The Theory of Moral Sentiments

f the sense of justice, of remorse, and of the consciousness of merit.

There can be no proper motive for hurting

our neighbour, there can be no incitement to do evil

to another, which mankind will go along with, except

just indignation for evil which that other has

done to us. To disturb his happiness merely because

it stands in the way of our own, to take from

him what is of real use to him merely because it may

be of equal or more use to us, or to indulge, in this

manner, at the expence of other people, the natural

preference which every man has for his own happiness

above that of other people, is what no impartial

spectator can go along with. Every man is, no

doubt, by nature, first and principally recommended

to his own care; and as he is fitter to take care

127of himself than of any other person, it is fit and right

that it should be so. Every man, therefore, is much

more deeply interested in whatever immediately

concerns himself, than in what concerns any other

man: and to hear, perhaps, of the death of another

person, with whom we have no particular connexion,

will give us less concern, will spoil our stomach, or

break our rest much less than a very insignificant

disaster which has befallen ourselves. But though

the ruin of our neighbour may affect us much less

than a very small misfortune of our own, we must

not ruin him to prevent that small misfortune, nor

even to prevent our own ruin. We must, here, as

in all other cases, view ourselves not so much according

to that light in which we may naturally appear

to ourselves, as according to that in which we

naturally appear to others. Though every man

may, according to the proverb, be the whole world

to himself, to the rest of mankind he is a most insignificant

part of it. Though his own happiness may

be of more importance to him than that of all the

world besides, to every other person it is of no more

consequence than that of any other man. Though

it may be true, therefore, that every individual, in

his own breast, naturally prefers himself to all mankind,

yet he dares not look mankind in the face,

and avow that he acts according to this principle.

He feels that in this preference they can never go

along with him, and that how natural soever it may

be to him, it must always appear excessive and extravagant

to them. When he views himself in the

light in which he is conscious that others will view

him, he sees that to them he is but one of the multitude

in no respect better than any other in it. If

he would act so as that the impartial spectator may

128enter into the principles of his conduct, which is

what of all things he has the greatest desire to do,

he must, upon this, as upon all other occasions,

humble the arrogance of his self-love, and bring it

down to something which other men can go along

with. They will indulge it so far as to allow him

to be more anxious about, and to pursue with more

earnest assiduity, his own happiness than that of any

other person. Thus far, whenever they place themselves

in his situation, they will readily go along with

him. In the race for wealth and honours, and preferments,

he may run as hard as he can, and strain

every nerve and every muscle, in order to outstrip

all his competitors. But if he should justle, or throw

down any of them, the indulgence of the spectators

is entirely at an end. It is a violation of fair play,

which they cannot admit of. This man is to them,

in every respect, as good as he: they do not enter

into that self-love by which he prefers himself so

much to this other, and cannot go along with the

motive from which he hurt him. They readily,

therefore, sympathize with the natural resentment

of the injured, and the offender becomes the object

of their hatred and indignation. He is sensible that

he becomes so, and feels that those sentiments are

ready to burst out from all sides against him.

As the greater and more irreparable the evil that

is done, the resentment of the sufferer runs naturally

the higher, so does likewise the sympathetic indignation

of the spectator, as well as the sense of guilt

in the agent. Death is the greatest evil which one

man can inflict upon another, and excites the highest

degree of resentment in those who are immediately

connected with the slain. Murder, therefore,

129is the most atrocious of all crimes which affect individuals

only, in the sight both of mankind, and of

the person who has committed it. To be deprived

of that which we are possessed of, is a greater evil

than to be disappointed of what we have only the

expectation. Breach of property, therefore, theft

and robbery, which take from us what we are possessed

of, are greater crimes than breach of contract,

which only disappoints us of what we expected.

The most sacred laws of justice, therefore, those

whose violation seems to call the loudest for vengeance

and punishment, are the laws which guard

the life and person of our neighbour; the next are

those which guard his property and possessions; and

last of all come those which guard what are called

his personal rights, or what is due to him from the

promises of others.

The violator of the more sacred laws of justice

can never reflect on the sentiments which mankind

must entertain with regard to him, without feeling

all the agonies of shame, and horror, and consternation.

When his passion is gratified, and he begins

coolly to reflect upon his conduct, he can enter

into none of the motives which influenced it. They

appear now as detestable to him as they did always

to other people. By sympathizing with the hatred

and abhorrence which other men must entertain for

him, he becomes in some measure the object of his

own hatred and abhorrence. The situation of the

person, who suffered by his injustice, now calls upon

his pity. He is grieved at the thought of it; regrets

the unhappy effects of his own conduct, and

feels at the same time that they have rendered him

the proper object of the resentment and indignation

130of mankind, and of what is the natural consequence

of resentment, vengeance and punishment. The

thought of this perpetually haunts him, and fills

him with terror and amazement. He dares no longer

look society in the face, but imagines himself

as it were rejected, and thrown out from the affections

of all mankind. He cannot hope for the consolation

of sympathy in this his greatest, and most

dreadful distress. The remembrance of his crimes

has shut out all fellow-feelings with him from

the hearts of his fellow-creatures. The sentiments

which they entertain with regard to him, are

the very thing which he is most afraid of. Every

thing seems hostile, and he would be glad to fly to

some inhospitable desert, where he might never more

behold the face of a human creature, nor read in

the countenance of mankind the condemnation of

his crimes. But solitude is still more dreadful than

society. His own thoughts can present him with

nothing but what is black, unfortunate, and disastrous,

the melancholy forebodings of incomprehensible

misery and ruin. The horror of solitude drives

him back into society, and he comes again into the

presence of mankind, astonished to appear before

them, loaded with shame and distracted with fear,

in order to supplicate some little protection from the

countenance of those very judges, who he knows

have already all unanimously condemned him. Such

is the nature of that sentiment, which is properly

called remorse; of all the sentiments which can enter

the human breast the most dreadful. It is made

up of shame from the sense of the impropriety of

past conduct; of grief for the effects of it; of pity

for those who suffer by it; and of the dread and terror

of punishment from the consciousness of the justly

provoked resentment of all rational creatures.

131The opposite behaviour naturally inspires the opposite

sentiment. The man who, not from frivolous

fancy, but from proper motives, has performed

a generous action, when he looks forward to

those whom he has served, feels himself to be the

natural object of their love and gratitude, and, by

sympathy with them, of the esteem and approbation

of all mankind. And when he looks backward

to the motive from which he acted, and surveys

it in the light in which the indifferent spectator

will survey it, he still continues to enter into it, and

applauds himself by sympathy with the approbation

of this supposed impartial judge. In both these

points of view his own conduct appears to him

every way agreeable. His mind, at the thought of

it, is filled with chearfulness, serenity, and composure.

He is in friendship and harmony with all

mankind, and looks upon his fellow-creatures with

confidence and benevolent satisfaction, secure that

he has rendered himself worthy of their most favourable

regards. In the combination of all these sentiments

consists the consciousness of merit, or of deserved

reward.

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