The Theory of Moral Sentiments

f the stoical philosophy.

When we examine in this manner into the

ground of the different degrees of estimation which

mankind are apt to bestow upon the different conditions

of life, we shall find, that the excessive preference,

which they generally give to some of them

above others, is in a great measure without any

foundation. If to be able to act with propriety,

and to render ourselves the proper objects of the approbation

of mankind, be, as we have been endeavouring

to show, what chiefly recommends to us

one condition above another, this may equally be

attained in them all. The noblest propriety of conduct

may be supported in adversity, as well as in

prosperity; and though it is somewhat more difficult

in the first, it is upon that very account more admirable.

Perils and misfortunes are not only the

proper school of heroism, they are the only proper

theatre which can exhibit its virtue to advantage,

and draw upon it the full applause of the world.

The man, whose whole life has been one even and

uninterrupted course of prosperity, who never braved

any danger, who never encountered any difficulty,

who never surmounted any distress, can excite but

an inferior degree of admiration. When poets and

romance-writers endeavour to invent a train of adventures,

which shall give the greatest lustre to those

90characters for whom they mean to interest us, they

are all of a different kind. They are rapid and sudden

changes of fortune, situations the most apt to

drive those who are in them to frenzy and distraction,

or to abject despair; but in which their heroes act

with so much propriety, or at least with so much

spirit and undaunted resolution, as still to command

our esteem. Is not the unfortunate magnanimity of

Cato, Brutus, and Leonidas, as much the object of

admiration, as that of the successful Cæsar or Alexander?

To a generous mind, therefore, ought it not

to be as much the object of envy? If a more dazzling

splendor seems to attend the fortunes of successful

conquerors, it is because they join together

the advantages of both situations, the lustre of prosperity

to the high admiration which is excited by

dangers encountered, and difficulties surmounted,

with intrepidity and valour.

It was upon this account that, according to the

stoical philosophy, to a wise man all the different

conditions of life were equal. Nature, they said,

had recommended some objects to our choice, and

others to our disapprobation. Our primary appetites

directed us to the pursuit of health, strength,

ease, and perfection, in all the qualities of mind and

body; and of whatever could promote or secure

these, riches, power, authority: and the same original

principle taught us to avoid the contrary. But

in chusing or rejecting, in preferring or postponing,

those first objects of original appetite and aversion,

Nature had likewise taught us, that there was a certain

order, propriety, and grace, to be observed, of

infinitely greater consequence to happiness and perfection,

91than the attainment of those objects themselves.

The objects of our primary appetites or

aversions were to be pursued or avoided, chiefly

because a regard to this grace and propriety required

such conduct. In directing all our actions according

to these, consisted the happiness and glory

of human nature. In departing from those rules

which they prescribed to us, its greatest wretchedness

and most complete depravity. The outward

appearance of this order and propriety was indeed

more easily maintained in some circumstances than

in others. To a fool, however, to one whose passions

were subjected to no proper controul, to act

with real grace and propriety, was equally impossible

in every situation. Though the giddy multitude

might admire him, though his vanity might

sometimes be elevated by their ignorant praises into

something that resembled self-approbation, yet still

when he turned his view to what passed within his

own breast, he was secretly conscious to himself of

the absurdity and meanness of all his motives, and

inwardly blushed and trembled at the thoughts of

the contempt which he knew he deserved, and

which mankind would certainly bestow upon him

if they saw his conduct in the light in which in his

own heart he was obliged to regard it. To a wise

man, on the contrary, to one whose passions were

all brought under perfect subjection to the ruling

principles of his nature, to reason and the love of

propriety, to act so as to deserve approbation was

equally easy upon all occasions. Was he in prosperity,

he returned thanks to Jupiter for having joined

him with circumstances which were easily mastered,

and in which there was little temptation to

do wrong. Was he in adversity, he equally, returned

92thanks to the director of this spectacle

of human life, for having opposed to him a

vigorous athlete, over whom, though the contest

was likely to be more violent, the victory was more

glorious, and equally certain. Can there be any

shame in that distress which is brought upon us without

any fault of our own, and in which we behave

with perfect propriety? There can therefore, be no

evil, but, on the contrary, the greatest good and advantage.

A brave man exults in those dangers, in

which, from no rashness of his own, his fortune has

involved him. They afford an opportunity of exercising

that heroic intrepidity, whose exertion gives

the exalted delight which flows from the consciousness

of superior propriety and deserved admiration.

One who is master of all his exercises has no aversion

to measure his strength and activity with the strongest.

And in the same manner, one who is master

of all his passions, does not dread any circumstances

in which the superintendant of the universe may

think proper to place him. The bounty of that Divine

Being has provided him with virtues which render

him superior to every situation. If it is pleasure,

he has temperance to refrain from it; if it is pain,

he has constancy to bear it; if it is danger or death,

he has magnanimity and fortitude to despise it. He

never complains of the destiny of providence, nor

thinks the universe in confusion when he is out of

order. He does not look upon himself, according

to what self-love would suggest, as a whole, separated

and detached from every other part of nature,

to be taken care of by itself, and for itself. He regards

himself in the light in which he imagines the

great Genius of human nature, and of the world,

regards him. He enters, if I may say so, into the

93sentiments of that Divine Being, and considers himself

as an atom, a particle, of an immense and infinite

system, which must, and ought to be disposed

of, according to the conveniency of the whole. Assured

of the wisdom which directs all the events of

human life, whatever lot befalls him, he accepts it

with joy, satisfied that, if he had known all the connexions

and dependencies of the different parts of

the universe, it is the very lot which he himself would

have wished for. If it is life, he is contented to

live: and if it is death, as Nature must have no further

occasion for his presence here, he willingly goes

where he is appointed. I accept, said a stoical philosopher,

with equal joy and satisfaction, whatever

fortune can befal me. Riches or poverty, pleasure

or pain, health or sickness, all is alike: nor would

I desire that the gods should in any respect change

my destination. If I was to ask of them any thing,

beyond what their bounty has already bestowed, it

should be that they would inform me beforehand

what it was their pleasure should be done with me,

that I might of my own accord place myself in this

situation, and demonstrate the chearfulness with

which I embraced their allotment. If I am going

to fail, says Epictetus, I chuse the best ship, and the

best pilot, and I wait for the fairest weather that my

circumstances and duty will allow. Prudence and

propriety, the principles which the gods have given

me for the direction of my conduct, require this of

me; but they require no more: and if, notwithstanding,

a storm arises, which neither the strength

of the vessel, nor the skill of the pilot are likely to

withstand, I give myself no trouble about the consequence.

All that I had to do, is done already.

The directors of my conduct never command me

94to be miserable, to be anxious, desponding, or

afraid. Whether we are to be drowned, or to come

to a harbour, is the business of Jupiter, not mine.

I leave it entirely to his determination, nor ever

break my rest with considering which way he is

likely to decide it, but receive whatever comes with

equal indifference and security.

Such was the philosophy of the stoics, a philosophy

which affords the noblest lessons of magnanimity,

is the best school of heroes and patriots, and

to the greater part of whose precepts there can be

no objection, except that honourable one, that they

teach us to aim at a perfection altogether beyond

the reach of human nature. I shall not at present

stop to examine it. I shall only observe, in confirmation

of what has formerly been said, that the

most dreadful calamities are not always those which

it is most difficult to support. It is often more mortifying

to appear in public, under small disasters,

than under great misfortunes. The first excite no

sympathy; but the second, though they may excite

none that approaches to the anguish of the sufferer,

call forth, however, a very lively compassion. The

sentiments of the spectators are, in this last case,

therefore, less wide of those of the sufferer, and

their imperfect fellow-feeling lends him some assistance

in supporting his misery. Before a gay assembly,

a gentleman would be more mortified to appear

covered with filth and rags than with blood

and wounds. This last situation would interest

their pity; the other would provoke their laughter.

The judge who orders a criminal to be set in the

pillory, dishonours him more than if he had condemned

him to the scaffold. The great prince,

95who, some years ago, caned a general officer at the

head of his army, disgraced him irrecoverably.

The punishment would have been much less had he

shot him through the body. By the laws of honour,

to strike with a cane dishonours, to strike with

a sword does not, for an obvious reason. Those

slighter punishments when inflicted on a gentleman,

to whom dishonour is the greatest of all evils, come

to be regarded among a humane and generous people,

as the most dreadful of any. With regard to

persons of that rank, therefore, they are universally

laid aside, and the law, while it takes their life upon

many occasions, respects their honour upon almost

all. To scourge a person of quality, or to

set him in the pillory, upon account of any crime

whatever, is a brutality of which no European government,

except that of Russia, is capable.

A brave man is not rendered contemptible by being

brought to the scaffold; he is, by being set in

the pillory. His behaviour in the one situation may

gain him universal esteem and admiration. No behaviour

in the other can render him agreeable. The

sympathy of the spectators supports him in the one

case, and saves him from that shame, that consciousness

that his misery is felt by himself only, which is

of all sentiments the most unsupportable. There is

no sympathy in the other; or, if there is any, it is

not with his pain, which is a trifle, but with his consciousness

of the want of sympathy with which this

pain is attended. It is with his shame, not with

his sorrow. Those who pity him, blush and hang

down their heads for him. He droops in the same

manner, and feels himself irrecoverably degraded

by the punishment, though not by the crime. The

96man, on the contrary, who dies with resolution, as

he is naturally regarded with the erect aspect of esteem

and approbation, so he wears himself the same

undaunted countenance; and, if the crime does

not deprive him of the respect of others, the punishment

never will. He has no suspicion that his situation

is the object of contempt or derision to any

body, and he can, with propriety, assume the air,

not only of perfect serenity, but of triumph and

exaltation.

“Great dangers,” says the Cardinal de Retz, “have

their charms, because there is some glory to be

got, even when we miscarry. But moderate dangers

have nothing but what is horrible, because

the loss of reputation always attends the want of

success.” His maxim has the same foundation

with what we have been just now observing with regard

to punishments.

Human virtue is superior to pain, to poverty, to

danger, and to death; nor does it even require its

utmost efforts to despise them. But to have its misery

exposed to insult and derision, to be led in

triumph, to be set up for the hand of scorn to point

at, is a situation in which its constancy is much more

apt to fail. Compared with the contempt of mankind,

all other evils are easily supported.

97

PART II.

Of Merit and Demerit; or, of the Objects of Reward and Punishment.

Consisting of three Sections.

SECTION I.

Of the sense of merit and demerit.

INTRODUCTION.

There is another set of qualities ascribed to

the actions and conduct of mankind, distinct from

their propriety or impropriety, their decency or ungracefulness,

and which are the objects of a distinct

species of approbation and disapprobation. These

are merit and demerit, the qualities of deserving

reward, and of deserving punishment.

It has already been observed, that the sentiment

or affection of the heart, from which any action

proceeds, and upon which its whole virtue or vice

depends, may be considered under two different aspects,

or in two different relations: first, in relation

to the cause or object which excites it; and,

secondly, in relation to the end which it proposes,

98or to the effect which it tends to produce: that upon

the suitableness or unsuitableness, upon the proportion

or disproportion, which the affection seems

to bear to the cause or object which excites it, depends

the propriety or impropriety, the decency or

ungracefulness of the consequent action; and that

upon the beneficial or hurtful effects which the affection

proposes or tends to produce, depends the merit

or demerit, the good or ill desert of the action

to which it gives occasion. Wherein consists our

sense of the propriety or impropriety of actions, has

been explained in the former part of this discourse.

We come now to consider, wherein consists that of

their good or ill desert.