafure, though not wholly, the effedt of unde- figned and inftindlive imitation. Perhaps, not only our adions, but even our judgment, and be- lief, is, in fome cafes, guided by inflindl:, that is, by a natural and blind impulfe. When we confider man as a rational creature, it may feem right that he fliould have no belief but what is grounded upon evidence, probable or demonllrative ; and it is, I think, common- ly taken for granted, that it is always evidence, real or apparent, that determines our belief. If this be fo, the confequence is, That, in no cafe, can there be any belief, till we find evidence, or, at leaft, what to our judg- ment appears to be evidence. I fufped it is not fo ; but that, on the contrary, before we grow up to the full ufe of our rational facul- ties, we do believe, and mufl believe, many things without any evidence at all. The faculties which we have in common with brute-animals, are of earlier growth than reafon. We are irrational animals P for n+ ESSAY HI. CHAP. ir. for a conliderable time before we can properly be called rational. The operations of reafon fpring up by imperceptible degrees j nor is it pofllble for vis to trace accurately the order in which they rife. The power of refledtion, by which only we could trace the progrefs of our growing faculties, comes too late to anfvver that end. Some operations of brute-animals look fo like reafon, that they are not eafily diftinguilhed from it. Whether brutes have any thing that can properly be called belief, I cannot fay ; but their actions fliew fomething that looks very like it. If there be any inflincftive belief in man, it is probably of the fame kind with that which we afcribe to brutes, and may be fpe- cifically different from that rational belief which is grounded on evidence ; but that there is fomething in man which we call be- lief, which is not grounded on evidence, I think, mufl be granted. We need to be informed of many things before we ar€ ca- pable of difcerning the evidence on which they reft. W^ere our belief to be with-held till we are capable, in any degree, of weigh- ing evidence, we fhould lofe all the benefit of that inftrudioii and information, without which we could never attain the ufe of our rational faculties. Man would never acquire the ufe of reafon if he were not brought up in the fociety of reafonable creatures. The benefit he receives from fociety, is derived partly from imitation of what he fees others do, partly from the inftrudlion and informa- tion they communicate to him, without which he could neither be preferved from deftrudtion, nor acquire the ufe of his ration- al powers. Children have a thoufand things to learn, and they learn ma- ny things every day ; more than will be eafily believed by thofe who have never given attention to their progrefs. Oportet INSTINCT.. f,5 X)portct d'lfcentan credere is a common adage. Clilldrcn liave chap. ir. every thing to learn ; and, in order to learn, they mud believe their inftrudors. They need a greater (lock of faiih from in- fancy to twelve or fourteen, than ever after. But how fliall they get this ftock fo nccefifary to tlieni ? If their faith de- pend upon evidence, the ftock of evidence, real or apparent, muft bear proportion to their faith. But fuch, in reality, is their fituation, that when their faith mufl be greatell, the evidence is leaft. They believe a thoufand things before they ever fpend a thought upon evidence. Nature fupplies the want of evidence, and gives them an inftindive kind of faith without evidence. They believe Implicitly whatever they are told, and receive with aflurance the teftimony of every one, without ever thinking of a reafon why they fliould do fo. A parent or a mafter might command them to believe j but In vain ; for belief is not in our power ; but in the firft part of life, it is governed by mere teftimony in matters of fad, and by mere authority in all other matters, no lefs than by evidence in riper years. It is not the words of the teftifier, but his belief, that produces this belief in a child: For children foon learn to diftiii<ruini what is faid in jeft, from what is faid in good earneft. What appears to them to be faid in jeft, produces no belief. They glory in ftiewing that they are not to be impofed on. When the figns of belief in the fpeaker are ambiguous, it is pleafant to ob- ferve with what fagacity they pry into his features, to difcern whether he really believes what he fays, or only counterfeits belief. As foon as this point is determined, their belief is regu- lated by his. if he be doubtful, they are doubtful, if he be af- . fured, they are alfo aflured. It is well known what a deep impreflion religious principles P 2 zealouflv iifr ESSAY III. CHAP. II. zealoufly inculcated make upon the minds of children. The abfurditles of ghofts and hobgoblins early imprefled, have been known to flick fo fall, even in enlightened minds, as to baffle all rational conviction. Wheo we grow up to the ufe of reafon, teftimony attended with certain circumftances, or even authority, may afford a ra- tional ground of belief; but with children, without any regard to circumftances, either of them operates like demonftration. And as they feek no reafon, nor can give any reafon, for this re- gard to teftimony and to authority, it is the effedt of a natural impulfe, and may be called inftindl. Another inftance of belief which appears to be inftindlive, is that which children fhew even in infancy, that an event v.'hich they have obferved in certain circumftances, will happen again in like circumftances. A child of half a year old, who has once burned his finger by putting it in the candle, will not put it there again. And if you make a fhew of putting it in the candle by force, you fee the mofl manifelt figns that he believes he fhall meet with the fame calamity. Mr Hume hath fhewn very clearly, that this belief is not the effecft either of reafon or experience. He endeavours to account for it by the affociation of ideas. Though I am not fatisfied with his account of this phenomenon, I fhall not now examine it J becaufe it is fulKcient for the prefent argument, that this be- lief is not grounded on evidence, real or apparent, which I think he clearly proves. A perfon who has lived fo long In the world, as to obferve that nature is governed by fixed laws, may have fome rational ground to expert fimilar events in fimilar circumftances ; but this can- not be the cafe of the child. His belief therefore is not ground- ed on evidence. It is the refult of his conftitution. Nor O F H A B I T. „7 Nor is It the lefs fo, though it fliould arifc from the aflbciation CHAP. iii. of ideas. For what is called the alTociation of ideas is a law of nature in our couftitution ; which produces its efTcds without any operation of reafon oil our part, and in a manner of wliich we are entirely ignorant. CHAP. III. Of Hahit. HABIT differs from inftind, not in its nature, but in Its origin .; the latter being natural, the former acquired. Both operate without will or intention, without thought, and therefore may be called mechanical principles. Habit is commonly defined, A facility of doing a thing, acquired hy having done it frequently. This definition is fufficient for ha- bits of art ; but the habits which may, with propriety, be called principles of action, muft give more than a facility, they mufl give aa inclination or impulfe to do the adllon ; and that, in many cafes, habits have this force, cannot be doubted. How many aukward habits, by frequenting Improper compa- ny, are children apt to learn, in their addrefs, motion, looks, gefiure and pronunciation. They acquire fuch habits common- ly from an undefigned and inllindlive iniitation, before they can judge of what is proper and becoming. When they are a little advanced in undcrflanding, they may eafily be convinced that fuch a thing is unbecoming, they may relolve to forbear it, but when the habit is formed, fuch a gene- ral rcfoluiion is not of itlllf fulficient ; for the habit will ope- rate without intention ; and particular attention is ncceflary, on every ii8 ESSAY III. CHAP. III. every occafion, to refift its impulfe, until it be undone by tVie habit of oppofing it. It is owing to the force of habits, early acquired by imitation, that a man who has grown up to manhood in the lowefl rank of life, if fortune raife him to a higher rank, very rarely acquires the air and manners of a gentleman. When to that inflindlive imitation, which I fpoke of before, %ve join the force of habit, it is eafy to fee, that thefe mechani- cal principles have no fmall fliare in forming the manners and charader of mort men. The difficulty of overcoming vicious habits has, in all ages, been a common topic of theologians and moralifls ; and we fee too many fad examples to permit us to doubt of it. There are good habits, in a moral fenfe, as well as bad ; and it is certain, that the dated and regular performance of what we approve, not only makes it eafy, bat makes us uneafy in the omilFion of it. This is the cafe, even when the adion dei'ives all its goodnefs from the opinion of the performer. A good il- literate Roman Catholic does not fleep found if he goes to bed without telling his beads, and repeating prayers which he does not underfland. Aristotle makes wifdom, prudence, good fenfe, fcience and art, as well as the moral virtues and vices, to be habits. If he meaot no more, by giving this name to all thofe intelledual and moral qualities, than that they are all flrengthened and confirm- ed by repeated adls, this is undoubtedly true. I take the word in a lefs extenfive fenfe, when I confider habits as principles of adlion. I conceive it to be a part of our conftitution, that what we have been accuftomed to do, we acquire, not only a facility, but a pronenefs to do on like occafions j fo that it requires a particular O V H A B I r. 119 particular will and efTort to forbear it, but to do it, requires very CHAPjni. often no will at all. We are carried by habit as by a ftream in fwimming, if we make no refiUance. Every art furiiiflies examples both of the power of habits and of their utility ; no one more than the molt common of all arts, the art of fpeaking. Articulate language is fpoken, not by nature, but by art. It is no eafy matter to children, to learn the fnnple founds of lan- guage J I mean, to learn to pronounce the vowels and confo- nants. It would be much more difficult, if they were not led by inftind to imitate the founds they hear ; for the difficulty is vaflly greater of teaching the deaf to pronounce the letters and words, though experience fliows that it can be done. What is it that makes this prommciatron fo eafy at lafl which was fo difficult at firft ? It is habit. But from what caufe does it happen, that a good fpeaker no fooner conceives what he would exprefs, than the letters, fylla- blcs and words arrange themfelves according to innumerable rules of fpeech, while he never thinks of thefe rules ? He means to exprefs certain fentiments ; in order to do this properly, a fe- ledlion muft be made of the materials, out of many thoufands. He makes this feledion without any expence of time or thought. The materials feleded mull be airranged in a particular order, according to innumerable rules of grammar, logic and rhetoric, and accompanied with a particular tone and eniphafis. He does all this as it were by infplration, without thinking of any of thefe rules, and without breaking one of them. This art, if it were not more common, would appear more wonderful, than that a roan flioukl dance blind-fold amidft a thou land 120 ESSAY III. CHAP. Ill, thoufand burning plough-flaares, without being burnt i yet all this may be done by habit. It appears evident, that as, without infllndl, the infant could not live to become a man, fo, without habit, man would re- main an infant through life, and would be as helplefs, as un- handy, as fpeechlefs, and as much a child in underftanding at threefcore as at three. I fee no reafon to think, that we fhall ever be able to affign the phyfical caufe, either of inftindl, or of the power of habit. Both feem to be parts of our original conftitutlon. Their end and ufe is evident ; but we can aflign no caufe of them, but the will of him who made us. With regard to inftindl, which is a natural propenfity, this will perhaps be eafily granted ; but it Is no lefs true with regard to that power and inclination which we acquire by habit. No man can fliew a reafon why our doing a thing frequently fliould produce either facility or inclination to do it. The fadl is fo notorious, and fo conflantly in our eye, that we are apt to think no reafon fhould be fought for it, any more than why the fun (hines. But there muft be a caufe of the fun's Ibinlng, and there muft be a caufe of the power of habit. We fee nothing analogous to it in inanimate matter, or in things made by human art. A clock or a watch, a waggon or a plough, by the cuftom of going, does not learn to go better, or require lefs moving force. The earth does not increafe in fertility by the cuftom of bearing crops. It is faid, that 'trees and other vegetables, by growing long in an O F H A B I T. 121 an unkindly foil or climate, fometimes acquire qualities by CHAP. in. which they can bear its inclemency with lefs hurt. This, in the vegetable kingdom, has fome refemblancc to the power of ha- bit ; but, in inanimate matter, I know nothing that refembles It. A ftone lofes nothing of its weight by being long fupported, or made to move upward. A body, by being toQed about ever fo long, or ever fo violently, lofes nothing of its inertia, nor ac- quires the leaft difpofition to change its Hate. H ESSAY III. PART 11. Of Animal Principles of AElion, CHAP. I. Of Appetites. AVING difcourfed of the mechanical principles of adion, I proceed to confider thofe 1 called animal. They are fuch as operate upon the will and intention, but do not fuppofe any exercife of judgment or reafon ; and are moft of them to be found in fome brute-animals, as well as in man. In this clafs, the firfl kind I fliall call appetites, taking that word in a ftric^er fenfe than it is fometimes taken, even by good writers. Q^ The 122 ESSAY in. CHAP. I. xhe word appetite is fometimes limited, fo as to figt^ify only ' "^ ' the defire of food when we hunger ; fometimes it is extended fo as to fignify any ftrong defire, whatever be its obje(ft. With- out pretending to cenfure any ufe of the word which cuflom hath authorifed, I beg leave to limit it to a particular clafs of defires, which are diflinguiflied from all others by the following marks. Firjl, Every appetite is accompanied with an uneafy fenfation proper to it, which is ftrong or weak, in proportion to the de- fire we have of the objeft. Secondly, Appetites are not conftant, but periodical, beingfated by their objedts for a time, and re- turning after certain periods. Such is the nature of thofe prin- ciples of adlion, to which I beg leave, in this EfTay, to appro- priate the name o? appetites. Thofe that are chiefly obfervable in man, as well as in moft other animals, are hunger, thirft, and luft. If we attend to the appetite of hunger, we fhall find in it two ingredients, an uneafy fenfuion and a defire to eat. The defire^ keeps pace with the fenfation, and ceafes when it ceafes. When a man is fated with eating, both the uneafy fenfation and the defire to eat ceafe for a time, and return after a certain interval. So it is w^ith other appetites. In infants, for fome time after they come into the world, the uneafy fenfation of hunger is probably the whole. W^e cannot fuppofe in them, before experience, any conception of eating, nor, confequently, any defire of it. They are led by mere in- ftindl to fuck when they feel the fenfation of hunger. But when experience has conneded, in their imagination, the uneafy fenfation with the means of removing it, the defire of the laft comes to be fo afTociated with the firft, that they remain through life infeparable ; And we give the name of hunger to the prin- ciple that is made up of both. That O F A p. P E T I T E S. 123 That the a]:>])ciitL; of hunger includes the two higrcchents I C^HAP. I have nicinionecl will not, I apprehciul, he queftionetl. I take noiice of it the rather becaufe we may, if I niiftake not, find a fnniiar conipolition in other principles of aclion. They arc made up of dilTerent ingredients, and may be analyzed into t]}e parts that enter into their compofition. If one Philofopher fliould maintain, that hunger is an uneafy fenfation, another, that it is a defire to eat, they feem to difler widely ; for a defire and a fenfation are very different things, and have no finiilitude. But they are both in the right j for hunger includes both an- uneafy fenfation and a defire to eat. Although there has been no fuch difpute among Philofophcrs as we h;ne fuppofed with regard to hunger, yet there have been fimilar difputes with regard to other principles of action ; and it deferves to be confidercd whether they may not be terminated in a fimilar manner. The ends for which our natural appetites are given, are too evident to efcape the obfervation of any man of the lead re- flection. Two of thofe I named are intended for the preferva- tion of the individual, and the third for the continuance of the fpecies. The reafon of mankind would be altogether infufficient for thcfe ends, without the diredlion and call of apjietite. Though a man knew that his life muft be fupported by eating, reafon could not direcl: liim when to eat, or what ; how much, or how often. In all thefe things, apj^etite is a much better guide than our reafon. Were reafon only to direcfl us in this matter, its calm voice would often be drowned in the hurry of bufinefs, or the charms of amulement. But the voice of appe- CL 2 titc J 124 ESSAY III. CHAP. r. tjte rifes gradually, and, at laft, becomes loud enough to call of? our attention from any other employment. Every man muft be convinced, that, without our appetites, even fuppofing mankind inipired with all the knowledge requi- iite for anfwering their ends, the race of men mufl have periflied long ago ; but, by their means, the race is continued from one generation to another, whether men be favage or civilized, knowing or ignorant, virtuous or vicious. By the fame means, every tribe of brute-animals, from the whale that ranges the ocean to the lead microfcopic infed:, has been continued from the beginning of the world to this day j nor has good evidence been found, that any one fpecies which God made has perifhed. Nature has given to every animal, not only an appetite for its food, but tafte and fmell, by which it diftinguilhes the food proper for it. It is pleafant to fee a caterpillar, which nature intended to live upon the leaf of one fpecies of plant, travel over a hundred leaves of other kinds without tafting one, till it comes to that which is its natural food, which it immediately falls on, and de- vours greedily. Mofl; caterpillars feed only upon the leaf of one fpecies of plant, and nature fuits the feafon of their produdion to the food that is intended to nourifh them. Many infedls and ani- mals have a greater variety of food ; but, of all animals, man has the greatell variety, being able to fubfill; upon almoft every kind of vegetable or animal food, from the bark of trees to the oil of whales. I believe our natural appetites may be made more violent by excellive O F A P P E T I T E S. 12^- excefllve indulgence, and that, on the other hand, they may be chai\l weakened by flarvlng. The firfl is often the efie<fl of a perni- cious hixury, the hift may fometinies be the effe(f\ of want, fonietinics of fuperftition. I apprehend that nature has given to our appetites that degree of ftrength which is mod proper for us j and that whatever ahers tlieir natural tone, either in excefs or in defetY, does not mend the work of nature, but may mar and pervert it. A man may eat from appetite only. So the brutes common- ly do. He may eat to pleafe his tafte when he has no call of appetite. I believe a brute may do this alfo. He may eat for the fake of health, when neither ajipetite nor tafte invites. This, as far as I am able to judge, brutes never do. From fo many different principles, and from many more, the fame adion may be done ; and this may be faid of moft human adions. From this, it appears, that very different and contrary theories may ferve to account for the adlions of men. The caufes affigned may be fufhcient to produce the effecfb, and yet not be the true caufes. To acH: merely from appetite is neither good nor ill in a mo- ral view. It is neither an object of praife nor of blame. No man claims any praife becaufe he eats when he is hungry, or refts when he is weary. On the other hand, he is no objedl of blame, if he obeys the call of appetite when there is no reafon to hinder him. In this, he ads agreeably to his nature. From this we may obferve, that the definition of virtuous ac- tions, given by the ancient Stoics, and adopted by fome modera authors, is imperfed. They defined virtuous adions to be fuch as are according to nature. What is done according to the animal part of our nature, which is common to us with the brute-ani- raals, is in itfelf neither virtuous nor vicious, but perfedly in- different. 126 ESSAY III. CHAP. I. diiTerent. Then only it becomes vicious, when it is done in op- poiition to Ibme principle of iuperior importance and authority. And it may be virtuous, if done for fome important or worthy tnd. Appetites, considered in themfelves, are neither focial princi- ples of adion, nor felfifh. They cannot be called focial, be- caufe they imply no concern for the good of others. Nor can they juflly be called felfiili, though they be commonly referred to that clafs. An appetite draws us to a certain object, without regard to its being good for us, or ill. There is no felf-love im- plied in it any more than benevolence. We fee, that, in many cafes, appetite may lead a man to what he knows will be to his hurt. To call this adling from felf-love, is to pervert the mean- ing of words. It is evident, that, in every cafe of this kind, felf-love is fncrificed to appetite. There are fome principles of the human frame very like to our appetites, though they do not commonly get that name. Men are made for labour either of body or mind. Yet ex- ceflive labour hurts the powers of both. To prevent this hurt, nature "hath given to men, and other animals, an uncafy fenfa- tion, which always attends excellive labour, and which we call fatigue, -wearinefs, lajjitudc. This uneafy fenfation is conjoined •with the defire of relt, or intermlffion of our labour. And thus nature calls us to reft when we are weary, in the fame manner as to eat when we are hungry. In both cafes there is a defire of a certain obje<fl, and an un- eafy fenfation accompanying that defire. In both cafes the de- fire is fatiated by its objed, and returns after certain intervals. In this only they differ, that in the appetites firft mentioned, the uneafy fenfation arifes at intervals without adion, and leads to O F A P P E T I T E S. 127 to a certain adion : In wearincfs, tlie uncafy fcnfation arifcs CHAP. L from adion too long continued, and leads to relh But nature Intended that we Ihould be adive, and we need fome principle to incite us to adlion, when we happen not to be invited by any appetite or pallion. For this end, when rtrength and fpirits are recruited by reft, nature has made total inadion as uneafy as excelfive labour. We may call this the principle of a^ivi/y. It is mofl confpl- cuous in children, who cannot be fuppofed to know how ufeful and necefTary It is for their improvement to be conflantly em- ployed. Their conftant activity therefore aj^pcars not to pro- ceed from their having fome end conftantly in view, but rather from this, that they defire to be always doing fomething, and feel uneafinefs in total inadion. Nor Is this principle confined to childhood 3 it has great ef- fedls in advanced life. When a man has neither hope, nor fear, nor defire, nor pro- ject, nor employment, of body or mind, one might be apt to think him the happicfl mortal upon earth, having nothing to do but to enjoy himfelf : but we find him, in fad, the moft un- happy. He is more weary of inadlon than ever he was of exceflive labour. He is weary of the world, and of his own exillence j and is more miferable than the failor wreftling with a florin, or the foldier mounting a breach. This difmal ftate is commonly the lot of the man who has neither exercife of body nor employment of mind. For the mind. 128 ESSAY III. ^^HAP^ mind, like water, corrupts and putrifies by ftagnation, but by running purifies and refines. Befides the appetites which nature hath given us for ufeful and necefiliry purpofes, we may create appetites which nature never gave. The frequent ufe of things which flimulate the nervous fyftem, produces a languor when their effeil is gone off, and a defire to repeat them. By this means a defire of a certain objedt is created, accompanied by an uneafy fenfation. Both are remo- ved for a time by the objedl defired j but they return after a certain interval. This differs from natural appetite, only in being acquired by cuflom. Such are the appetites which fome men acquire for the ufe of tobacco, for opiates, and for intoxi-^ eating liqours. Thefe are commonly called habits, and juftly. But there are different kinds of habits, even of the adive fort, which ought to be difflnguifhed. Some habits produce only a facility of doing a thing, without any inclination to do it. All arts are habits of this kind, but they cannot be called principles of adllon. Other habjts produce a pronenefs to do an adlion, without thought or intention. Thefe we confidered before as mechanical prin- ciples of adlion. There are other habits which produce a de- lire of a certain objeft, and an uneafy fenfation, till it is obtain- ed. It is this lafl kind only that I call acquired appetites. As It is befl to preferve our natural appetites, in that tone and degree of flrength which nature gives them, fo we ought to be- ware of acquiring appetites which nature never gave. They are always ufelefs, and very often hurtful. Although, as was before obferved, there be neither virtue nor vice O F A P P E T I T E S. 129 vice in riding- from appetite, there may be much of either in the ^^^- ^- management of our appetites. When appetite h oppofed by fome principle drawing a con- trary way, there muft be a determination of the will, which fliall prevail, and this determination may be, in a moral fenfe, right or wrong. Appetite, even in a brute-animal, may be reftrained by a ilronger principle oppofed to it. A dog, when he is hungry and has meat fet before him, may be kept from touching it by the fear of immediate punilhment. In this cafe his fear ope- rates more ftrongly than his defire. Do we attribute any virtue to the dog on this account ? I think not. Nor fhould we afcribe any virtue to a man in a like cafe. The animal is carried by the ftrongeft moving force. This requires no exertion, no felf-government, but paffively to yield to the ftrongeft impulfe. This, I think, brutes always do j there- fore we attribute to them, neither virtue nor vice. We confider them as being neither objeQs of moral approbation, nor difap- probation. But it may happen, that, when appetite draws one way, it may be oppofed, not by any appetite or pafiion, but by fome cool principle of adlion, which has authority without any impulfive force : For example, by fome intereft, which is too diftant to raife any pafllon or emotion j or by fome confideration of decency, or of duty. In cafes of this kind, the man is convinced that he ought not to yield to appetite, yet there is not an equal or a greater im- pulfe to oppofe it. There are circumftances, indeed, that con- vince the judgment, but thefe are not fiifficient to determine the will agaiufl a ftrong appetite, without felf-govcmment. R I 130 ESSAY III. CHAP. I. I apprehend that brute-animals have no power of felf-govern- ment. From their conftitution, they muft be led by the appe- tite or paflion which is itrongell for the time. On this account they have, in all ages, and among all nations, been thought incapable of being governed by laws, though fonie of them may be fubjeds of difcipline. The fame would be the condition of man, if he had no pow- er to reftrain appetite, but by a ftronger contrary appetite or paffion. It would be to no purpofe to prefcribe laws to him for the government of his adions. You might as well forbid the wind to blow, as forbid him to follow whatever happens to give the flrongefl prefent impulfe. Every one knows, that when appetite draws one way, duty, decency, or even interefl, may draw the contrary way j and that appetite may give a ftronger impulfe than any one of thefe, or even all of them conjoined. Yet it is certain, that, in every cafe of this kind, appetite ought to yield to any of thefe princi- ples when it ftands oppofed to them. It is in fuch cafes that felf-government is neceflary. The man who fuffers himfelf to be led by appetite to do w hat he knows he ought not to do, has an immediate and natural convidtion that he did wrong, and might have done otherwife ;, and therefore he condemns himfelf, and confefles that he yield- ed to an appetite which ought to have been under his com- mand. Thus it appears, that though our natural appetites have in themfelves neither virtue nor vice, though the ading merely from appetite, when there is no principle of greater authority to oppofe it, be a matter indifferent ; yet there may be a great deal of virtue or of vice in the management of our appetites; and 0 1" DESIRES. 13^ and that ihc power of fclf-govcrnmciit is nccclTary for their re- CH'^P- "• , « ' pulation. c: U A ?. II. Of Befires, A NOT HER clafs of animal principles of aclion in man, 1 Ihall, for want of a better fpecific name, call dcftres. They are diflingiiiflied from appetites by this : That there is not an uneafy fcnfation proper to each, and always accompany- ing it J and that they are not periodical, but conllant, not being fated with their objects for a time, as appetites are. The defires I have in view, are chiefly thefe three, tlie defire of power, the defire of efleem, and the defire of knowledge. We may, I think, perceive fome degree of thefe principles in brute-animals of the more fagacious kind j but in man they are much more confpicuous, and have a larger fphere. In a herd of black cattle there is a rank and fubordination. When a ftranger is introduced into the herd, he mud fight every one till his rank is fettled. Then he yields to the ftronger and alTumes authority over the weaker. The cafe is much the fame in the crew of a (hip of war. As foon as men alTociate together, the defire of fuperiority difcovers itfelf. In barbarous tribes, as well as among the gre- garious kinds of animals, rank is determined by flrength, cou- rage, fwiftnefs, or fuch other qualities. Among civili/ed na- tions, many things of a different kind give power and rank ; R 2 places 132 ESSAY III. ^HAP^ places in government, titles of honour, riches, ■wifdom, elo- quence, virtue, and even the reputation of thefe. All thefe are either different fpecies of power, or means of acquiring it ; and •when they are fought for that end, mufl be confidered as inftan- ces of the defire of power. The defire of efteem Is not peculiar to man. A dog exults In the approbation and applaufe of his mafter, and is humbled by his difpleafure. But in man this defire is much more conlpi- cuous, and operates In a thoufand different ways. Hence it Is that fo very few are proof agalnfl flattery, when it Is not very grofs. We wifli to be well In the opinion of o- thers, and therefore are prone to interpret in our own favour, the figns of their good opinion, even when they are ambiguous. There are few Injuries that are not more eafy to be born than contempt. We cannot always avoid feeing, In the condudl of others, things that move contempt ; but, in all polite circles, the figns of It muft be fuppreffed, otherwife men could not converfe to- gether. As there Is no quality, common to good and bad men, more efteemed than courage, nor any thing In a man more the ob- je6i: of contempt than cowardice ; hence every man defires to be thought a man of courage ; and the reputation of cowardice Is worfe than death. How many have died to avoid being thought cowards ? How many, for the fame reafon, have done Vvhat made them unhappy to the end of their lives. I believe many a tragical event. If traced to Its fource In hu- man nature, might be referred to the defire of eflieem, or the dread of contempt. In O F D E S I R E S. 133 In brute-animals there is fo little that can be called know- chap, ii.^ ledge, that the dcfirc of it can make no confiderable figure in them. Yet I have fccn a cat, when brought into a new habita- tion, examine with care every corner of it, and anxious to know every lurking place, and the avenues to it. And I believe the fame thing may be obferved in many other fpecies, efpeci- ally in thofe that are liable to be hunted by man, or by other animals. But the defire of knowledge in the human fpecies, is a prin- - ciple that cannot efcape our obfervation. The curiofity of children is the principle that occupies mofl of their time while they are awake. What they can handle they examine on all fides, and often break in pieces, in order to difcover what is within. When men grow up their curiofity does not ceafe, but is em- ployed upon other objedls. Novelty is confidered as one great fource of the pleafures of tafte, and indeed is neceflary, in one degree or other, to give a relifh to them all. When we fpeak of the defire of knowledge as a principle of adlion in man, we muft not confine it to the purfuits of the Phi- lofopher, or of the literary man. The defire of knowledge dif- covers itfelf, in one perfon, by an avidity to know the fcandal of the village, and who makes love, and to whom ; in another, to know the economy of the next family j in another, to know what the poll brings, and, in another, to trace the path of a new comet. When men ihew an anxiety, and take pains to know what is of no moment, and can be of no ufe to thcmfelves or to others, this is trifling, and vain curiofity. It is a culpable weaknefs and folly 3 but flill it is the wrong dIre«flion of a natural principle ; and 134 ESSAY III. CHAP. II. a^-id fliews the force of that principle, more than when it is di- redied to matters worthy to be known. I think it unneceflary to ufe arguments to fliow, that the de- Hres of power, of efteem, and of knowledge, are natural prin- ciples in the conftitution of man. Thofe who are not convinced •of this by refleAing upon their own feelings and fentiments, will not eafily be convinced by arguments. Power, efteera and knowledge, are fo ufeful for many purpofes, that it is eafy to refolve the defire of them into other principles. Thofe who do fo muft maintain, that we never defire thefe ob- jeds for their own fakes, but as means only of procuring plea- fure, or fomething which is a natural object of defire. This, indeed, was the dod:rine of Epicurus ; and it has had its vota- ries in modern times. But it has been obferved, that men de- fire poflhumous fame, which can procure no pleafure. Epicurus himfelf, though he believed that he fhould have no €xiflence after death, was fo defirous to be remembered with effeem, that, by his lafl will, he appointed his heirs to comme- morate his birth annually, and to give a monthly feafl to his difciples, upon the twentieth day of the moon. What pleafure could this give to Epicurus when he had no exiflence ? On this account, Cicero juflly obferves, that his dodirine was re- futed by his own practice. Innumerable inflances occur in life, of men who facrifice eafe, pleafure, and every thing elfe, to the lufl of power, of fame, or even of knowledge. It is abfurd to fuppofe, that men fliould facrifice the end to what they defire only as the means of promoting that end. The natural defires I have mentioned are, in themfelves, nei- ther virtuous nor vicious. They are parts of our conftitution, ' and O F D E S I R E S. 135 and ought to be regulated and rcftrained, when they ftand in chap, il competition with more important principles. But to eradicate them if it were poOiblc, (and I believe it is not) would only be like cutting oft' a leg or an arm, that is, making ourfelves other creatures than God has made us. They cannot, with propriety, be called rehifli. principles, though they have commonly been accounted fuch. "When power is defired for its own fake, and not as the means in order to obtain fomething elfe, this deli re is neither felfifh nor focial. When a man defires power as the means of doing good to others, this is benevolence. When he defires it only as the means of promoting his own good, thisisfelf-love. But when he defires it for its own fake, this only can properly be called the defire of power ; and it implies neither felf-lovc nor benevo- lence. The fame thing may be applied to the defires of efleein and of knowledge. The wife intention of nature in giving us thefe defires, is na lefs evident than in giving our natural appetites. Without the natural appetites, reafon, as was before obferved, would be infufficient, either for the prefervation of the indivi- dual, or the continuation of the fpecies j and without the natu- ral defires we have mentioned, human virtue would be infuffi- cient to influence mankind to a tolerable condutl: in fociety. To thefe natural defires, common to good and to bad men, it is owing, that a man, who has little or no regard to virtue, • may notwithftanding be a good member of fociety. It is true, indeed, that perfedl virtue, joined with perfect knowledge, would make both our appetites and defires unneceflary incum- brances of our nature ; but as human knowledge and human virtue 136 ESSAY III. CHAP. 11,^ virtue are both very imperfedl, thefe appetites and defires are necellary fupplements to our imperfe<5lions. Society, among men, could not fubfifl without a certain de- gree of that regularity of condudl which virtue prefcribes. To this regularity of conduft, men who have no virtue are induced by a regard to charaiSler, fometimes by a regard to intereft. Even in thofe who are not deditute of virtue, a regard to cha- rader is often an ufeful auxiliary to it, when both principles concur in their diredion. The purfuits of power, of fame, and of knowledge, require a felf-command no lefs than virtue does. In our behaviour towards our fellow-creatures, they generally lead to that very condu6t which virtue requires. I fay generally, for this, no doubt, ad- mits of exceptions, efpecially in the cafe of ambition, or the defire of power. , The evils which ambition has produced in the world are a common topic of declamation. But it ought to be obferved, that where it has led to one adlion hurtful to fociety, it has led to ten thoufand that are beneficial to it. And we juftly look upon the want of ambition as one of the mofl unfavourable fymptoms in a man's temper. The defires of efteem and of knowledge are jhighly ufeful to fociety, as well as the defire of power, and, at the fame time, are lefs dangerous in their exceflTes. Although adlions proceeding merely from the love of power, of reputation, or of knowledge, cannot be accounted virtuous, or be entitled to moral approbation ; yet we allow them to be manly, ingenuous, and fuited to the dignity of human nature ; and OFDESIRES. ,37 and therefore they are entitled to a degree of eftimation, fupc- ctiap. 11. rlor to ihofe which proceed from mere appetite. Alexander the Great deferved that epithet in the early part of his life, when cafe and pleafure, and every appetite, were facrificed to the love of glory and power. Bat when we view him conquered hy oriental luxury, and ufing his power to grati- fy his paflions and apjietitcs, he finks in our efteein, and feenu to forfeit the title which he had acquired. Sardanapalus, who is faid to have purfued pleafure as ea- gerly as Alexander purfued glory, never obtained from man- kind the appellation of the Great. Appetite is the principle of moft of the adions of brutes, and we account it brutal in a man to employ himfelf chiefly in the gratification of his appetites. The dcfires of power, of efleem, and of knowledge, are capital parts in the conftituti-on of man • '' and the adions proceeding from them, though not properly vir- tuous, are human and manly ; and they claim a jufl: fuperiority over thofe that proceed from appetite. This, I think, is the uni- verfal and unbiafled judgment of mankind. Upon what ground this judgment is founded, may deferve to be confidered in its proper place. The defires we have mentioned arc not only highly ufeful in fociety, and in their nature more noble than our appetites, they are likewife the moft proper engines that can be ufed in the edu- cation and difcipliue of men. In training brute-animals to fuch habits as they are capable of, the fear of punilhment is the chief inllrument to be ufed. But in training men of ingenuous difpofition, ambition to excel, and the love of efteem, are much nobler and more powerful S engines, 138 ESSAY III. ^CHAF. II. engines, by which they may be led to worthy conduct, and trained to good habits. To this we may add, that the defires we have mentioned are very friendly to real virtue, and make it more eafy to be ac- quired. A man that is not quite abandoned mufl behave Co in fociety as to preferve forae degree of reputation. This every man de- fires to do, and the greater part adually do it. In order to this, he mufl acquire the habit of rellraining his appetites and paf- fions within the bounds which common decency requires, and fo as to make himfelf a tolerable member of fociety, if not an ufeful and agreeable one. It cannot be doubted that many, from a regard to charadler and to the opinion of others, are led to make themfelves both ufeful and agreeable members of fociety, in whom a fenfe of duty has but a fmall influence. Thus men, living in fociety, efpecially in poliihed fociety, are tamed and civilized by the principles that are common to good and bad men. They are taught to bring their appetites and paf- fions under due reftraint before the eyes of men, which makes it more eafy to bring them under the rein of virtue. As a horfe that is broken is more eafily managed than an un- broken colt, fo the man who has undergone the difcipline of focie- ty is more tractable, and is in an excellent ftate of preparation for the difcipline of virtue ; and that felf-command, which is ne- celFary in the race of ambition and honour, is an attainment of no fmall importance in the courfe of virtue. For this reafon, I apprehend, they err very grofsly who con- ceive the life of a hermit to be favourable to a courfe of virtue. The OF DESIRES, '39 The hermit, no doubt, is free from fome temptations to vice, chap. ii. but he is deprived of many ftrong inducements to felf-govcrn- nient, as well as of every opportunity of cxercifing the focial virtues. A very ingenious author has refolved our moral fcntiments refpeding the virtues of felf-government, into a regard to the opinion of men. This I think is giving a great deal too much to the love of iefleem, and putting the iliadow of virtue in place of the fubftance ; but that a regard to the opinion of others is, in mofl: inftanccs of our external behaviour, a great inducement to good condud, cannot be doubted. For, whatever men may pradice themfelves, they will always approve of that in others which they think right. It was before obferved, that, befides the appetites which na ture has given us, we may acquire appetites which, by indul- gence, become as importunate as the natural. The fame thing may be applied to defires. One of the moft remarkable acquired defires Is that of mo- ney, which, in commercial ftates, will be found in mofl men, in one degree or other, and, in fome men, fwallows up every other defire, appetite and pallion. The defire of money can then only be accounted a principle of adion, when it is defired for its own fake, and not merely as the means of procuring fomething clfe. It feems evident, that there is in mifers fuch a defire of mo- ney ; and, I fuppofe, no man will fay that it is natural, or a part of our original confiitution. It feems to be the ef^'ed of habit. In commercial nations, money is an infli-ument by which al- moft every thing may be procured that is defired. Being uleful S a for 140 ESSAY III. CHAP. IJ. for many different purpofes as the means, fome men lofe fight of the end, and terminate their defire upon the means. Money is alfo a fpecies of power, putting a man in condition to do many things which he could not do without it ; and power is a natural objed: of defire, even when it is not exercifed. In like manner, a man may acquire the defire of a title of honour, of an equipage, of an efiate. Although our natural defires are highly beneficial to (bciety, and even aiding to virtue, yet acquired defires are not only ufe- lefs, but hurtful and even difgraceful. No man is afhamed to own, that he loves power, that he loves efteem, that he loves knowledge, for their own fake. There may be an excefs in the love of thefe things, which is a ble- milh ; but there is a degree of it, which is natural, and Is no blemifli. To love money, titles or equipage, on any other ac- count than as they are ufeful or ornamental, is allowed by all to be weaknefs and folly. The natural defires I have been confidering, though they cannot be called facial principles of adlion in the common fenfe of that word, fince it is not their objed: to procure any good or benefit to others, yet they have fuch a relation to fociety, as to ftiew moft evidently the Intention of nature to be, that man Ihould live in fociety. The defire of knowledge is not more natural than is the de- fire of communicating our knowledge. Even power would be lefs valued if there were no opportunity of Ihewing it to others. It derives half its value from that circumflance. And as to the defire of elleem, it can have no pofiTible gratification but in fo- ciety. Thefe OF BENEVOLENT AFFECTION IN GENERAL. 141 Thefe parts of our conltitiition, therefore, are evidently in- chap. iir. tended for focial life ; and it is not more evident that birds were made for flying and fiHies for fwimming, than^hat mm, endow- ed with a natural defire of power, of efteem, and of knowledge, is made, not for the fiivage and folitary Hate, but for living in fociety. w CHAP. III. Of Benevolent Jlffcdlion in generol. E have fcen how, by inftind and habit, a kind of me- chanical principles, man, without any expence of thought, without deliberation or will, is led to many anions, necellary for his prefervation and well-being, which, without thofe principles, all his fkill and wifdom would not have been able to accomplifli. It may perhaps be thought, that his deliberate and voluntary actions are to be guided by his reafon. But it ought to be obftrved, that he is a voluntary agent long before he has the ufe of reafon. Reafon and virtue, the prero- gatives of man, are of the laieft growth. They come to matu- rity by flow degrees, and are too weak, in the greater part of the fpecies, to fecure the prefervation of individuals and of com- munities, and to produce that varied fcene of human life, in which they are to be exercifed and improved. Therefore the wife Author of our being haili imnlanted in human nature many inferior principles of ad^tion, which, with little or no aid of reafon or virtue, preferve the fpecies, and pro- duce the various exertions, and the various changes and revolu- tions which we oLfcrve upon the theatre of life. In 142 ESSAY III. CHAP. III. In this bufy fcene, reafon and virtue have accefs to adl their parts, and do often produce great and good efFed:s ; but whe- ther they interpofe or not, there are adlors of an inferior order that will carry on the play, and produce a variety of events, good or bad. Reafon, if It were perfedl, would lead men to ufe the proper means of preferving their own lives, and continuing their kind. But the Author of our being hath not thought fit to leave this taflc to reafon alone, otherwife the race would long ago have been extind. He hath given us, in common with other ani- mals, appetites, by which thofe important purpofes are fecured, whether men be wife or foollfh, virtuous or vicious. Reafon, if it were perfedl, would lead men neither to lofe the benefit of their adlive powers by inadllvlty, nor to overfirain them by excellive labour. But nature hath given a powerful afliflant to reafon, by making inadlvlty a grievous punifhment to Itfelf; and by annexing the pain of lallitude to exceffive labour. Reafon, If It were perfed, would lead us to defire power, know- ledge, and the efteem and affection of our fellow-men, as means of promoting our own happlnefs, and of being ufeful to others. Here again, nature, to fupply the defeds of reafon, hath given us a ftrong natural defire of thofe objeds, which leads us to pur- fue them without regard to their utility. Thefe principles we have already confidered ; and, we may obferve, that all of them have things, not perfons, for their ob- jedt. They neither imply any good nor 111 affedllon towards any other perfon, nor even towards ourfelves. They cannot therefore, with propriety, be called either felfi/h ox foetal. But there are various principles of adion in man, which have per- fons for their immediate objed, and imply, in their very nature, our OF BENEVOLENT AFFECTION IN GENERAL. 143 our being well or ill affedled to fome peilbn, or, at leaft, to fome CHA? ill. animated being. Such principles I lluill call by the general name of affc6lions ; Nvhether they difpofe us to do good or hurt to others. Perhaps, in giving them this general name, I extend the meaning of the word nffc£lion beyond its common ufe in difcourfe. Indeed our language feems in this to have departed a little from analogy : For ^ve ufe the verb affeB, and the participle affcEled^ in an indif- , ferent fenfe, fo that they may be joined either with good or ill. A man may be faid to be ill afFecled towards another man, or well affected. But the word affeElmi^ which, according to ana- logy, ought to have the fame latitude of lignification with that* from which it is derived, and therefore ought to be applicable to ill affediions as well as to good, feems, by cuflom, to be li- mited to good affedions. When we fpeak of having affection for any perfon, it is always underflood to be a benevolent af- fedlion. Malevolent principles, fuch as anger, refentment, envy, are not commonly called affeUions, but rsLthev paj^ons. I take the reafon of this to be, that the malevolent affedlions are almoft always accompanied with that perturbation of mind which we properly call pajfion ; and this paflion, being the mofl conlpicuous ingredient, gives its name to the whole. Even love, when it goes beyond a certain degree, is called a pajfwn. But it gets not that name when it is fo moderate as not to difcompofe a man's mind, nor deprive him in any meafure of the government of himfelf. As we give the name of pajfwn, even to benevolent affcdion when it is fo vehement as to difcompofe the mind, fo, I think, without 144 ESSAY III. CHAP. III. without trerpafling much agahift propriety of words, we may give the name of affe£l'ioii even to malevolent principles, when unattended with that difturhance of mind which commonly, though not always, goes along with them, and which has made them get the name oi pajfwns. The principles which lead us immediately to defire the good of others, and thofe that lead us to defire their hurt, agree in this, that perfons, and not things, are their immediate objed. Both imply our being fome way affecfted towards the perfon. They ought therefore to have fome common name to exprefs what is common in their nature ; and I know no name more proper for this than affcBion. Taking affedion therefore in this extenfive fenfe, our affec- tions are very naturally divided into benevolent and malevolent, according as they imply our being well or ill affcdled towards their objed. There are fome things common to all benevolent afFedlions, others wherein they differ. They differ both in the feeling, or fenfation, which is an in- gredient in all of them, and in the objed;s to which they are direded. They all agree in two things, to wit. That the feeling which accompanies them is agreeable; and that they imply a defire of good and happinel's to their objedl. The affedion we bear to a parent, to a child, to a benefador, to a perfon in diftrefs, to a miftrefs, differ not more in their ob- je6l, than in the feelings they produce in the mind. We have not names to exprefs the differences of theie feelings, but every man is confcious of a difference. Yet, with all this difference, they agree in being agreeable feelings. I OF BENEVOLENT AFFECTION IN GENERAL. 145 I know no exception to this rule, If we diflingulili, as \vc chap, ul ouglu, the feeling which naturally and necclTarily attends the kind affcclion, from tliofc which accidentally, in certain cir- cumftanccs, it may jiroduce. The parental afFeftion is an agreeable feeling; but it makies the misfortune or mifbehaviour of a child give a deeper wound to the mind. Pity is an agreeable feeling, yet diftrefs, which we are not able to relieve, may give a painful fympathy. Love to one of the other fex is an agreeable feeling ; but where it does not meet with a proper return, it may give the mod pun- gent dillrefs. The joy and comfort of human life confifts in the reciprocal exercife of kind afFedions, and without them life would be unde- firable. It has been obferved by Lord Shaftesbury, and by many other judicious moralifts. That even the epicure and the debauchee, who are thought to place all their happinefs in the gratifica- tions of fenfe, and to purfue thefe as their only objecft, can find no reliih in folitary indulgences of this kind, but in thofe only that are mixed with focial intercourfe, and a reciprocal exchange of kind afFedions. Cicero has obferved, that the word convivium, which in Latin fignifies a feaft, is not borrowed from eating or from drinking, but from that focial intercourfe which, being the chief part of fuch an entertainment, gives the name to the whole. Mutual kind afFcdions are undoubtedly the balm of life, and of all the enjoyments common to good and bad men, are the chief. If a man had no perfon whom he loved or eftecmcd, no perfon who loved or efteeined him, how wretched mufl his con- T d it ion 145 ESSAY III. CKAP^^ dition be ! Surely a man capable of reflection would chufe to pafs out of exiflence, rather than to live in fuch a ftate. It has been, by the Poets, reprefented as the ftate of Tome bloody and barbarous tyrants ; but Poets are allowed to paint a little beyond the life. Atreus is reprefented as faying, Ode- rint dum metuant. " I care not for their hatred, providing they " dread my power." I believe there never .was a man fo dif- pofed towards all mankind. The moft odious tyrant that ever was, will have his favourites, whofe affedllon he endeavours to deferve or to bribe, and to whom he bears fome good will. We may therefore lay it down as a principle, that all benevo- lent aiFedions are, in their nature, agreeable ; and that, next to a good confcience, to which they are always friendly, and never can be adverfe, they make the capital part of human hap- pinefs. Another ingredient ellential to every benevolent affedion, and from which it takes the name, is a delire of the good and happinefs of the objedt. • The objedt of benevolent affedion therefore, muft be fome be- ing capable of happinefs. When we fpeak of affed:ion to a houfe, or to any inanimate thing, the word has a different meaning. For that which has no capacity of enjoyment, or of fuffering, may be an objedl of liking or difguft, but cannot pofGbly be an ob- jedl either of benevolent or malevolent affedion. A thing may be defired either on its own account, or as the ineans in order to fomething elfe. That only can properly be called an obje6b of defire, which is defired upon its own account j and it is only fuch defires that I call principles of adion. When any thing is defired as the means only, there muft be an end for OF BENEVOLENT AFFECTION IN GENERAL. 147 for which it is dcfired ; and the defire of the enti is, in this CHAP. ill. cafe, the principle of adion. The means are dell red only as they tend to that end ; and if different, or even contrary means tended to the fame end, they would be equally defired. On this account I confider thofe affedions only as benevo- lent, where the good of the objedt is defired ultimately, and not as the means only, in order to fomething elfe. To fay that we defire the good of others, only in order to procure fome pleafure or good to ourfelves, is to fay that there is no benevolent affedlion in human nature. This indeed has been the opinion of fome Philofophers, both in ancient and in later times. I intend not to examine this opi- nion in this place, conceiving it proper to give that view of the principles of adlion in man, which appears to me to be jufl, be- fore I examine the fyflems wherein they have been miftakcn or mifreprefented. I obferve only at prefent, that it appears as unreafonahle to refolve all our benevolent affections into felf-love, as it would be to refolve hunger and thirfl into felf-love. Thefe appetites are neceflary for the prefervation of the indi- vidual. Benevolent affedlions are no lefs neceffary for the pre- fervation of fociety among men, without which man would be- come an eafy prey to the beafts of the field. We are placed in this world, by the Author of our being, furrounded with many objedls that are neceffiry or ufeful to us, and with many that may hurt us. We are led, not by rcafon and felf-love only, but by many inlHnds, and appetites, and natural defires, to feek the former and to avoid the latter. T 2 Bur 148 ESSAY HI. CHAP. III. But of all the things of this world, mau may be the mofl ufe- "^ ful, or the moft hurtful to man. Every man is in the power of every man with whom he lives. Every man has power to do much good to his fellow-men, and to do more hurt. We cannot live without the fociety of men ; and it would be impoffible to live in fociety, if men were not difpofed to do much of that good to men, and but little of that hurt, which it is in their power to do. But how fhall this end, fo neceflary to the exiftence of human fociety, and confequently to the exiftence of the human fpecies, be accompliihed ? If we judge from analogy, we muft conclude, that in this, as in other parts of our conduit, our rational principles are aided by principles of an inferior order, fimilar to thofe by which ma- ny brute animals live in fociety with their fpecies ; and that by means of fuch principles, that degree of regularity is obferved, which we find in all focieties of men, whether wife or foolifh, virtuous or vicious. The benevolent affedions planted in human nature, appear therefore no lefs neceffary for the prefervation of the human fpecies, than the appetites of hunger and thirfl. CHAP. IV. Of the particular Benevolent AffeB'tons. HAVING premifed thefe things in general concerning be- nevolent affediions, I ihall now attempt fome enumera- tion of them. I. The OF PARTICULAR BENEVOLENT AFFECTIONS. 149 I. The firj] 1 mention Is tlint of parents and cliildrcn, and o- CHAP. iv. thcr near relations. """ '""^"^ This we commonly call natural affedion. Every language has a name for it. It is common to us with moft of the brute- animals J and is varioufly modified in different animals, accor- ding as it is more or Icfs nccellary for the prcfervation of the fpecies. Many of the infect-tribe need no other care of parents, than that the eggs be laid in a proper place, where they iliall have neither too little nor too much heat, and where the animal, as foon as it is hatched, ftiall find its natural food. This care the parent takes, and no more. In other tribes, the young mufl be lodged in fome fecret place, where they cannot be eafily difcovered by their enemies. They rnuft be cheriflied by the warmth of the parent's body. They mull be fuckled, and fed at firft with tender food ; attended in their excurfions, and guarded from danger, till they have learn- ed by experience, and by the example of their parents, to pro- vide for their own fubfirtence and fafety. With what afllduity and tender affection this is done by the parents, in every fpecies that requires it, is well known. The eggs of the feathered tribe are commonly hatched by in- cubation of the dam, who leaves off at once her fprightly mo- tions and migrations, and confines herfelf to her folitary and painful talk, cheered by the fong of her mate upon a neighbour- ing bough, and fometimes fed by him, fomctinies relieved in her incubation, while (lie gathers a fcanty meal, and with the greateft difpatch returns to her port. The young birds of many fjiecies are fo very tender and deli- cate, that man, with all his wifdom and experience, would not be I50 ESSAY III. CHAP. IV. be able to rear one to maturity. But the parents, without any experience, know perfectly how to rear fometimes a dozen or more at one brood, and to give every one its portion in due fea- fon. They know the food beft fuited to their delicate confll- tution, which is fometimes afforded by nature^, fometimes muft be cooked and half digefted in the flomach of the parent. In fome animals, nature hath furnifhed the female with a kind of fecond womb, into which the young retire occafionally, for food, warmth, and the conveniency of being carried about with the mother. It would be endlefs to recou-nt all the various ways in which the parental affedtion is exprefled by brute-animals. He muft, in my apprehenfion, have a very flrange complexion of underftanding, who can furvey the various ways in which the young of the various fpecies are reared, without wonder, with- out pious admiration of that manifold wifdom, which hath fo fkilfully fitted means to ends, in fuch an infinite variety of ways. In all the brute-animals we are acquainted with, the end of the parental affedion is completely anfwered in a fliort time ; and then it ceafes as if it had never been. The infancy of man is longer and more helplefs than that of any other animal. The parental affedlion is neceffary for many years j it is highly ufeful through life^ and therefore it termi- nates only with life. It extends to children's children without any diminution of its force. How common is it to fee a young woman, in the gayefl; period of life, who has fpent her days in mirth, and her nights in profound fleep, without foUicitude or care, all at once transformed into the careful, the folicitous, the watchful nurfe of her dear in- fant : OF PARTICULAR BENEVOLENT AFFECTIONS. 151 flint : doing nothing by day but gazing upon it, and fcrving it Sll^Il!^* in the meaneft oflices ; by night, depriving hcrfelf of found flecp for months, that it may lie Cafe in her arms. Forgetful of her- felf,- her whole care is centered in this little ohjed. Such a fudden transformation of her whole habits, and occu- pation, and turn of mind, if we did not fee it every day, would appear a more wonderful mctamorphofis than any that Ovid has defcribed. This, however, is the work of nature, and not the effed of rcafon and refledion. For we fee it in the good and in the bad, in the moll thoughtlefs, as well as in the thoughtful. Nature has afllgned different departments to the father and mother in rearing their offspring. This may be feen in many brute-animals; and that it is fo in the human fpecies, was long ago obferved by Socrates, and mofl beautifully illuftrated by him, as we learn from Xenophon's Oeconom'icks. The parental affecftion in the different fexes is exadly adapted to the ollice affigned to each. The father would make an awkward nurfe to a new-bom child, and the mother too indulgent a guardian. But both adl with propriety and grace in their proper fphere. It is very remarkable, that when the office of rearing a child is transferred from the parent to another perfon, nature feems to transfer the affedion along with the office. A wet nurfe, or even a dry nurfe, has commonly the fame affedion for her nurf- ling, as if fhe had bom it. The fad is fo well known that nothing needs be faid to confirm it 3 and it feems to be the work of nature. Our affedlons are not immediately in our power, as our out- ward adions are. Nature has direded them to certain objeds. We 152 ESSAY III. CHAP IV. ^^\TQ jnay do kind offices without affedion i but we cannot create an affedion which nature has not given. Reafon might teach a man that his children are particularly committed to his care by the providence of God, and, on that account, that he ought to attend to them as his particular charge ; but reafon could not teach him to love them more than other children of equal merit, or to be more afflidled for their misfortunes or mifbehaviour. It is evident, therefore, that that peculiar fenfibility of affec- tion, with regard to his own children, is not the effect of reafon- ing or reflection, but the effed: of that conllitution which na- ture has given him. There are fome affe<!^ions which we may call rational^ becaufe they are grounded upon an opinion of merit in the objed:. The parental affediou is not of this kind. For though a man's af- fedion to his child may be encreafed by merit, and diminifhed by demerit, I think no man will fay, that it took its rife from an opinion of merit. It is not opinion that creates the affedion, but affedion often creates opinion. It is apt to pervert the judgment, and create an opinion of merit where there is none. The abfolute neceflity of this parental affedion, in order to the continuance of the human fpecies, is fo apparent, that there is no need of arguments to prove it. The rearing of a child from its birth to maturity requires fo much time and care, and fuch infinite attentions, that, if it were to be done merely from confiderations of reafon and duty, and were not fweetened by affeftion in parents, nurfes and guardians, there is reafon to doubt, whether one child in ten thoufand would ever be reared. Befide the abfolute neceflity of this part of the human con- ftitution to the prefervation of the fpecies, its utility is very great OF PARTICULAR BENEVOLENT AFFECTIONS. 155 great, for tempering the giddinefs and impetuofity of youth, Cir.AP. iv. and improving its knowledge by the prudence and experience of age, for encouraging induflry and frugah'ty in the parents, in order to provide for their children, for the folace and fupport of parents under the infirmities of old age ; not to mention that it probably gave rife to the firft civil governments. It does not appear that the parental, and other family affec- tions, are, in general, either too ftrong or too weak for anfwer- ing their end. If they were too weak, parents would be moft apt to err on the fide of undue fe verity ; if too ftrong, of un- due indulgence. As they are in facl, 1 believe no man can fay, that the errors are more general on one fide than on the other. When thefe afiedlions are exerted according to their inten- tion, under the diredtion of wifdom and prudence, the econo- my of fuch a family is a mod delightful fpedlacle, and furnifhes the moft agreeable and affeding fubjedl to the pencil of the painter, and to the pen of the orator and poet. "^ 2. The w^x/ benevolent affedtion I mention is gratitude to be- nefadors. That good ofiices are, by the very conftitution of our nature, apt to produce good will towards the benefa(ftor, in good and bad men, in the favage and in the civilized, cannot furely be de- nied by any one, in the leaft acquainted with human nature. The danger of perverting a man's judgment by good deeds, where he ought to have no bias. Is fo well known, that it is difhonourable in judges, In witnefll-s, in eledlors to offices of truft, to accept of them ; and, in all civilized nations, they are, in fuch cafes, prohibited, as the means of corruption. U Tiiofe »54 ESSAY III. CHAP. IV. Thofe who would corrupt the fentence of a judge, the tefli- mony of a witnefs, or the vote of an elecftor, know well, that they muft not make a bargain, or ftipulate what is to be done in return. This would fhock every man who has the leaft pre- tenfion to morals. If the perfon can only be prevailed upon to accept the good office, as a teflimony of pure and difinterefted friendlhip, it is left to work upon his gratitude. He finds hira- felf under a kind of moral obligation to confider the caufe of his benefador and friend in the moft favourable light. He finds it eafier to jullify his condudl to himfelf, by favouring the intereil of his benefaiflor, than by oppofing it. Thus the principle of gratitude is fuppofed, even in the na- ture of a bribe. Bad men know how to make this natural prin- ciple the moft effedual means of corruption. The very befl things may be turned to a bad ufe. But the natural texidency of this principle, and the intention of nature in planting it in the human breaft, are, evidently, to promote good-will among men, and to give to good offices the power of multiplying their kind, like feed fown in the earth, which brings a return, with increafe. Whether there be, or be not, in the more fagacious brutes, fomething that may be called gratitude, I will not difpute. We muft allow this important difference between their gratitude and that of the human kind, that, in the laft, the mind of the be- nefadlor is chiefly regarded, in the firft, the external adlion only. A brute-animal will be as kindly affedled to him who feeds it in order to kill and eat it, as to him who does it from affedion. A man may be juftly entitled to our gratitude, for an office that is ufeful, though it be, at the fame time, difagreeable ; and not only for doing, but for forbearing what he had a right to do. Among men, it is not every beneficial office that claims our gratitude, but fuch only as are not due to us in juftice. A favour OF PARTICULAR BENEVOLENT AFFECTIONS. 155 favour alone gives a claim to gratitude ; and a favour muft be chap. jv. fomcthing more than juftice requires. It does not appear that brutes have any conception of juftice. They can neither diflin- guifli hurt from injury, nor a favour from a good office that is due. 3. A third natural benevolent affedion is pity and compaflioii towards the diftrefled. Of all perfons, thofe in diftrefs ftand mod in need of our good otTices. And, for that reafon, the Author of nature hath planted in the breaft of every human creature a powerful advo- cate to plead their caufe. In man, and in fome other animals, there are figns of diftrefs, which nature hath both taught them to ufe, and taught all men to underlland without any interpreter. Thefe natural figns are more eloquent than language ; they move our hearts, and pro- duce a fympathy, and a defire to give relief. There are few hearts fo hard, but great diftrefs will conquer their anger, their indignation, and every malevolent affedion. We fympathife even with the traitor and with the afta/TIn, when we fee him led to execution. It is only felf-prefervation, and the public good, that makes us reludantly aflent to his being cut off from among men. The pradlice of the Canadian nations toward their prifoners would tempt one to think, that they have been able to root out the principle of compafllon from their nature. But this, I ap- prehend, would be a rafti conclufion. It is only a part of the prifoners of war that they devote to a cruel death. This grati- fies the revenge of the women and children who h.ave loft their U 2 hulbaud'; 156 ESSAY III. CHAP. IV. hulbands and fathers in the v/ar. The other pri loners are khul- ly ufed, and adopted as brethren. Compaflion with bodily pain is no doubt weakened among thefe favages, becaufe they are trained from their infancy to be fuperior to death, and to every degree of pain ; and he is thouglit unworthy of the name of a man, who cannot defy his tormentors, and fing his death-fbng in the midft of the moft cruel tortures. He who can do this, is honoured as a brave man, though an enemy. But he mud perifli in the experiment. A Canadian has the mofi: perfedl contempt for every man who thinks pain an intolerable evil. And nothing is fo apt to flifle compaflion as contempt, and an apprehenlion, that the evil fuf- fered is nothing but what ought to be manfully borne. It muft alfo be obferved, that favages fet no bounds to their revenge. Thofe who find no protedion in laws and government never think themfelves fafe, but in the deftrudlion of their ene- my. And one of the chief advantages of civil government is, that it tempers the cruel paffion of revenge, and opens the heart to compaflion with every human woe. It feems to be falfe religion only, that is able to check the tear of compaflion. We are told, that, in Portugal and Spain, a man condemned to be burned as an obftinate heretick, meets with no compaflion, even from the multitude. It is true, they are taught to look upon him as an enemy to God, and doomed to hell-fire. But Ihould not this very circumftance move compaflion ? Surely it would, if they were not taught, that, in this cafe, it is a crime to fliew compaflion, or even to feel it. 4. A fourth benevolent affedion is, efleem of the wife and the good» The OF PARTICULAR BENEVOLENT AFFECTIONS. 157 The word: men cannot avoid feeling this in fome degree. CITAP. iv. Eftecm, veneration, devotion, are different degrees of the fame ' ' ~^ urtec'lion. The perfedion of -wirdom, power and goodnefs, which belongs only tu the Almighty, is the objed of the liO. It may be a doubt, whether this principle of efleem, as well as that of gratitude, ought to be ranked in the order of animal prin- ciples, or if they ought not rather to be placed in a higher or- der. They are certainly more allied to the rational nature than ' the others that have been named ; nor is it evident, that there is any thing in brute-animals that delerves the fame name. There is indeed a fubordination in a herd of cattle, and in a flock of fheep, which, I believe, is determined by ftrength and courage, as it is among lavage tribes of men. I have been in- formed, that, in a pack of hounds, a ftanch hound acquires a degree of efteem in the pack ; fo that, when the xlogs arc wan- dering in queft of the fcent, if he opens, the pack immediately clofes in with him, \?hen they would not regard the opening of a dog of no reputation. This is fomething like a refpedl to wifdom. But I have placed efteem of the wife and good in the order of animal principles, not from any perfuafion that it is to be found in brute-animals, but becaufe, I think, it appears in the mod un- improved and in the moft degenerate part of our fpecies, even in thofe in whom we hardly perceive any exertion, either of rea- fon or virtue. I will not, however, difpute with any man who thinks that it deferves a more honourable name than that of an animal prin- ciple. It is of fmall importance what name we give it, if we are fatisfied that there is fuch a principle in the human conftl- tution. 5. Friendfliip X 158 ESSAY III. CHAP. IV. ^. Friendfliip is another benevolent affedtion. Of this we have fome inftances famous in hlftory : Few in- deed ; but fufficient to fhew, that human nature is fufceptlble of that extraordinary attachment, fympathy and affedllon, to one or a few perfons, which the ancients thought alone worthy of the name of friendfhip. The Epicureans found it very difficult to reconcile the ex- Iftence of friendfhip to the principles of their fedl. They were not fo bold as to deny its exiftence. They even boafted that there had been more attachments of that kind between Epicure- ans than in any other fed. But the difficulty was, to account for real friendfhip upon Epicurean principles. They went into different hypothefes upon this point, three of which are explained by ToRQUATUs the Epicurean, in Cicero's book, De Finibus. Cicero, in his reply to ToRquATUs, examines all the three, and {hews them all to be either Inconfiflent with the nature of true friendfhip, or inconfiflent with the fundamental principles of the Epicurean fed:. As to the friendfhip which the Epicureans boafled of among thofe of their fed, Cicero does not queftlon the fad, but ob- ferves, that, as there are many vvhofe pradice is worfe than their principles, fo there are fome wliofe principles are worfe than their pradice, and that the bad principles of thefe Epicu- reans were overcome by the goodnefs of their nature. 6. Among the benevolent affedions, the paflion of love be- tween the fexes cannot be overlooked. Although it is commonly the theme of Poets, it is not un- worthy of the pen of the Philofopher, as it is a moft important part of the human confHtution. It OF PARTICULAR BENEVOLENT AFFECTIONS. 159 It is no doubt made up of various ingredients, as many other CHAP. iv. principles ot action are, but it certainly cannot exifl without a very flrong benevolent affcrtion toward its objedl ; in whom it finds, or conceives, every thing that is amiable and excellent, and even fomething more than human. I confider it here, only as a benevolent affedion natural to man. And that it is lb, no man can doubt who ever felt its force. It is evidently intended by nature to dired a man in the choice of a mate, with whom he defires to live, and to rear an offspring. It has effedually fecured this end in all ages, and in every (late of fociety. The paflion of love, and the parental affecftion, are counter- parts to each other ; and when they are conduded with pru- dence, and meet with a proper return, are the fource of all do- mcftic felicity, the greatelt, next to that of a good coafcience, which this world affords. As, in the prefent ftate of things, pain often dwells near to pleafure, and forrov? to joy, it needs not be thought ftrange, tliat a paffion, fitted and intended by nature to yield the great- eft worldly felicity, ftioiild, by being ill regulated, or wrong di- reded, prove the occafion of the moft pungent diftrefs. But its joys and its griefs, its different modifications in the different fexes, and its influence upon the charader of both, though very important fubjeds, are fitter to be fung than faid ; and I leave them to thofe who have llept upon the two-topped Parnaffus. 7. The /o/? benevolent affedion I fhall mention is, what we commonly 170 ESSAY III. CHAP. IV. commonly call public fpirit, that is, an affediion to any coramu- nity to which we belong. If there be any man quite deftitute of this affedlion, he muft be as great a monfter as a man born with two heads. Its ef- fects are manifefl in the whole of human life, and in the hiftory of all nations. The lituatlon of a great part of mankind, indeed, is fuch, that their thoughts and views muft be confined within a very narrow fphere, and be very much engrofled by their private con- cerns. With regard to an extenfive public, fuch as a ftate or nation, they are like a drop to the ocean, fo that they have rare- ly an opportunity of acting with a view to it. In many, whofe adlions may affed the public, and whofe rank and ftation lead them to think of it, private paflions may be an overmatch for public fpirit. All that can be inferred from this is, that their public fpirit is weak, not that it does not exift. If a man wifhes well to the public, and is ready to do good to it rather than hurt, when it cofts him nothing, he has fome affedtion to it, though it may be fcandaloufly weak in degree. I believe every man has it in one degree or another. What man is there who does not refent fatyrical refledions upon his country, or upon any community of which he is a member .'' Whether the affedlion Ije to a college or to a cloifter, to a clan or to a profefTion, to a party or to a nation, it is public fpirit, Thefe affedlions differ, not in kind, but in the extent of their objed;. The objedl extends as our connedions extend j and a fenfe of the OF PARTICULAR BENEVOLENT AFFECTIONS. i5i the connection carries the affcdlon along with It to every com- CHAT, iv.^ munity to which we can apply the pronouns we and our. Friend, parent, neighbour, firfl it will embrace, His country next, and then all human race. Pope. Even in the mifanthrope, this afFcdlon Is not extlngulflied. It is overpowered by the apprehenfjon he has of the worthlefs- nefs, the bafenefs, and the ingratitude of mankind. Convince him, that there is any amiable quality in the fpecies, and imme- diately his philanthropy revives, and rejoices to find an objedl on which it can exert Itfelf. Public rpirit has this in common with every fubordinate prin- ciple of adion, that, when It is not under the government of reafon and virtue, it may produce much evil as well as good. Yet, where there is leaft of reafon and virtue, to regulate it, its good far overbalances its ill. It foraetlmes kindles or inflames animofitles between commu- nities, or contending parties, and makes them treat each other •with little regard to juftice. It kindles wars between nations, and makes them deftroy one another for trifling caufes. But, without it, fociety could not fublift, and every community would be a rope of fand. When under the diredion of reafon and virtue, It is the very image of God in the foul. It difTufes its benign influence as far as its power extends, and participates in the happinefs of God, and of the whole creation. Thefe are the benevolent affedions which appear to me to be parts of the human conflitiition. If any one thinks the enumeration incomplete, and that there X are i62 ESSAY III. CHAP. IV. are natural benevolent affections, which are not included under any of thoie that have been named, I fliall very readily liften to fuch a corredion, being fenfible that fuch enumerations are very often incomplete. If others fhould think that any, or all, the afFedions I have named, are acquired by education, or by habits and aflbciations grounded on felf-love, and are not original parts of our conftitu- tion; this is a point upon which, indeed, there has been much fabtile difputation in ancient and modern times, and which, I believe, muft be determiined from what a man, by careful re- fledlion, may feel in himfelf, rather than from what he obferves in others. But I decline entering into this difpute, till I fhall have explained that principle of action which we commonly call felf-love. I fhall conclude this fubjed with fome reflections upon the benevolent affedions. The 7?/)? is, That all of them, in as far as they are benevo- lent, in which view only I consider them, .agree very much in the condud they difpofe us to, with regard to their objedls. They difpofe us to do them good as far as we have power and opportunity ), to wifli them well, when we can do them no good j to judge favourably, and often partially, of them ; to fympa- thife with them in their afflidions and calamities ; and to rejoice with them in their happineis and good fortune. It is Impoflible that there can be benevolent affedlion without fympathy, both with the good and bad fortune of the objed ; and it appears to be impoflible that there can be fympathy with- out benevolent afFedlion. Men do not fyrapathife with one whom they hate ; nor even with one to whofe good or ill they are perfedtly indifferent.. We may fympathife with a perfcd flranger, or even with an enemy OF PARTICULAR BENEVOLENT AFFECTIONS. 163 enemy whom vvc fee In diflrefs ; but this is the effed of pity ; Cfl\?.iv\ and if \vc did not pity him, \vc fhould not fympathife with him. 1 take notice of this the rather, becaufe a very ingenious au- thor in his Theory of Moral Sentiments, gives a very (hfferent ac- count of the origin of fympathy. It appears to me to be the efrccH: of benevolent afFedUon, and to be infeparable from it. K ftcond reflecftion is, That the coiiftitution of our nature very powerfully invites us to cheriih and cultivate in our mintls the benevolent alTedions. The agreeable feeling which always attends them as a prefent reward, appears to be intended by nature for this purpofc. Benevolence, from its nature, compofes the mind, warms the heart, enlivens the whole frame, and brightens every feature of the countenance. It may juftly be faid to be medicinal both to foul and body. We are bound to it by duty ; w-e are invited to it by intereft ; and becaufe both thefe cords are often feeble, we have natural kind affedions to aid them in their operation, and fup- ply their defeds ; and thefe affedlions are joined with a manly pleafure in their exertion, A third refledion is. That the natural benevolent affcdions fumllh the mofl irrefiftible proof, that the Author of our na- ture intencled that we fliould live in fociety, and do good to our fellow-men as we have opportunity ; fince this great and im- portant part of the human conftitution has a manifefl relation to fociety, and can have no exercife nor ufe in a folitary flate. The Iq/i refledion is. That the different principles of ad:ion have different degrees of dignity, and rife one above another in our eftimation, when we make them objeds of contempla- tion. X 2 We i54 ESSAY III. pH^P-^; We afcribe no dignity to inftlnds or to habits. They lead us only to admire the wifdom of the Creator, in adapting them fo perfedtly to the manner of life of the different animals in which they are found. Mach the fame may be faid of appe- tites. They ferve rather for ufe than ornament. The defires of knowledge, of power, and of efteem, rife high- er in our eftimation, and we confider them as giving dignity and ornament to man. The adlions proceeding from them, though not properly virtuous, are manly and refpedtable, and claim a jufl fuperiority over thofe that proceed merely from ap- petite. This I think is the uniform judgment of mankind. If we apply the fime kind of judgment to our benevolent affedlions, they appear not only manly and refpectable, but ami- able in a high degree. They are amiable even in brute-animals. We love the meek^^ nefs of the lamb, the gentlenefs of the dove, the affedion of a dog to his mafter. We cannot, without pleafure, obferve the ti'- mid ewe, v/ho never fhewed the leafl degree of courage in her own defence, become valiant and intrepid in defence of her lamb, and boldly aflault thofe enemies, the very fight of whom was wont to put her to flight. How pleafant is it to lee the family economy of a pair of little birds in rearing their tender offspring ; the conjugal affec- tion and fidelity of the parents ; their cheerful toil and induftry in providing food to their family j their fagacity in concealing their habitation ; the arts they ufe, often at the peril of their own lives, to decoy hawks, and other enemies, from their dwel- ling-place, and the afflicSlion they feel when fome unlucky boy has robbed them of the dear pledges of their affedlion, and frur illrated all their hopes of their riling family ? If OF PARTICULAR BENEVOLENT AFFECTIONS. 165 If kind afTedion be amiable in brutes, it is not lefs Co in our CTIAP. Tv.^ own fpccics. Even the external figns of it have a powerful charm. Every one knows that a perfon of accompliflied good breed- ing, channs every one he converfes with. And what is this good breeding ? If we analyze it, we fhall find it to be made up of looks, geflurcs and fpeeches, which are the natural ligns of be- nevolence and good ufTecftion. He who has got the habit of ufing thefe figns with propriety, and without meannefs, is a ■well-bred and a polite man. What is that beauty in the features of the face, particularly of the fair fex, which all men love and admire ? I believe it con- fifts chiefly in the features which indicate good affedlions. Eve- ry indication of meeknefs, gentlenefs, and benignity, is a beauty. On the contrary, every feature that indicates pride, pafllon, envy, and malignity, is a deformity. Kind affecftions, therefore, are amiable in brutes. Even the figns and ftiadows of them are highly attradtive in our own fpe- cies. Indeed tliey are the joy and the comfort of human life, not to good men only, but even to the vicious and dilfolutc. Without fociety, and the intercourfe of kind affeclion, man is a gloomy, melancholy and joylefs being. His mind opprefled with cares and fears, he cannot enjoy the balm of found fleep : in conftant dread of impending danger, he ftarts at the rufiling of a leaf. His ears are continually upon> the ftretch, and every zephyr brings fome found that alarms him. When he enters into fociety, and feels fecurity in the good af- fedion of friends and neighbours, it is then only that his fear vanifhes. ^S6 ESSAY III. CHAP. IV. vanirties, and his mind is at eafe. His courage is raifed, his un- ' " ' derftanding is enlightened, and his heart dilates with joy. Human fociety may be compared to a heap of embers, which when placed afunder, can retain neither their light nor heat, amidfl the furrounding elements ; but when brought together they mutually give heat and light to each other ; the flame breaks forth, and not only defends itfelf, but fubdues every thing a- roimd it. » The fecurity, the happinefs, and the ftrength of human fociety, fpring folely from the reciprocal benevolent affedions of its members. The benevolent affedlions, though they be all honourable and lovely, are not all equally fo. There is a fubordination among them J and the honour we pay to them generally correfponds to the extent of their objed. The good hufband, the good father, the good friend, the good neighbour, we honour as a good man, worthy of our love and af- fedion. But the man in whom thefe more private affedions are fwallowed up in zeal for the good of his country, and of mankind, who goes about doing good, and feeks opportunities of being ufeful to his fpecies, we revere as more than a good man, as a hero, as a good angel. CHAP. V. Of Malevolent AffeElion. AR E there, in the conftitution of man, any affedions that may be called malevolent f What are they ? And what is their ufe and end ? To OF MALEVOLENT AFFECTION. 167 To me there feem to be two, which we may call by that name. CHAP. v. They are einul.ition and rclentincnt. Thefc 1 take to be parts of the human conllitution, given us Ijy our Maker for good ends, and, -when properly dirccled and regulated, of excellent ufe. But, as their excefs or abufe, to which human nature is very prone, is the fource and fpring of all the malevolence that is to be found among men, it is on that account 1 call them male- volent. If any man thinks that they defcrve a foftcr name, fincc they may be excrcifed according to the intention of nature, without malevolence, to this I have no objeQion. By emulation, I mean, a defire of fuperiorlty to our rivals in any purfuit, accompanied with an uneafinefs at being fur- pa fled. Human life has juftly been compared to a race. The prize is fuperiority in one kind or another. But the fpecies or forms (if I may ufe the exprtllion) of fuperiority among men are in- finitely diverfirted. There is no man fo contemptible In his own eyes, as to hin- der him from entering the lills in one form or another ; and he ^\l\ always fmd competitors to rival him in his own way. We fee emulation among brute-animals. Dogs and horfes contend each with his kind in the race. Many animals of the gregarious kind contend for fuperiority in their flock or herd, and fhew manifefi: figns of jealoufy when others pretend to ri- val them. The emulation of tlie brute-animals is moHly confined to fwiftnefs, or ftrength, or favour witli their fen)alcs. But the emulation of the human kind has a much wider field. In i68 ESSAY III. CHAP.v. In every profeflion, and in every accompHfliment of body or mind, real or imaginary, there are rivalfliips. Literary men rival one another in literary abilities. Artifts in their feveral arts. The fair fex in their beauty and attractions, and in the refpedl paid them by the other fex. In every political fociety, from a petty corporation up to the national adminillration, there is a rivalfhip for power and in- fluence. Men have a natural defire of power without refpedl to the power of others. This we call ambition. But the defire of fu- periority, either in power, or in any thing we think worthy of eftimation, has a relpe(5t to rivals, and is what we properly call eviulation. The flronger the defire is, the more pungent will be the un- •eafinefs of being found behind, and the mind will be the more hurt by this humiliating view. Emulation has a manifefl tendency to improvement. With- out it life would ftagnate, and the difcoveries of art and genius would be at a ftand. This principle produces a conftant fer- mentation in fociety, by which, though dregs may be produced, the better part is purified and exalted to a perfe(Sion, which it could not otherwife attain. We have not fufficient data for a comparifon of the good and bad effed:s which this principle adually produces in fociety ; but there is ground to think of this, as of other natural princi- ples, that the good overbalances the ill. As far as it is under the dominion of reafon and virtue, its effeds are always good ', when left to be guided by palliou and folly, they are often very bad. Reafon OF MALEVOLENT AFFECTION. t6^ Reafon direds us to ftrive for fuperiority, only in tliinj^s that CHAP, v.^ have real excellence, otlierwife we fpend our labour for that which profiteth not. To value ourfelves for fuperiority in things that have no real worth, or none compared with what they coft, is to be vain of our own folly ; and to be uneafy at the fuperiority of others in fuch things, is no lefs ridiculous. Reafon diredls us to flrive for fuperiority only in things in our power, and attainable by our exertion, otherwife we fliall be like the frog in the fable, who fwelled herfelf till (he burft, in order to equal the ox in magnitude. To check all defire of things not attainable, and every uneafy thought in the want of them, is an obvious dictate of prudence, as well as of virtue and religion. If emulation be regulated by fuch maxims of reafon, and all undue partiality to ourfelves be laid afide, it will be a powerful principle of our improvement, without hurt to any other perfon. It will give ftrength to the nerves, and vigour to the mind, in eve- ry noble and manly purfuit. But dlfmal are its effedls, when it is no*: under thedirecftionof reafon and virtue. It has often the moft malignant influence on mens opinions, on their affedtions, and on their adions. It Is an old obfervation, that affedion follows opinion; and it is undoubtedly true in many cafes. A man cannot be grateful without the opinion of a favour done him. He cannot have de- liberate refentment without the opinion of an injury; nor efteem without the opinion of fome elUmable quality ; nor compaliion without the opinion of fuffering. But it is no lefs true, that opln-on fometimes follows afTcdion, not that it ought, but that it adually does fo, by giving a faife Y bias lyo ESSAY III. CHAP, v.^ ijjas to our judgment. We are apt to be partial to our friends, and flill more to onrfelves. Hence the defire of fuperiorlty leads men to put an undue efllmation upon thofe things wherein they excel, or think they excel. And, by this means, pride may feed itlelf upon the very dregs of human nature. The fame defire of fuperiority may lead men to undervalue thofe things wherein they either defpair of excelling, or care not to make the exertion neceflary for that end. The grapes are four, faid the fox, when he faw them beyond his reach. The fame principle leads men to detract from the merit of others, and to impute their brighteft adions to mean or bad motives. He who runs a race feels uneafinefs at feeing another out- ftrip him. This is uncorrupted nature, and the work of God within him. But this uneafinefs may produce either of two ve- ry different effeds. It may incite him to make more vigorous exertions, and to flrain every nerve to get before his rival. This is fair and honefl emulation. This is the effecft it is in-- tended to produce. But if he has not fairnefs and candour of heart, he will look with an evil eye upon his competitor, and will endeavour to trip him, or to throw a ftumbling-block in his way. This is pure envy, the moft malignant paflion that can lodge In the human breaft j which devours, as its natural food, the fame and the happinefs of thofe who are moft deferving of our efleem. If there be, in feme men, a pronenefs to detrad from the charadler, even of perfons unknown, or indifferent, in others an avidity to hear and to propagate fcandal, to v,'hat principle in human nature muft we afcribe thefe qualities ? The failings of others furely add nothing to our worth, nor are they, in them- felves, a pleafant fubjed of thought or of difcourfe. But they flatter OF MALEVOLENT AFFECTION. 171 flatter pride, by giving an opinion of our fuperiority to thofe p^^^J- ^; from whom we detracit. Is it not poflible, that the fame defire of fuperiority may liave fome fecret influence upon thofe „who love to difplay their elo- quence in declaiming upon the corruption of human nature, and the wickednefs, fraud and infincerity of mankind in gene- ral ? It ought always to be taken for granted, that the declaimer is an exception to the general rule, otherwife he would rather chuie, even for his own fake, to draw a veil over the nakednefs of his fpecies. But, hoping that his audience will be fo civil as not to include him In the black defcription, he rifes fuperior by the deprefllon of the fpecies, and (lands alone, like Noah in the antediluvian world. This looks like envy agalnft the human race. It would be endlefs, and no ways agreeable, to enumerate all the evils and all the vices which paflion and folly beget upon emulation. Here, as in mofl cafes, the corruption of the bed things is the worft. In brute-animals, emulation has little matter to work upon, and its effeds, good or bad, are few. It may pro- duce battles of cocks and battles of bulls, and little elfe that is obfervablc. But in mankind, It has an infinity of matter to work upon, and its good or bad effects, according as it is well or ill regulated and directed, multiply in proportion. The conclufion to be drawn from what has been faid upon this principle is. That emulation, as far as it is a part of our conftitution, is highly ufeful and important in fociety ; that in the wife and good, it produces the bcft effedls without any harm ; but in the foolifh and vicious, it is the parent of a great part of the evils of life, and of the moft malignant vices that ftain human nature. We are next to confider refentmcnt. Y a Nature 17^ ESSAY HI. CHAP. V. Nature difpofes US, when we are hurt, to refift and retaliate, Befides the bodily pain occafioned by the hurt, the mind Is ruffled, and a defire raifed to retaliate upon the author of the hurt or injury. This, in general, is what we call anger or refent- ment. A very important diftindlion is made by Bifhop Butler "be- tween fudden refentment, which is a blind impulfe arifing from our conilitution, and that which is deliberate. The firfl may be raifed by hurt of any kind 5 but the laft can only be raiftd by injury real or conceived. The fame diftindlion is made by Lord Kames in his Elements of Critic'ifm. What Butler calls fudden, he calls infmnive. We have not, in common language, different names for thefe different kinds of refentment; but the diftindlion is very necef- fary, in order to our having jufl notions of this part of the hu- man conftitution. It correfponds perfedly with the diilinction I have made between the animal and rational principles of ac- tion. For this fudden or inftindlive refentment, is an animal principle common to us with brute-animals. But that refent- ment which the authors I have named call deliberate, muft fall under the clafs of rational principles. It is to be obferved, however, that, by referring it to that clafs, I do not mean, that it is always kept within the bounds that rea- fon prefcribes, but only that it is proper to man as a reafonable being, capable, by his rational faculties,, of diftinguifliing be- tween hurt and injury. ; a dillin<5lion which no brute-animal can make. Both thefe kinds of refentment are raifed, whether the hurt or injury be done to ourlelves, or to thole we are interefted in. Wherever OF MALEVOLENT AFFECTIONS 173 Wherever there Is any hencvolent aflcdion towards others, chap. v. we relent their wrongs, hi proportion to the rtrength of our af- fedion. Pity and lynipatliy with the fufTcrer, produce rcfent- mcnt againh the author of the fuffcring, as naturally as concern for ourfelves produces rcfentment of our own wrongs. I fliall full confider that rcfentment which I call animal, which BuTL£R calls fudJai, and Lord Kames injlin^ive. In every animal to which nature hath given the power oF hurting its enemy, we fee an endeavour to retaliate the ill that is done to it. Even a moufe will bite when it cannot run away. Perhaps there may be fome animals to whom nature hath given no offenfive weapon. To fuch, anger and refentmenc ■would be of no ufe ; and I believe we fliall find, that they never Ihew any fign of it. But there are few of this kind. Some of the more fagacious animals can be provoked to fierce anger, and retain it long. Many of them fhcw great animofity in defending their young, who hardly ftiew any in defending themfelves. Others refift every aflault made upon the flock or herd to which they belong. Bees defend their hive, wild beafls their den, and birds their nelL This fudden rcfentment operates In a fimilar manner in men and in brutes, and appears to be given by nature to both for the fame end, namely, for defence, even in cafes where there is no time for deliberation. It may be compared to that natural \\\- ftind, by which a man, who has loft his balance and begins to fall, makes a fudden and violent effort to recover hiuifclf, with- out uny intention or deliberation. In. fuch efforts, men. often exert a degree of mufcular flrength beyond 174 ESSAY III. ^'-^^^- '^i beyond what they are able to exert by a cahn determination of the will, and thereby fave themfelves from many a dangerous fail. By a like violent and fudden impulfe, nature prompts us to re- pel hurt upon the caufe of it, whether it be man or beaft. The inflindl before mentioned is folely defenfive, and is prompted by fear. This fudden refentment is offenlive, and is prompted by anger, but with a view to defence. Man, in his prefent ftate, is furrounded with fo many dangers from his own fpecies, from brute-animals, from every thing around him, that he has need of fome defenfive armour that fhall always be ready in the moment of danger. His reafon is of great ufe for this purpofe, when there is time to apply it. But, in many cafes, the mifchief would be done before reafon could think of the means of preventing it. The wifdom of nature hath provided two means to fupply this defedl of our reafon. One of thefe is the inftindl before men- tioned, by which the body, upon the appearance of danger, is inflantly, and without thought or intention, put in that pofture •which is proper for preventing the danger, orleflening it. Thus, we wink hard when our eyes are threatened ; we bend the body to avoid a ftroke j we make a fudden effort to recover our ba- lance, when in danger of falling. By fuch means we are guard- ed from many dangers which our reafon would come too late to prevent. But as offenfive arms are often the fureft means of defence, by deterring the enemy from an alTault, nature hath alfo pro- vided man, and other animals, with this kind of defence, by that fudden refentment of which we now fpeak, which outruns the quickeft determinations of reafon, and takes fire in an infl:ant, threatening the enemy with retaliation. The OF iMALEVOLENT AFFECTION. 175 .: The firft of thefe principles operates upon the defender only ; CHAP. v. but this operates both upon the defender and the affailant, in- f|)iring the former with courage and animofity, and ftriking ter- ror into the latter. It proclaims to all alT^ilants, what our ancient Scottifh kings did upon their coins, by the emblem of a thilllc, with this motto, Nemo me impune lacejfet. By this, in innume- rable cafes, men and hearts are deterred from doing hurt, and others thereby fecured from fuffering it. But as refentment fuppofes an objed on whom we may reta- liate, how comes it to pafs, that in brutes very often, and fome- times in our own fpecies, we fee it wreaked upon inanimate things, which are incapable of furtering by it ? Perhaps it might be a fufficient anfwer to this queftion, That pature ads by general laws, which, in fome particular cafes, may go beyond, or fall (liort of their intention, though they be. ever fo well adapted to it in general. But I confefs It feems to me impoflible, that there fliould be refentment againll a thing, which at that very moment is con- fidered as inanimate, and confequently incapable either of in- tending hurt, or of being punifhed. For what can be more ab- furd, than to be angry with the knife for cutting me, or with the weight for falling upon my toes ? There muft therefore, I conceive, be fome momentary notion or conception that the ob- ject of our refentment is capable of puniihment ; and if it be natural, before refledion, to be angry with things inanimate, it feems to be a necelFary confequence, that it is natural to think; that they have life and feeling. Several phenomena in human nature lead us to conjeclure that, in the earlieft period of life, we are apt to think every object about us to be animated. Judging of them, by ourfelvcs, ■we afcribe to them the feelings we are confcious of in ourlclvcs. So 176 ESSAY in. CHAP. V. So we Tee a little girl judges of her doll and of her 'play-things. And fo we fee rude nations judge of the heavenly bodies, of the elements, and of the fea, rivers, and fountains. If this be fo, it ought not to be faid, that by reafon and expe- rience, we learn to afcribe life and intelligence to things which we before confidered as inanimate. It ought rather to be faid, That by reafon and experience we learn that certain things are inanimate, to which at firfl; we afcribed life and intelligence. If this be true, it is lefs furprifing that, before reflexion, wc fliould for a moment relapfe into this prejudice of our early years, and treat things as if they had life, which we once be- lieved to have it. It does not much affedl our prefent argument, whether this be, or be not the caufe, why a dog purfues and gnafhes at the Hone that hurt him ; and why a man in a paffion, for lofing at play, fometimes wreaks his vengeance on the cards or dice. It is not ftrange that a blind animal impulfe ihould fometimes lofe its proper diredlion. In brutes this has no bad confequence ', in men the leaft ray of refledlion correds it, and fhews its ab- furdity. It is fufEciently evident, upon the whole, that this ludden, or animal refehtment, is intended by nature for our defence. It prevents mifchief by the fear of punifliment. It is a kind of penal ftatute, promulgated by nature, the execution of which is committed to the fufFerer. It may be expeifled indeed, that one who judges in his own caufe, will be difpofed to feek more than an equitable redrefs. But this difpofition is checked by the refentment of the other party. Yet OF MALEVOLENT AFFECTION. 177 Yet, in the ftate of nature, injuries once begun, will often be C"ap^v. reciprocated between the parties, until mortal enmity is produ- ced, and each party thinks himfclf fafe only in the dcllrudion of his enemy. This right of redrefling and punifliing our own wrongs, fo apt to be abufed, is one of thofe natural rights, which, in political fociety, is given up to the laws, and to the civil magiftratej and this indeed is one of the capital advantages we reap from the political union, that the evils arifing from ungoverned rcfent- ment are in a great degree prevented. Although deliberate refentment does not properly belong to the clafs of animal principles ; yet, as both have the fame name, and are diftinguilhed only by Philofophers, and as in real life they are commonly intermixed, I Ihall here make fome remarks upon it. A fmall degree of reafoa and refledion teaches a man that in- jury only, and not mere hurt, is a juft objed: of refentment to a rational creature. A man may fuffer grievoufly by the hand of another, not only without injury, but with the moft friendly intention ; as in the cafe of a painful chirurgical operation. Eve- ry man of common fenfe fees, that to refent fuch fuffcring, is tiot the part of a man, but of a brute. Mr Locke mentions a gentleman who, having been cured of raadnefs by a very harfh and offenfive operation, with great fenfe of gratitude, owned the cure as the grcateft obligation he could have received, but could never bear the fight of the ope- rator, becaufe it brought back the idea of that agony which he "had endured from his hands. In this cafe we fee diftindlly the operation both of the ani- mal, and of the rational princi])le. The firft produced an avt-r- Z iion 178 ESSAY III. CHA P. V. fion to the operator, which reafon was not able to overcome ; and probably in a weak mind, might have produced lafting re- fentment and hatred. But, in this gentleman, reafon lb far pre- vailed, as to make him fenfible that gratitude, and not refent- ment, was due. Suffering may give a bias to the judgment, and make us ap- prehend injury where no injury is done. But, I think, without an apprehenlion of injury, there can be no deliberate refent- nient. Hence, among enlightened nations, hoftile armies fight with- out anger or refentment. The vanquilhed are not treated as of- fenders, but as brave men who have fought for their country unfuccefsfuUy, and who are entitled to every office of humanity confiflent with the fafety of the conquerors. If we analyze that deliberate refentment which is proper to rational creatures, we fhall find that though it agrees with that which is merely animal in fome refpecls, it differs in others. Both are accompanied with an uneafy fenfation, which diflurbs the peace of the mind. Both prompt us to feek redrefs of our fufferlngs, and fecurity from harm. But, in deliberate refent- ment, there muft be an opinion of injury done or intended. And an opinion of injury implies an idea of iuftice, and confe- quently a moral faculty. The very notion of an injury is, that it is lefs than we may juflly claim J as, on the contrary, the notion of a favour is, that it is more than we can jullly claim. Whence it is evident, that juflice is the flandard, by which both a favoui', and an injury, are to be weighed and ellimated. Their very nature and definition con- fift in their exceeding or falling fhort of this ffandard. No man therefore, can have the idea either of a favour or of an injury, who has not the idea of juflice. That OF MALEVOLENT AFFECTION. 179 That vci-y idea of juftice which enters into cool and delibe- chap, v.^ rate refcntment, tends to rcftrain its excelTcs. For as there is injuftice in doing an injury, Co there is injuflice in punifliing it beyond meafure. To a man of candour and refledion, conrclournefs of the frail- ty of human nature, and that he has often flood in need of for- givenefs himlelf, the plcafure of renewing good underftanding, after it has been interrupted, the inward approbation of a gene- rous and forgiving difpofition, and even the irkfomenefs and un- eafjnefs of a mind rullled by refentment, plead ftrongly agaiuft its excelTes. Upon the whole, when we confider. That, on the one hand, every benevolent affedtion is pleafant in its nature, is health to the foul, and a cordial to the fpirits j That nature has made even the outward exprellion of benevolent affedtions in the counte- nance, pleafant to every beholder, and the chief ingredient of beauty in the human Jace divine ', That, on the other hand, every malevolent affection, not only in its faulty excefles, but in its moderate degrees, is vexation and difquiet to the mind, and even gives deformity to the countenance, it is evident that, by thefe fignals, nature loudly admonifhes us to ufe the former as our daily bread, both for health and pleafure, but to confider the latter as a naufeous medicine, which is never to be taken with- out neceffity j and even then in no greater quantity than the neccflity requires. Z 2 CHAP. ESSAY III. C H A P. VL Of Fajfion. BEFORE I proceed to confider the rational principles of ad ion, it is proper to obferve, that there are fome things belonging to the mind, which have great influence upon human condudl, by exciting or allaying, inflaming or cooling the ani- mal principles we have mentioned. Three of this kind deferve particular confideration. I {hall call them by the names of pajfton, difpofttmi, and opinion. The meaning of the word pajfton is not precifely afcertained, either in common difcourfe, or^in the writings of Philofophers. I think it is commonly put to fignify fome agitation of mind, which is oppofed to that ftate of tranquillity and compofure, in which a man is moll mafter of himfelf. The word iraflej, which anfwers to it in the Greek language, is, by Cicero, rendered by the \} ord perturbatio. It has always been conceived to bear analogy to a florm at fea, or to a tempeft in the air. It does not therefore fignify any thing in the mind that is conftant and permanent, but fomething that is occaflonal, and has a limited duration, like a ftorm or tempell. Palfion commonly produces fenfible effeds even upon the bo- dy. It changes the voice, the features, and the gefture. The ex- ternal figns of paflion have, in fome cafes, a great refemblance to thofe of madnefs ; in others, to thofe of melancholy. It gives of- ten O F P A S S I O N. i8i ten a deo^ree of mufcular force and agility to the body, far be- CHAP. VI. yond what it poUcHls in cahn moments. The effeds of pafTIon upon the mind are not lefs remarkable. It turns the thoughts involuntarily to the ohjedts related to it, fo that a man can hardly think of any thing elie. It gives often , a ftrange bias to the judgment, making a man quickfighted in every thing that tends to inflame his pafllon, and to juftify It, but blind to every thing that tends to moderate and allay it. Like a magic lanthorn, it raifes up fpeclres and apparitions that have no reality, and throws falfe colours upon every objed. It can turn deformity into beauty, vice Into virtue, and virtue into vice. The fentlments of a man under its influeiice will appear ab- furd and ridiculous, not only to other men, but even to himfelf when the ftorm is fpent and is fucceeded by a calm. Pafllon often gives a violent impulfe to the will, and makes a man do what he knows he fliall repent as long as he lives. That fuch are the effedls of pafllon, I think all men agree. They have been defcribcd in lively colours by poets, orators and moralifts, in all ages. But men have given more attention to the effeds of pafllon than to its nature ; and while they have co- pioufly and elegantly defcribed the former, they have not pre- cifely defined the latter. The controvcrfy between the ancient Peripatetics and the Stoics, with regard to the pafllons, was probably owing to their affixing diftcrent meanings to the word. The one feci maintain- ed, that the pafllons are good, and ufeful parts of our onft u- tion, while they are held under the government of reafon. The other fed, conceiving that nothing Is to be called palFion which does not, In fome degree, cloud and darken the underftanding, con- fidered all paliion as hortile to reafon, and therefore maintained, that, i82 ESSAY III. CHAP. VI. tjiat, in the wife man, paflion fliould have no exigence, but be utterly exterminated. If both feds had agreed about the definition of paflion, they would probably have had no difference. But while one con- fidered paflion only as the caufe of thofe bad effedls which it often produces, and the other confidered it as fitted by nature to produce good effeds, while it is under fubjedion to reafon, it does not appear that what one fedt jufl:ified, was the fame thing which the other condemned. Both allowed that no didlate of paflion ought to be followed in oppofition to reafon. Their dif- ference therefore was verbal more than real, and was owing to their giving different meanings to the fame word. The precife meaning of this word feems not to be more clear- ly afcertained among modern Philofophers. Mr Hume gives the name oipajftonto every principle of adion in the human mind ^ and, in confequence of this maintains, that every man is, and ought to be led by his paflions, and that the ufe of reafon is to be fubfervient to the paflions. Dr Hutch EsoN, confidering all the principles of adlion as fo many determinations or motions of the will, divides them into the calm and the turbulent. The turbulent, he lays, are our ap- petites and our paflions. Of the paflions, as well as of the calm determinations, he fays, that " fome are benevolent, others are " felfifti ; that anger, envy, indignation, and fome others, may " be either felfifli or benevolent, according as they arife from *' fome oppofition to our own interefts, or to thofe of our friends, *' or perfons beloved or efl:eemed." It appears, therefore, that this excellent author gives the name of pajfions, not to every principle of adion, but to fome, and to thofe O F P A S S I O N. 183 thofe only wlien they are turbulent and vehement, not wlicn CHAP. Vl. they are cahn and deliberate. Our natural dcfircs and affediions may be fo calm as to leave room for refledlion, ib that we find no difliculty in deliberating coolly, whether, in Inch a particular inftance, they ought ta be gratified or not. On other occafions, they may be fo importu- nate as to make deliberation very difficult, urging us, by a kind of violence, to their immediate gratification. Thus, a man may be fenfible of an injury without being in- flamed. He judges coolly of the injury, and of the proper means of redrefs. This is refentment without paJlion. It leaves to the man the entire command of himfelf. On another occafion, the fame principle of refentment rifes into a flame. His blood boils within himj his looks, his voice and his gefture are changed ; he can think of nothing but imme- diate revenge, and feels a flrong impulfe, without regard to con- fequences, to fay and do things which his cool reafon cannot juftify. This is the paflion of refentment. What has been fald of refentment may eafily be applied to other natural defires and affections. When they are fo calm as neither to produce any fenfible effedts upon the body, nor to darken the undcrfl:anding and weaken the power of felf-com- mand, they are not called paflions. But the fame principle, when it becomes fo violent as to produce thefe effeds upon the body and upon the mind, is a pallion, or, as Cicero very pro- perly calls it, a perturbation. It is evident, that this meaning of the word pajfion accords much better with its common ufe in language, than that which Mr Hume gives it. When 1^4 ESSAY III. CHAP^. When he fays, that men ought to be governed by their paf- fions only, and that the ufe of reafon is to be fubfervient to the paffiohs, this, at firft hearing, appears a (hocking paradox, re- pugnant to good morals and to common fenfe ; but, like moft other paradoxes, when explained according to his meaning, it is nothing but an abufe of words. For if we give the name oi pajfton to every principle of adlion, in every degree, and give the name of reafon folely to the power ■ of difcerning the fitnefs of means to ends, it will be true, that the ufe of reafon is to be fubfervient to the paflions. As I wifh to ufe words as agreeably as poffible to their com- mon ufe in language, I fhall, by the word pajfion mean, not any principle of adion dittind: from thofe defires and affedions be- fore explained, but fuch a degree of vehemence in them, or in any of them, as is apt to produce thofe efFeds upon the body or upon the mind which have been above defcribed. Our appetites, even when vehement, are not, I think, very commonly called paflions, yet they are capable of being in- flamed to rage, and in that cafe their effedts are very fimilar to thofe of the paflions ; and what is faid of one may be applied to both. Having explained what I mean by paflions, I think it unne- ceflary to enter into any enumeration of them, fince they diffei*, not in kind, but rather in degree, from the principles already enumerated. The common divifion of the paflions into defire and averfion, hope and fear, joy and grief, has been mentioned almofl: by eve- ry author who has treated of them, and needs no explic tion. But we may obferve, that thefe are ingredients or modifications, not O F P A S S J O N. i8j not of tlie paflions only, but of every principle of adion, ani- CHAP. VI mal and rational. All of them imply the defire of fome objedl j and the dcfire of an obje(5l cannot l)e without averfion to its contrary ; and, according as the oBjedt is prefent or abfent, dcfirc and averfion will be varioufly modified into joy or grief, hope or fear. It is evident, that defire and averfion, joy and grief, hojoe and fear, may be either calm and fedate, or vehement and pallionate. Pafllng thefe, therefore, as common to all principles of adlion, whether calm or vehement, I fliall only make fome obfervations on paffion in general, which tend to fliew its influence on hu- man condud. Firjl, It is paflion that makes us liable to ftrong temptations. Indeed, if we had no paflions, we fliould hardly be under any temptation to wrong condu<ft. For, when we view things calmly, and free from any of the falfe colours which paflion throws upon them, we can hardly fail to fee the right and the wrong, and to fee that the firfl is more eligible than the laft. I believe a cool and deliberate preference of ill to good is never the firfl: ftep into vice. *' When the woman faw that the tree was good for food, and " that it was pleafant to the eyes, and a tree to be defired to " make one wife, flie took of the fruit thereof and did eat, and " gave alfo to her hufljand with her and he did eat ; and the " eyes of them both were opened." Inflamed defire had blind- ed the eyes of their underflanding. Fix'd on the fruit flie gaz'd, which to behold Might tempt alone ; and in her cars the found A a Yet i86 ESSAY III. CHAP. vr. Yet rung of his perfuafive words impregn'd With reafon to her feemhig, and with truth. Fair to the eye, inviting to the tafte, Of virtue to make wife, what hinders then To reach and feed at once both body and mind. Milton. Thus our firfl parents were tempted to difobey their Maker, and all their poflerity are liable to temptation from the fame caufe. Paffion, or violent appetite, firfl blinds the underfland- ing, and then perverts the will. It is paflion, therefoi'e, and the vehement motions of appe- tite, that makes us liable, in our prefent flate, to flrong tempta- tions to deviate from our duty. This is the lot of human na- ture in the prefent period of our exiftence. Human virtue mufl gather flrength by ftruggle and effort. As infants, before they can walk wi,thout Humbling, mufl be ex- pofed to many a fall and bruife; as wrefllers acquire their flrength and agility by many a combat and violent exertion j fb it is in the noblefl powers of human nature, as well as the mean- eft, and even in virtue itfelf. It is not only made manifell by temptation and trial, but by thefe means it acquires its flrength and vigour. Men muft acquire patience by fuffering, and fortitude by be- ing expofed to danger, and every other virtue by fituations that put it to trial and exercife. This, for any thing we know, may be neceffary in the nature of things. It is certainly a law of nature with regard to man. Whether there may be orders of intelligent and moral crea- tures who never were fubjedl to any temptation, nor had their virtue O F P A S S I O N. 187 virtue put to any trial, we cannot without prefumption deter- CHAP.vi. mine. But it is evident, that this neither is, nor ever was the lot of man, not even in the (late of innocence. Sad, indeed, would be the condition of man, if the tempta- tions to which, by the conftitution of his nature, and by his cir- cumftances, he is liable, were irrefiftible. Such a flate would not at all be a flate of trial and difcipline. Our condition here is fuch, that, on the one hand, pafHon often tempts and folicits us to do wrong j on the other hand, reafon and confcience oppofe the didates of pafTion. The flefli lufteth againft the fpirit, and the fpirit againft the flefh. And upon the iflue of this conflid:, the charadler of the man and his fate de- pend. If reafon be vidorious, his virtue is (Irengthened ; he has the inward fatisfadion of having fought a good fight in behalf of his duty, and the peace of his mind is preferved. If, on the other hand, paflion prevails againft the fen{e of du- ty, the man is confcious of having done what he ought not, and might not have done. His own heart condemns him, and he is guilty to himfelf. This conflict between the paflions of our animal nature and the calm didatcs of reafon and confcience, is not a theory in- vented to folve the phaenomena of human condud, it is a fad, of which every man who attends to his own condud is con- fcious. In the moft ancient philofophy, of which we have any ac- count, I mean that of the Pythagorean fchool, the mind of man was compared to a ftate, or commonwealth, in which there are A a 2 variouc i88 ESSAY III. CHAP. VI. various powers, fome that ought to govern, and others that ought to be fubordinate. ' The good of the whole, which is the fupreme law in this, as in every commonweakh, requires that this fubordination be pre- ferved, and that the governing powers have always the afcendant over the appetites and paflions. All wife and good condud: con- fifts in this. All folly and vice in the prevalence of pallion over the dictates of reafon. This philofophy was adopted by Plato j and it is fo agree- able to what every man feels in himfelf, that it muft always pre- vail with men who think without bias to a fyflem. The governing powers, of which thefe ancient Philofophers fpeak, are the fame which I call the rational principles of adion, and which I fhall have occafion to explain. I only mention them here, becaufe, without a regard to them, the influence of the paflions, and their rank in our conftitution, cannot be di- flinctly underfl:ood. A fecond obfervation is, That the impulfe of pafllon is not al- ways to what is bad, but very often to what is good, and what our reafon approves. There are fome paflions, as Dr Hutc he- son obferves, that are benevolent, as well as others that are felfifli. The aflfedions of refentment and emulation, with thofe that fpring from them, from their very nature, difturb and difquiet the mind, though they be not carried beyond the bounds which reafon prefcribes ; and therefore they are commonly called paf- fions, even in their moderate degrees. From a fimilar caufe, the benevolent affedlions, which are placid in their nature, and are rarely carried beyond the bounds of reafon, are very feldom called paflions. We do not give the name of pafllon to bene- volence, O F P A S S I O N. 189 volcnce, gratitude, or fVIcndfliip. Yet wc mnft except from this CHAP. vi. gciu nil rule, love between the fexts, which, as it commonly dif- conipofes the mind, and is not eafily kept within reafonable bounds, is always called a paflion. All our natural defires and affedions are good and neceffary parts of our conftitution ; and paflion, being only a certain de- gree of vehemence in thefe, its natural tendency is to good, and it is by accident that it leads us wrong. Paflion is very properly faid to be blind. It looks not beyond the prefent gratification. It belongs to reafon to attend to the accidental circumfl;ances which may fometimes make that grati- fication impropiex or hurtful. When there is no impropriety in it, much more when it is our duty, paflion aids reafon, and gives additional force to its didates. Sympathy with the diflrefl'ed may bring them a charitable re- lief, when a calm fenfe of duty would be too weak to produce the effed. Objeds, either good or ill, conceived to be very diflant, when they are confidered coolly, have not that influence upon men which In reafon they ought to have. Imagination, like the eye, diminiflieth its objeds in proportion to their diftance. The paflions of hope and fear muft be raifed, in order to give fuch objeds their due magnitude in the imagination, and their due influence upon our condud. The dread of difgrace and of the civil maglflrate, and the ap- prehenfion of future punifliment, prevent many crimes, which bad men, without thefe reflralnts, would commit, and contribute greatly to the peace and good order of fociety. There is no bad adion which fome paflion may not prevent; nor I90 ESSAY III. CHAP, vr. jjQj. jg there any external good action, of which fome paflion may not be the main fpring ; and, it is very probable, that even the paflions of men, upon the whole, do more good to fociety than hurt. The ill that is done draws our attention more, and is imputed folely to human paflions. The good may have better motives, and charity leads us to think that it has ; but, as we fee not the heart, it is impoflible to determine what ihare men's paflions may have in its produdlion. The lajl obfervation is. That if we diflinguifli, in the effedts of our paflions, thofe which are altogether involuntary, and without the fphere of our power, from the effeds which may be prevented by an exertion, perhaps a great exertion, of felf- government ; we fliall find the firfl: to be good and highly ufeful, and the laft only to be bad. Not to fpeak of the effedls of moderate paflions upon the health of the body, to which fome agitation of this kind feems to be no lefs ufeful than ftorms and tempefl:s to the falubrity of the air; every paflion naturally draws our attention to its obje<S, and interefts us in it. The -mind of man is naturally defultory, and when it has no interefting obje6t in view, roves from one to another, without fixing its attention upon any one. A tranfient and carelefs glance is all that we beftow upon objeds in which we take no concern. It requires a ftrong degree of curiofity, or fome more important paflion, to give us that interefl: in an object which is necefl^ary to our giving attention to it. And, without attention, we can form no true and ft;able judgment of any objedt. Take away the paflions, and it is not eafy to fay how great a OF PASSION. 19T a part of mankind would refemble thofe frivolous tnortals, who CHAP, vi. never had a thought that engaged them in good earncft. It is not mere judgment or intelle<ftual ability that enables a man to excel in any art or fcience. He mufl: have a love and admiration of it bordering upon enthufiafm, or a pafllonate de- . fire of the fame, or of fome other advantage to be got by that excellence. Without this, he would not undergo the labour and fatigue of his faculties, which it requires. So that, I think, we may with juftice allow no fmall merit to the paflions, even in the difcoveries and improvements of the arts and fciences. If the pafllons for fame and diftindion were extinguifhed, it would be difficult to find men ready to undertake the cares and toils of government ; and few perhaps would make the exer- tion neceffary to raite themfelves above the ignoble vulgar. The involuntary figns of the paffions and difpofitions of the mind, in the voice, features, and a<flion, are a part of the human conftitution which deferves admiration. The fignification of thofe figns is known to all men by nature, and previous to all expe- rience. They are fo many openings into the fouls of our fellow-men, by which their fentiments become vifible to the eye. They are a natural language common to mankind, without which it would have been impoilible to have invented any artificial language. It is from the natural figns of the pafllons and difpofitions of the mind, that the human form derives its beauty ; that paint- ing, poetry, and mufic, derive their expreffion ; that eloquence derives it greateft force, and converfation its greatefl charm. The paffions, when kept within their proper bounds, give life and vigour to the whole man. Without them man would be a flng:. We 192 ESSAY III. CHAP. VI. We fee what pollfli and animation the paffion of love, when ho- nourable and not unfuccefsful, gives to both fexes. The paffion for military glory raifes the brave commander, in the day of battle, far above himfelf, making his countenance to fhine, and his eyes to fparkle. The glory of old England warms the heart even of the Britifh tar, and makes him defpife every danger. As to the bad effedls of paffion, it muft be acknowledged that it often gives a ftrong impulfe to what is bad, and what a man condemns himfelf for, as foon as it is done. But he muft be confcious that the impulfe, though ftrong, was not irrefiftible, otherwife he could not condemn himfelf. We allow that a fudden and violent paffion, into which a man is furprifed, alleviates a bad adlion ; but if it was irrefiflible, it would not only alleviate, but totally exculpate, which it never does, either in the judgment of the man himfelf,- or of others. To fum up all, paffion furnifhes a very ftrong inftance of the truth of the common maxim, That the corruption of the beft things is worft. CHAP. VII. 0/ D'tfpofition, BY difpofit'ton I mean a ftateof mind which, while it lafts, gives a tendency, or pronenefs, to be moved by certain animal principles, rather than by others ; while, at another time, ano- ther ftate of mind, in the fame perfon, may give the afcendant to other animal principles. It OF DISPOSITION. 195 It was before obfervecl, that it Is a property of oar appetites CTfAP. vii. to be periodical, cealing for a time, when fated by their objcds, and returning reguhirly after certain periods. Even thofe principles which are not periodical, l^ave their ebbs and flows occalionally, according to the prefcnt difpofition of the mind. Among fome of the principles of adion there is a natural affi- nity, lb that one of the tribe naturally difpofes to thofe which are allied to it. Such an affinity has been obferved by many good authors to be among all the benevolent affedtions. The exercife of one be- nevolent affedtion gives a pronenefs to the exercife of others. There is a certain placid and agreeable tone of mind which in common to them all, which feems to be the bond of that con- nedllon and affinity they have with one another. The malevolent affedions have alfo an affinity, and mutually difpofe to each other, by means, perhaps, of that difagreeable feeling common to them all, which makes the mind fore and uneafy. As far as we can trace the caufes of the dlflerent difpofitions of the mind, they fcem to be in fome cafes owing to thofe aflb- ciating powers of the principles of action, which have a natural affinity, and are prone to keep company with one another; fome- times to accidents of good or bad fortune, and fometimes, no doubt, the ftate of the body may have Influence upon the difpo- fition of the mind. At one time the (late of the mind, like a ferenc unclouded iky, fhews every thing in the moft agreeable light. Then a man B b is X94 ESSAY III. CHAP, VII. is prone to benevolence, compalHon, and every kind afFedion ; unfufpicious, not eafily provoked. The Poets have obferved that men have their mol/ia tempora fundi, when they are averfe from faying or doing a harfli thing ; and artful men watch thefe occafions, and know how to improve them to promote their ends. This difpofition, I think, we commonly call good humour^ of which, in the fair fex, INlr Pope fays, Good humour only teaches charms to laft, Still makes new conquefts, and maintains the paft. There is no difpofition more comfortable to the perfon him- felf, or more agreeable to others, than good humour. It is to the mind, what good health is to the body, putting a man in the capacity of enjoying every thing that is agreeable in life, and of ufmg every faculty without clog or impediment. It dif- pofes to contentment with our lot, to benevolence to all men, to fyttipathy with the diflrefled. It prefents every objed in the moft favourable light, and difpofes us to -avoid giving or taking offence. This happy difpofition feems to be the natural fruit of a good confcience, and a firm belief that the world is under a wife and benevolent adminiflration j and, when it fprings from this root, it is an habitual fentiment of piety. Good humour is likewife apt to be produced by happy fuccefs, or unexpeded good fortune. Joy and hope are favourable to itj. vexation and difappointment are unfavourable. The only danger of this difpofition feems to be. That if we are not upon our guard, it may degenerate into levity, and indifpofe OF DISPOSITION. 195 indifpofe us to a proper degree of caution, and of attention to the chap, vii. future coiifequences of our adions. There is a difpofition oppofitc to good humour which \vc call b^d humour, of which the tendency is diredlly contrary, and therefore its influence is as malignant, as that of the other is falutary. Bad humour alone is fufficient to make a man unhappy; it tin- ges every ohjert with its own difmal colour ; and, like a part that is galled, is hurt by every thing that touches it. It takes oflence where none was meant, and difpofes to dilcontcnt, jea- loufy, envy, and, in general, to malevolence. Another couple of oppofite difpofitions arc elatiou of mind, on the one hand, and deprejjioti, on the other. Thefe contrary difpofitions are both of an ambiguous nature ; their influence may be good or bad, according as they are grounded on true or falfe opinion, and according as they are regulated. That elation of mind which arifes from a juft fenfe of the dignity of our nature, and of the powers and faculties with which God hath endowed us, is true magnanimity, and difpofes a man to the noblefl: virtues, and the mofl: heroic a<5lions and enterprifes. There is alfo an elation of mind, which arifes from a confci- oufnefs of our worth and integrity, fuch as Job felt, when he faid, " Till 1 die, I will not remove my integrity from ine. '' My righteoufncfs 1 hold faft, and will not let it go ; my heart " fliall not reproach me while I live." This may be called the pride of virtue \ but it is a noble pride. It makes a man dif- B b 2 dain 196 ESSAY llf. CHAP VII. d-^in to do what is bafe or mean. This is the true fenfe of ho- nour. B;it tbere is an elation of mind arifing from a vain opinion of our having talents, or worth, which we have not ; or from putting an undue value upon any of our endowments of mind, body, or fortune. This is pride, the parent of many odious vices ; fach as arrogance, undue contempt of others, felf-par- tiality, and vicious felf-Iove. The oppofite difpofition to elation of mind, is deprellion, which alfo has good or bad efFecT:s, according as it is grounded upon true or falfe opinion. A jufl fenfe of the weaknefs and imperfedlions of human na- ture, and of our own perfonal faults and defeds, is true humi- lity. It is not to think of ourfelves above what ive ought to think ; a moft falutary and amiable difpofition ; of great price in the fight of God and man. Nor is it inconfifl:ent with real magna- nimity and greatnefs of foul. They may dwell together with great advantage and ornament to both, and be faithful monitors againll; the extremes to which each has the greatefl tendency. But there is a deprefiion of mind which is the oppofite to mag- nanimity, which debilitates the fprings of adlion, and fi-eezes every fentimeut that ihould lead to any noble exertion or enter- prife. Suppofe a man to have no belief of a good adminiftration of the world, no conception of the dignity of virtue, no hope of happinefs in another fi^ate. Suppofe hiin, at the fame time, in a ftate of extreme poverty and dependence, and that he has no higher aim than to fupply his bodily wants, or to minifter to the pleafure, or flatter the pride of fome being as worthlefs as him- felf. Is not the foul of fuch a man deprefled as much as his body OF D r ^ ]W^ S I T I O N. ufj body or bis fortune? And, if fortune fliould fnillc upon him CHAP. vii. while he retains the fame fentiments, lie is only the ll.ive of for- tune. His mind is deprefled to the ftate of a hrute ; and his human faculties ferve only to make him feel that deprellion. Depreillon of mind may be owing to melancholy, a diftempcr of mind ^vhich jiroceeds from the Hate of the body, which throws a difmal gloom upon every objed of thought, cuts all the hnews of action, and often gives rife to ftrange and abfurd opinions in religion, or in other intcrefling matters. Yet, where there is real worth at bottom, fome rays of iu will break forth even in this deprefled ftate of mind. A remarkable inflance of this was exhibited in Mr Simon Broun, a difl'enting clergyman in England, who, by melancho- ly, was led into the belief that his rational foul had gradually decayed within him, and at laft was totally extind:. From this belief he gave up his miniflerial fundlion, and would not even join with others in any act of v/orlhip, conceiving it to be a pro- fanation to worlliip God without a foul. Tn this difmal ftate of mind, he wrote an excellent defence of the Chriftian religion, againlt Tindal's Chr'ijl'iamty as old as the Creation. To the book he prefixed an epiftle dedicatory to Qiieen Caroline, wherein he mentions, " That he was once a *' man, but, by the immediate hand of God, for his fins, his '' very thinking fubfiancc has, for more than feven years, been " continually wafting away, till it is wholly perilhed out of " him, if it be not utterly come to nothing.'' And, having heard of her M;ijefty's eminent piety, he begs the aid of her prayers. The book was publiflied after his death without tlic dedica- tion, which, however, having been preferved in manufcrij^t, was afterwards printed in the Adventurer, No. 88. Thus 198 ESSAY III. CHAP. VII. Thus this good man, when he believed that he had no foul, fhewed a mod: generous and difmterefted concern for thole who had fouls. As depreffioa of mind may produce flrange opinions, efpeci- ally in the cafe of melancholy, fo our opinions may have a very confidei-able influence, either to elevate or to deprefs the mind, even where there is no melancholy. Suppofe, on one hand, a man who believes that he is deflin- ed to an eternal exiflcnce ; that he who made, and who governs the world, maketh account of him, and hath furnifhed him with the means of attaining a high degree of perfection and glory. With this man compare, on the other hand, the man who be- lieves nothing at all, or who believes that his exiftence is only the play of atoms, and that, after he hath been tofled about by blind fortune for a few years, he fhall again return to nothing : Can it be doubted, that the former opinion leads to elevation and greatnefs of mind, the latter to meannefs and depreffion ? CHAP. VIII. Of Opinion. WHEN we come to explain the rational principles of ac- tion, it will appear, that opinion is an eflential ingredi- ent in them. Here we are only to confider its influence upon the animal principles. Some of thofe I have ranked in that clafs cannot, I think, exift in the human mind without it. Gratitude fuppofes the opinion of a favour done or intended j refentment the opinion of an injury ; efteem the opinion of me- rit ; the paflion of love fuppofes the opinion of uncommon me- rit and perfedion in its objed. Although O F O P I N I O N. 199 Altliough natural atredion to parents, children, and near rela- CHAP.vilf. tions, is not grounded on the opinion of their merit, it is much increafed by that eonfideration. So is every benevolent affec- tion. On the contrary, real malevolence can hardly exifl with- out the opinion of demerit in the objed. There is no natural defire or averfion, which may not be re- trained by opinion. Thus, if a man were athirfl, and had a ftrong" defire to drink, the opinion that there was poifon in the cup would make him forbear. It is evident, that hope and fear, which every natural defire or affection may create, depend upon the opinion of future good or ill. Thus it appears, that our palllons, our difpofitions, and our opinions, have great influence upon our animal principles, to- flrengthen or weaken, to excite or reftrain them ; and, by that means, have great influence upon human adions and charaders. That brute-animals have both pailions and difpofitions fimilar, in many refpeds, to thofe of men, cannot be doubted. Whe- ther they have oj)inions, is not fo clear. I thiiik they have not, in the proper fenfe of the word. But, waving all difpute upon this point, it will be granted, that opinion in men has a much wider field than in brutes. No man will fay, that they have fyftems of theology, morals, jurifprudence or politics ; or that they can reafon from the laws of nature, in mechanics, medii- cine, or agriculture. They feel the evils or enjoyments that are prcfent j probably they imagine thofe which experience has aflbciated with what they feel. But they can take no large profped cither of the pad or of the future, nor fee through a train of confequences. ■ A 200 ESSAY III. <■ .. ■» CHAP. VIII. A dog may be deterred from eating what is before him, by the fear of immediate punilhment, which he has felt on Hke occa- fions ; but he is never deterred by the confideration of health, or of any diftant good. I have been credibly informed, that a monkey, having once been intoxicated with ftrong drink, in confequence of which it burnt its foot in the fire, and had a fevere fit of ficknefs, could never after be induced to drink any thing but pure water. 1 be- lieve this is the utmoft pitch which the faculties of brutes can reach. From the influence of ■ opinion upon the condud: of mankind we may learn, tbnr it is one of the chief inflruments to be ufed In the difciplii e and government of men. All men, in the early part of life, mufl; be under the difci- pline and government of parents and tutors. Men, who live in fociety, muft be under the government of laws and magiflrates, through life. The government of men is undoubtedly one of the nobleft exertions of human power. And it is of great im- portance, that thofe who have any fliare, either in domeftic or civil government, fhould know the nature of man, and how he is to be trained and governed. Of all inflruments of government, opinion is the fweeteft, and the mofl agreeable to the nature of man. Obedience that flows from opinion, is real freedom, which every man defires. That which is extorted by fear of punifliment, is flavery ; a yoke which is always galling, and which every man will fliake off when it is in his power. The opinions of the bulk of mankind have always been, and vill always be, what they are taught by thofe whom they efteem to O F O P I N I O N. 201 to be wife and good ; and, therefore, in a confidcrablo degree, chap. v ill, are in the power of thofe who govern them. Man, uncorrupted by bad habits and bad opinions, is of all animals the moll: tractable ; corrupted by thefe, he is of all animals the mofl untradlable. I apprehend, therefore, that, if ever civil government Hiall be brought to perfedion, it muft be the principal care of the '' ftate to make good citi^^ens by proper education, and proper in- ftruction and dilcipline. The mofl ufcful part of medicine is that which ftrcngthens the conrtitution, and prevents difeafes by good regimen ; the reft is fomewhat like propping a ruinous fabric at great expence, and to little purpofe. The art of government is the medicine of the mind, and the moft ufeful part of it is that which pre- vents crimes and bad habits, and trains men to virtue and good habits, by proper education and difcipline. The end of government is to make the fociety happy, which can only be done by making it good and virtuous. That men in general will be good or bad members of focietv, according to the education and difcipline by whicli they have been trained, experience may convince us. The prefent age has made great advances in the art of train- ing men to military duty. It will not be faid, that thofe who enter into that fervice are more tradable than their fcllow-fub- jeds of other profcfTions. And I know not why it iliould be thought impolFible to train men to equal pcrfedion in the other duties of good citizens. What an immenfe dilTerence is there, for the purpofe of war, C c between 202 ESSAY III. CHAP. VIII between an army properly trained, and a militia haflily drawn out of the multitude ? What fnould hinder us from thinking, that, for every purpofe of civil government, there may be a like difference between a civil fociety properly trained to virtue, good habits and right fentiments, and thofe civil focieties which we now behold ? But 1 fear 1 flaall be thought to digrefs from xny fubjed: into Utopian fpeculation. To make an end of what I have to fay upon the animal prin- ciples of adtion, we may take a complex view of tb.eir eirtcl in life, by fuppofing a being at!tuated by principles of no higher order, to have no confcience or fenfe of duty, only let us allow him that fuperiority of underflanding, and that power of felf- government which man adually has. Let us fpeculate a little upon this imaginary being, and conlider what condud and tenor of adion might be expeded from him. It is evident he would be a very different animal from a brute, and perhaps not very different, in appearance, from what a great part of mankind is» He would be capable of confidering the diftant confequences of his adions, and of reftraining or indulging his appetites, de- fires and affcdions, from the confideration of diftant good or evil. He would be capable of chufing fome main end of his life, and planning fuch a rule of condud as appeared moft fubfervi- ent to it. Of this we have reafon to think no brute is capable. We can perhaps conceive fuch a balance of the animal prin- ciples of adion, as, with very little felf-government, might make a man to be a good member of fociety, a good companion, and to have many amiable qualities. The OF OPINION. 203 The balance of our animal principles, 1 think, conftitntcs CHAP.vni. what we call a man's natural temper; which may be good or bad, without regard to his virtue. A man in whom the benevolent aflecftions, the dcfire of efteem and good humour are naturally prevalent, who is of a calm and difpalllonate nature, who has the good fortune to live with good men, and allbciate with good companions, may be- have properly with little eflbrt. His natural temper leads him, in mod cafes, to do what virtue requires. And if he happens not to be expofed to thofc trying fituations, in which virtue crolTes the natural bent of his tem- per, he has no great temptation to adl amils. But perhaps a happy natural temper, joined with fuch a happy fituation, is moie ideal than real, though no doubt fome men make nearer approaches to it than others. The temper and the fituation of men is commonly fuch, that the animal principles alone, without felf-governincnt, would never produce any regular and confillent train of condudl. One principle croffes another. Without felf-government, that which is ftrongeft at the time will prevail. And that which is weakeft at one time may, from pallion, from a change of difpo- fition or of fortune, become rtrongeft at another time. Every natural appetite, defire and affedion, has its own prc- fent gratification only in view. A man, therefore, who has no other leader than thefe, would be like a Ihip in the ocean with- out hands, which cannot be faid to be deflined to any port. He would have no charader at all, but be benevolent or fpiteful, pleafant or morofe, honed or dillionefl, as the prefcnt wind of pallion or tide of humour moved him. C c ^ Every 204 ESSAY III. CHAP. VIII. Every man who purfues an end, be it good ox* bad, muft be adlive when he is difpofed to be indolent ; he muft rein every pafllon and appetite that would lead him out of his road. Mortification and felf-denial are found not in the path of vir- tue only, they are common to every road that leads to an end, be it ambition, or avarice, or even pleafure itfelf. Every man who maintains an uniform and confiftent charadler, muft fweat and toil, and often ftruggle with his prefent inclination. Yet thofe who fteadily purfue fome end in life, though they muft often reftrain their ftrongeft defires, and praclife much felf-denial, have, upon the whole, more enjoyment than thofe who have no end at all, but to gratify the prefent prevailing in- clination. A dog that is made for the chafe, cannot enjoy the happinefs of a dog without that exercife. Keep him within doors, feed him with the moft delicious fare, give him all the pleafures his nature is capable of, he foon becomes a dull, torpid, unhappy animal. No enjoyment can fupply the want of that employ- ment which nature has made his chief good. Let him hunt, and neither pain nor hunger nor fatigue feem to be evils. De- prived of this exercife, he can relifh nothing. Life itfelf be- comes burdcnfome. It is no difparagement to the human kind to fay, that man, as well as the dog, is made for hunting, and cannot be happy but in fome vigorous purfuit. He has indeed nobler game to purfue than the dog, but he muft have fome purfuit, otherwife life ftagnates, all the faculties are benumbed, the fpirits flag, and his exiftence becomes an unfupportable burden. Even the mere foxhunter, who has no higher purfuit than his dogs, has more enjoyment than he who has no purfuit at all. He O F O P I N I O N. 205 He has an end in view, and this invigorates his fpirits, makes CHAV.vni. him defpife pleafiire, and hear cold, hunger and fatigue, as if they were no evils. Manet fub Jove frigido Venator, tenerae conjugis immemor, Sen vifa eft catulis cerva fidclibus Seu rupit teretes marfus aper plagas. ESSAY III. PART III. Of the Rational Principles of Adion. CHAP. I. There are Rational Principles of A6lion in Man. MECHANICAL principles of adion produce their efTedl with- out any will or intention on our part. We may, by a voluntary effort, hinder the effecl: ; but if it be not hindered by will and effort, it is produced without them. Animal principles of action require intention and will in their operation, but not judgment. They are, by ancient mo- ralifts, very properly called caca cupidincs, blind defires. Having treated of thefe two clafles, I proceed to the third, the rational principles of atflion in man,; wiiich have that name, becaufe they can have no exiftcnce in beings not endowed with reafon, and, in all their exertions, require, not only intention .and will, but judgment or rcafou. That 266 ESSAY III. CHAP. I. That talent which we call reafon, by which men that are adult and of a found mind, are diftinguifhed from brutes, idiots, and infants, has, in all ages, among the learned and unlearned, been conceived to have two offices, to regulate our belief, and to re- gulate our adlions and condudt. Whatever we believe, we think agreeable to reafon, and, on that account, yield our afTent to it. Whatever we difbelieve, we think contrary to reafon, and, on that account, diffent from it. Rea- fon therefore is allowed to be the principle by which our belief and opinions ought to be regulated. But reafon has been no lefs univerfally conceived to be a prin- ciple, by which our adlions ought to be regulated. To ad reafonably, is a plirafe no lefs common in all languages, than to judge reafonably. We immediately approve of a man's condud, when it appears that he had good reafon for what he did. And every adion we difapprove, we think unreafonable, or con- trary to reafon. A way of fpeaking fo univerfal among men, common to the learned and the unlearned in all nations, and in all languages, muft have a meaning. To fuppofe it to be words without mean- ing, is to treat, with undue contempt, the common fenfe of man- kind. Suppofing this phrafe to have a meaning, we may confider in what way reafon may ferve to regulate human conduct, fo that fome adions of men are to be denominated reafonable, and o- thers unreafonable. I take it for granted, that there can be no exercife of reafon without judgment, nor, on the other hand, any judgment of things, abftract and general, without fome degree of reafon. If RATIONAL PRINCIPLES OF ACTION IN MAN. 207 If, therefore, there be any principles of adion in the hiimnn CHAP. r. conllitution, which, in their nature, nccefllirily imply ftich judjr. "^ ' ment, they are the principles which we may call rational, to di- ftinguifh them from animal principles, which hnply clefirc and will, but not judgment. Every deliberate human adlion muft be done either as the means, or as an end ; as the means to fome end, to which it is fubfervlt-nt, or as an end, for its own fake, and without regard ■ to any thing beyond it. That it is a part of the office of reafon to determine, what are the proper means to any end which we defire, no man ever denied. But fome Philolbphers, particularly Mr Hume, think that it is no part of the oflice of reafon to determine the ends we ought to purfuc, or the preference due to one end above ano- ther. This, he thinks, is not the otlice of reafon, but of tafte or feeling. If this be fo, reafon cannot, with any propriety, be called a principle of a(fkion. Its office can only be to minifter to the principles of adion, by difcovering the means of their gratifica- tion. Accordingly Mr Hume maintains, that reafon is no prin- ciple of adlion ; but that it is, and ought to be, the fervant of the paflions. I iliall endeavour to fhew, that, among the various ends of human adions, there are fome, of which, without reafon, we could not even form a conception ; and that, as foon as they are conceived, a regard to them is, by our conflitution, not only a principle of acflion, but a leading and governing principle, to which all our animal principles are fubordlnate, and to which they ought to be fubjed. Thefe 1 fliall call rational principles > becaufe they can exift only 2o8 ESSAY III, CHAP. I.^ only in beings endowed with reafon, and becaufe, to adl from thefe principles, is what has always been meant by adling accord- ing to reafon. The ends of human adions I have in view, are two, to wit, What is good for us upon the whole, and what appears to be our duty. They are very ftridliy conne(5ted, lead to the fame courfe of condudt, and co-operate with each other ; and, on that account, have commonly been comprehended under one name, that of reafon. But as they may be disjoined, and are really diftindt principles of adiion, I fhall confider them feparately. CHAP. II. Of Regard to our Good on the Whole. IT will not be denied that man, when he comes to years of underftanding, is led by his rational nature, to form the con- ception of what is good for him upon the whole. How early in life this general notion of good enters into the mind, I cannot pretend to determine. It is one of the mod ge- neral and abftradl notions we form. Whatever makes a man more happy, or more perfedl, is good, and is an object of defire as foon as we are capable of forming the conception of it. The contrary is ill, and is an objed of averflon. In the firft part of life we have many enjoyments of various kinds ; but very fimilar to thofe of brute-animals. They confift in the exercife of our fenfes and powers of mo- tion. OF REGARD TO OUR GOOD ON THE WHOLE. 209. tion, the gratification of our appetites, and the exertions of our CHAP. U. kind affedions. Thcfe are chequered with many evils of pain, and fear, and cUfapiJointnient, and fympathy with the fufll-rings of others. But the goods and evils of this period of life are of (hort du- ration, and foon forgot. The mind being regardlefs of the part, and unconcerned about the future, we have then no other inea- fure of good but tlie prefent delirej no other meafure of evil but the prefent avcrfion. Every animal defire has fome particular and prefent objedl, and looks not beyond that objedt to its confequences, or to the *- connexions it may have with other things. The prefent objed, which is moft attrad;ive, or excites the flrongeft; defire, determines the choice, whatever be its confe- quences. The prefent evil that prefles moft, is avoided, though it fliould be the road to a greater good to come, or tlie only way to efcape a greater evil. This is the way in which brutes adt, and the way in which men rauft adl:, till they come to the ufe of reafon. As we grow up to underftanding, we extend our view both forward and backward. We refle(fl: upon what is part, and, by the lampof experience, difcern what will probably happen in time to come. We find that many things which we eagerly defired, were too dearly purchafed, and that things grievous for the pre- fent, like naufeous medicines, may be falutary in the ilTue. We leam to obferve the conne<flions of things, and the con- fequences of our actions j and, taking an extended view of our exillence, pad, prefent, and future, we correCl our firrt notions of good and ill, and form the conception of what is good or ill upon the whole ; which muft be elUmated, not from the prefent D d feeling, 2IO ■' ESSAY III. CHAP. IL feeling, or from the prefent animal defire or averfion, but from a due confideration of its confequences, certain or probable, during the whole of our exiftence. That which, taken with all its difcoverable connections and confequences, brings more good than ill, I call good upon the whole. That brute-animals have any conception of this good, I fee no reafon to believe. And it is evident, that man cannot have the conception of it, till reafon is fo far advanced, that he can ferioufly refleft upon the paft, and take a profpedt of the future part of his exiftence. It appears therefore, that the very conception of what is good or ill for us upon the whole, is the offspring of reafon, and can be only In beings endowed with reafon. And if this concep- tion give rife to any principle of adiion in man, which he had not before, that principle may very properly be called a rational principle of a6tion. I pretend not in this to fay any thing that is new, but what reafon fuggefted to thofe who firft turned their attention tothephi- lofophy of morals. I beg leave to quote one paffage from Cicero,.. in his nrft book of Offices ; wherein, with his ufual elegance, he expreffes the fubftance of what I have fald. And there is good reafon to think that Cicero borrowed it from Pan^tius, a Greek Philofopher, whofe books of Offices are lofl. " Sed Inter homlnem et belluam hoc maxime Interefl, quod " haec tantum quantum fenfu movetur, ad id folum quod adefl, " quodque praefens eft fe accommodat, paululum admodum ^tn- ", tiens prasteritum aut futurum : Homo autem quoniam rationis " eft partlceps, per quam confequentia cernit, caufas rerum videt, *' earumque praegreflus et quafi antecefliones non ignorat ; fimi- *' litudines comparat, et rebus praefentibus adjungit atque an- " nedit OF REGARD TO OUR GOOD ON THE WHOLE. 211 " nedit futuras ; facile totius vitx curfum viJct ad eamque de- chap. ii. '* gendam preparat res neceflarias.'' I obferve, in the next place. That as foon as we have the con- ception of what is good or ill for us upon the wliole, we are led, by our conrtitution, to feek the good and avoid the ill ; and this beoomes not only a principle of adion, but a leading or governing principle, to which all our animal principles ought to be fubordinate. I am very apt to think, with Dr Price, tliat, in intelligent beings, the deilre of what is good, and averfion to what is ill, is neceflarily conneded with the intelligent nature ; and that it is a contradidion to fuppofe fuch a being to have the notion of good without the defire of it, or the notion of ill without aver- fion to it. Perhaps there may be other necefTfiry connedions between underftanding and the bell principles of adion, which our faculties arc too weak to difcern. That they are neceflari- ly conneded in him who is perfed in underflanding, we have good rcafon to believe. To prefer a greater good, though diftant, to a Icfs that is pre- fent ; to chufe a prefent evil, in order to avoid a greater evil, or to obtain a greater good, is, in the judgment of all men, wife and reafonable condud ; and, when a man acts the contrary part, all men will acknowledge, that he ads foolilhly and unrea- fonably. Nor will it be denied, that, in innumerable cafes in common life, our animal principles draw us one way, while a re- gard to what is good on the whole, draws us the contrary wav. Thus the flefh lurteth againrt the fpirit, and the ijiirit againft the flcih, and thefe two are contrary. That in every conflid of this kind the rational principle ought to prevail, and the animal to be fubordinate, is too evident to need, or to admit of proof. Thus, I think, it appears, that to purfue what is good up- D d 2 on 212 ESSAY III. CHAP. II. on the whole, and to avoid what is ill upon the whole, is a rational principle of adion, grounded upon our conftitution as reafonable creatures. It appears that It Is not without juft caufe, that this principle of action has in all ages been called reafon^ in oppolition to our animal principles, which in common language are called by the general name of the pajftons. The firft not only operates in a calm and cool manner, like reafon, but implies real judgment in all its operations. The fe- cond, to wit, the paflions, are blind defires of fome particular obje(5l, without any judgment or confideration, whether it be good for us upon the whole, or ill. It appears alfo, that the fundamental maxim of prudence, and of all good morals, That the paflions ought, in all cafes, to be under the dominion of reafon, is not only felf-evident, when rightly underftood, but is exprefled according to the common ufe and propriety of language. The contrary maxim maintained by Mr Hume, can only be defended by agrofs and palpable abufe of words. For, in order to defend it, he muft include under the pajjions, that very principle which has always, in all languages, been called reafon, and never was, in any language, called a pajfton. And from the meaning of the word reafon he mufl exclude the mod important part of it, by which we are able to difcern and to purfue what appears to be good upon the whole. And thus, including the mofl important part of reafon under pailion, and making the leafl important part of reafon to be the whole, he defends his favourite para- dox, That reafon is, and ought to be, the fervant of the paf^ fions. To judge of what is true or falfe in fpeculative points, is the office OF REGARD TO OUR GOOD ON THE WHOLE. office of fpcculntive rcafon ; and to judge of what is good or ill CHAP. ii. for us upon the whole, is the office of practical rcafon. Of true and falfe there are no degrees ; but of good and ill there are many degrees, and niajiy kinds ; and men are very apt to form erroneous opinions concerning them j miflcd by their pafTions, by the authority of the multitude, and by other caufes. Wife men, in all ages, have reckoned it a chief point of wif- do:ii, to make a right cftimate of the goods and evils of life. They have laboured to difcover the errors of the multitude on this important point, and to warn others againft them. The ancient moraliits, though divided into feds, all agreed in this, That opinion has a mighty influence upon what we com- monly account the goods and ills of life, to alleviate or to ag- gravate them. The Stoics carried this fo far, as to conclude that they all de- pend on opinion. n«'>T« 'TTroXn^if was a f^ivourite maxim with them. We fee, indeed, that the fame ftation or condition of life, which makes one man happy, makes another miferable, and to a third is perfedly indifferent. We fee men miferable through life, from vain fears, and anxious defires, grounded folely upon wrong opinions. \\'e fee men wear thcmfelves out with toil- fome days, and fleeplefs nights, in purfuit of fome objecft which they never attain ; or which, when attained, gives little fatisfac- tion, perhaps real difguft. The evils of life, which every man mufl feel, have a very dif- ferent efTecil upon different men. What finks one into defpair and abfolute mifery, roufes the virtue and magnanimity of ano- ther, who bears it as the lot of humanity, and as the difcipliuc of 214 ESSAY III. CHAP. II. Qf r^ ^yjfg aj^(j merciful father in heaven. He rife s fuperior to adverfity, and is made wifer and better by it, and confequently happier. It is therefore of the lafl importance, in the conduct of life, to have juft opinions with refpedl to good and evil ; and furely it is the province of reafon to corredl wrong opinions, and to lead us into thofe that are juft and true. It is true indeed, that men's paffions and appetites, too often, draw them to a6l contrary to their cool judgment and opinion of what is beft for them. Video tneUora proboque, deteriorafequor, is the cafe in every wilful deviation from our true intereft and our duty. When this is the ca(e, the man is felf-condemned, he fees that ' he a6led the part of a brute, when he ought to have adled the part of a man. He is convinced that reafon ought to have re- ftrained his paflion, and not to have given the rein to it. When he feels the bad effeds of his condutfl, he imputes them to himfelf, and would be flung with remorfe for his folly, though he had no account to make to a fuperior being. He has finned, againft himfelf, and brought upon his own head the punifhment which his folly deferved. From this we may fee, that this rational principle of a regard to our good upon the whole, gives us the conception of a right: and a wrong in human condud, at lead of a wife and ^ fooU/I}. It produces a kind of felf-approbatlon, when the paffions and appetites are kept in their due fubjedion to it ; and a kind of re- morfe and compundion, when it yields to them. In thefe refpeds, this principle is fo fimilar to the moral prin-. ciple, OF REGARD TO OUR GOOD ON THE WHOLE. 21^ ciple, or confciencc, and fo interwoven with it, that both are chap. iir. commonly coinprcheiuled under the name of r^^//. This fimi- larity led many of the ancient Philofophers, and fome among the moderns, to refolve confcience, or a CtinCc of duty, entirely into a regard to what is good for us upon the whole. That they are diftindl principles of adion, though both lead to the Came condud in life, I Ihall have occafion to fhew, when I come to treat oC confcience. CHAP. III. 7'he Tendency of this Principle. IT has been the opinion of the wifeft men, in all ages, that this principle, of a regard to our good upon the whole, in a man duly enlightened, leads to the pradice of every virtue. This was acknowledged, even by Epicurus ; and the beft mo- ralifts among the ancients derived all the virtues from this prin- ciple. For, among them, the whole of morals was reduced to this queftion, What is the greatelt good ? Or what courfe of condud is beft for us upon the whole ? In order to refolve this queftion, they divided goods into three clafles, the goods of the body ; the goods of fortune, or external goods, and the goods of the mind ; meaning, by the laft, wifdon^ and virtue. Comparing thefe different claffes of goods, they ftiewed, with convincing evidence, that the goods of the mind arc, in many refpeds, fuperior to ihofe of the body and of fortune, not only as they have more dignity, are more durable, and lefs expofed to 2i6 ESSAY III. CHAP. III. to the ftrokes of fortune, but chiefly as they are the only goods in our power, and which depend wholly on our condudt. Epicurus himfelf maintained, that the wife man may be hap- py in the tranquillity of his mind, even when racked with pain, and ilruggling with adveriity. They obferved very juftly, that the goods of fortune, and even thofe of the body, depend much on opinion j and that, when our opinion of them is duly corre(5ted by reafon, we fhall find them of (mail value in themfelves. How can he be happy who places his happinefs in things which it is not in his power to attain, or in things from which, when attained, a fit of ficknefs, or a flroke of fortune, may tear him afunder. The value we put upon things, and our uneafinefs in the want of them, depend upon the ftrength of our defires j corred the defire, and the uneafinefs ceafes. The fear of the evils of body and of fortune, is often a greater evil than the things we fear. As the wife man moderates his defires by temperance, fo, to real or imaginary dangers, he. oppofes the fhield of fortitude and magnanimity, which raifes him above himfelf, and makes him happy and triumphant in thofe moments wherein others are mofl raiferable. Thefe oracles of reafon led the Stoics fo faras to maintain. That all defires and fears, with regard to things not in our power, ought to be totally eradicated ; that virtue is the only good I, that what we call the goods of the body and of fortune, are really things indifferent, which may, according to circum- ftances, prove good or ill, and therefore have no intrinfic good- nefs in themfelves ; that our fole bufinefs ought to be, to adl our THE TENDENCY OF THIS PRINCIPLE. 217 our part well, and to do what is right, without the lead concern CH \P. IH. about things not in our power, which we ought, with perfect acquicfcencc, to leave to the care of hiin who governs the world. This noble and elevated conception of human wifdom and duty was taught by Socrates, free from the extravagancies which the Stoics afterwards joined with it. We fee it in the Alcibiades of Plato ; from which Juvemal hatii taken it in his tenth fatire, and adorned it with the graces of poetry. Omnibus in terris quae funt a gadibus ufque Auroram et Gangen, pauci dignofcere poflunt Vera bona, atque illis multum diverfa, remota Erroris nebula. Qiiid cnim ratione tiniemus ? Aut cupimus ? Qiiid tarn dextera pede concupis ut te Conatus non poeniteat, votique peradli ? Nil ergo optabunt homines ? Si concilium vis, Permittes Ipfis expendere numinibus, quid Conveniat nobis, rebufque fit utile noftris. Nam pro jucundis aptillima quxque dabunt Dii. Charior eft illis homo quam fibi. Nos animorum Impulfu, et ca;ca magnaque cupidine dudi, Conjugium petimus, partumque uxoris ; at illis Notum qui pueri, qualifque futura fit uxor. Fortem pofce animum, et mortis terrore carentem, Qui fpatium vitae extremum inter munera ponat Naturse ; qui ferre queat quofcunque labores, Nefciat irafci, cupiat nihil, et potiores Herculis oerumnas credat, fa»vofque labores Et venere, et coenis, et pluniis, Sardanapali. Monftro quid ipfe tibi polfis dare. Semita certe Tranquillae per virtuteni patet unica vitae. Nullum numen abeft fi fit prudentia ; fed te Nos facimus fortuna Deam, cceloque locamus. E c Even 2i8 ESSAY III. CHAP. III. Even Horace, in his ferious moments, falls into this fyftemv Nil admirari, prope res eft una Numici, Solaque quae poffit facere et fervare beatum. We cannot but admire the Stoical fyftem of morals, even when we think that, in fome points, it went beyond the pitch of human nature. The virtue, the temperance, the fortitude and magnanimity of fome who fincerely embraced it, amidft all the flattery of fovereign power and the luxury of a court, will be everlafting monuments to the honour of that fyftem^ and to the honour of human nature. That a due regard to what is bell: for us upon the whole," in an enlightened mind, leads to the pradice of every virtue, may be argued from conlidering what we think befl: for thofe for whom we have the ftrongell affedion, and whofe good we ten- der as our own. In judging for ourfelves, our paffions and ap- petites are apt to bias our judgment ; but when we judge for others, this bias is removed, and we judge impartially. What is it then that a wife man would wifli as the greateft good to a brother, a fon, or a friend ? Is it that he may fpend his life in a conftant round of the pleafures of fenfe, and fare fumptuoufly every day ? No, furely j we wifh him to be a man of real virtue and worth. We may wilh for him an honourable ftation in life j but only with this condition, that he acquit himfelf honourably m it, and acquire jufl reputation, by being ufeful to his country and to mankind. We would a thoufand times rather wifli him honourably to undergo the labours of Hercules, than to dif- folve in pleafure with Sardanapalus. Such THE TENDENCY OF THIS PRINCIPLE. 219 Such would be the wilh of every man of undcrflanding for CilAP.iir. the friend whom he loves as his own foul. Such ihinj^s, there- fore, he judj^es to be heft for him upon the whole ; and if lie judges otherwife for himfelf, It is only becaufe his judgment is perverted by animal pafCons and defires. The fum of what has been faid in thefe three chapters amounts to this : There is a principle of acftion in men that are adult and of a found mind, which, in all ages, has been called reafon, and let in oppofition to the animal principles which we call the pajjlons. The ultimate objeCl of this principle is what we judge to be good upon the whole. This is not the objed of any of our animal principles, they being all direded to particular objeds, without any comi)arif(>n with others, or any conlideration of their being good or ill upon the whole. What is good upon the whole cannot even be conceived with- out the exercife of reafon, and therefore cannot be aa objeC\ to beings that have not feme degree of reafon. As foon as we have the conception of this objed, we are led, by ovw conilitution, to defire and purfue it. It juftly claims a preference to all objeds of purfuit that can come in competition with it. In preferring it to any gratification that oppofes it, or in fubmitting to any pain or mortification which it requires, we ad according to reafon ; and every fuch adion is accompanied with felf-approbation and the approbation of mankind. The contrary adions are accompanied with ftiame and lelf-condem- nation in the agent, and with contempt in the fpedator, as foolilh and unreafonable. The right application of this principle to our condud re- quires an extenlive prolped of human life, and a corred j'ldg- £ c 2 ment 220 ESSAY III. CHAP, m. nient and eftimate of its goods and evils, with refped to their intrinfic worth and dignity, their conftancy and duration, and their attainablenefs. He muft be a wife man indeed, if any fuch man there be, who can perceive, in every inftance, or even in every important inftance, what is beft for him upon the whole,