The Theory of Moral Sentiments

f the extent of this influence of fortune.

The effect of this influence of fortune is, first,

to diminish our sense of the merit or demerit of those

actions which arose from the most laudable or blamable

intentions, when they fail of producing their

proposed effects: and, secondly, to increase our

sense of the merit or demerit of actions, beyond

what is due to the motives or affections from

which they proceed, when they accidentally give

occasion either to extraordinary pleasure or pain.

1. First, I say, though the intentions of any person

should be ever so proper and beneficent, on the

one hand, or ever so improper and malevolent, on

the other, yet, if they fail in producing their effects,

his merit seems imperfect in the one case, and his

demerit incomplete in the other. Nor is this irregularity

of sentiment felt only by those who are immediately

affected by the consequences of any action.

It is felt, in some measure, even by the impartial

spectator. The man who solicits an office for another,

without obtaining it, is regarded as his friend,

and seems to deserve his love and affection. But the

man who not only solicits, but procures it, is more

peculiarly considered as his patron and benefactor,

and is entitled to his respect and gratitude. The

person obliged, we are apt to think, may with some

155justice, imagine himself on a level with the first:

but we cannot enter into his sentiments, if he does

not feel himself inferior to the second. It is common

indeed to say, that we are equally obliged to

the man who has endeavoured to serve us, as to

him who actually did so. It is the speech which we

constantly make upon every unsuccessful attempt of

this kind; but which, like all other fine speeches,

must be understood with a grain of allowance. The

sentiments which a man of generosity entertains for

the friend who fails, may often indeed be nearly the

same with those which he conceives for him who

succeeds: and the more generous he is, the more

nearly will those sentiments approach to an exact

level. With the truly generous, to be beloved, to

be esteemed by those whom they themselves think

worthy of esteem, gives more pleasure, and thereby

excites more gratitude, than all the advantages

which they can ever expect from those sentiments.

When they lose those advantages therefore, they

seem to lose but a trifle, which is scarce worth regarding.

They still however lose something. Their

pleasure therefore, and consequently their gratitude,

is not perfectly complete: and accordingly if, between

the friend who fails and the friend who succeeds,

all other circumstances are equal, there will,

even in the noblest and the best mind, be some little

difference of affection in favour of him who succeeds.

Nay, so unjust are mankind in this respect,

that though the intended benefit should be procured,

yet if it is not procured by the means of a particular

benefactor, they are apt to think that less gratitude

is due to the man, who with the best intentions in

the world could do no more than help it a little forward.

As their gratitude is in this case divided

156among the different persons who contributed to

their pleasure, a smaller share of it seems due to any

one. Such a person, we hear men commonly say,

intended no doubt to serve us; and we really believe

exerted himself to the utmost of his abilities

for that purpose. We are not, however, obliged to

him for this benefit; since had it not been for the

concurrence of others, all that he could have done

would never have brought it about. This consideration,

they imagine, should, even in the eyes of the

impartial spectator, diminish the debt which they

owe to him. The person himself who has unsuccessfully

endeavoured to confer a benefit, has by no

means the same dependency upon the gratitude of

the man whom he meant to oblige, nor the same

sense of his own merit towards him, which he would

have had in the case of success.

Even the merit of talents and abilities which some

accident has hindered from producing their effects,

seems in some measure imperfect, even to those who

are fully convinced of their capacity to produce

them. The general who has been hindered by the

envy of ministers from gaining some great advantage

over the enemies of his country, regrets the

loss of the opportunity for ever after. Nor is it

only upon account of the public that he regrets it.

He laments that he was hindered from performing

an action which would have added a new lustre to

his character in his own eyes, as well as in those of

every other person. It satisfies neither himself nor

others to reflect that the plan or design was all that

depended on him, that no greater capacity was required

to execute it than what was necessary to concert

it: that he was allowed to be every way capable

157of executing it, and that had he been permitted

to go on, success was infallible. He still did not

execute it; and though he might deserve all the approbation

which is due to a magnanimous and great

design, he still wanted the actual merit of having

performed a great action. To take the management

of any affair of public concern from the man who has

almost brought it to a conclusion, is regarded as the

most invidious injustice. As he had done so much,

he should, we think, have been allowed to acquire

the complete merit of putting an end to it. It was

objected to Pompey, that he came in upon the victories

of Lucullus, and gathered those laurels which

were due to the fortune and valour of another. The

glory of Lucullus, it seems, was less complete even

in the opinion of his own friends, when he was not

permitted to finish that conquest which his conduct

and courage had put in the power of almost any man

to finish. It mortifies an architect when his plans are

either not executed at all, or when they are so far altered

as to spoil the effect of the building. The plan,

however, is all that depends upon the architect. The

whole of his genius is, to good judges, as completely

discovered in that as in the actual execution. But

a plan does not, even to the most intelligent, give

the same pleasure as a noble and magnificent building.

They may discover as much both of taste and

genius in the one as in the other. But their effects

are still vastly different, and the amusement derived

from the first, never approaches to the wonder and

admiration which are sometimes excited by the second.

We may believe of many men, that their

talents are superior to those of Cæsar and Alexander;

and that in the same situations they would perform

still greater actions. In the mean time, however,

158we do not behold them with that astonishment and

admiration with which those two heroes have been

regarded in all ages and nations. The calm judgments

of the mind may approve of them more, but

they want the splendor of great actions to dazzle and

transport it. The superiority of virtues and talents

have not, even upon those who acknowledge that

superiority, the same effect with the superiority of

atchievements.

As the merit of an unsuccessful attempt to do good

seems thus, in the eyes of ungrateful mankind,

to be diminished by the miscarriage, so does likewise

the demerit of an unsuccessful attempt to do evil.

The design to commit a crime, how clearly soever

it may be proved, is scarce ever punished with the

same severity as the actual commission of it. The

case of treason is perhaps the only exception. That

crime immediately affecting the being of the government

itself, the government is naturally more jealous

of it than of any other. In the punishment of treason,

the sovereign resents the injuries which are immediately

done to himself: in the punishment of

other crimes, he resents those which are done to other

men. It is his own resentment which he indulges in

the one case: it is that of his subjects which by

sympathy he enters into it in the other. In the

first case, therefore, as he judges in his own cause,

he is very apt to be more violent and sanguinary in

his punishments than the impartial spectator can approve

of. His resentment too rises here upon smaller

occasions, and does not always, as in other cases,

wait for the perpetration of the crime, or even for

the attempt to commit it. A treasonable concert,

though nothing has been done, or even attempted in

consequence of it, nay, a treasonable conversation,

159is in many countries punished in the same manner as

the actual commission of treason. With regard to

all other crimes, the mere design, upon which no

attempt has followed, is seldom punished at all, and

is never punished severely. A criminal design, and

a criminal action, it may be said indeed, do not necessarily

suppose the same degree of depravity, and

ought not therefore to be subjected to the same punishment.

We are capable, it may be said, of resolving,

and even of taking measures to execute,

many things which, when it comes to the point, we

feel ourselves altogether incapable of executing.

But this reason can have no place when the design

has been carried the length of the last attempt.

The man, however, who fires a pistol at his enemy,

but misses him, is punished with death by the laws

of scarce any country. By the old law of Scotland,

though he should wound him, yet, unless death ensues

within a certain time, the assassin is not liable to

the last punishment. The resentment of mankind,

however, runs so high against this crime, their terror

for the man who shows himself capable of committing

it, is so great, that the mere attempt to commit

it ought in all countries to be capital. The attempt

to commit smaller crimes is almost always punished

very lightly, and sometimes is not punished at all.

The thief, whose hand has been caught in his neighbour’s

pocket before he had taken any thing out of

it, is punished with ignominy only. If he had got

time to take away an handkerchief, he would have

been put to death. The house-breaker, who has

been found setting a ladder to his neighbour’s window,

but had not got into it, is not exposed to the

capital punishment. The attempt to ravish is not

punished as a rape. The attempt to seduce a married

160woman is not punished at all, though seduction

is punished severely. Our resentment against the

person who only attempted to do a mischief, is seldom

so strong as to bear us out in inflicting the same

punishment upon him, which we should have thought

due if he had actually done it. In the one case, the

joy of our deliverance alleviates our sense of the atrocity

of his conduct; in the other, the grief of our

misfortune increases it. His real demerit, however,

is undoubtedly the same in both cases, since his intentions

were equally criminal: and there is in this respect,

therefore, an irregularity in the sentiments of

all men, and a consequent relaxation of discipline in

the laws of, I believe, all nations, of the most civilized,

as well as of the most barbarous. The humanity

of a civilized people disposes them either to dispense

with, or to mitigate punishments wherever their natural

indignation is not goaded on by the consequences

of the crime. Barbarians, on the other hand, when

no actual consequence has happened from any action,

are not apt to be very delicate or inquisitive about

the motives.

The person himself who either from passion, or

from the influence of bad company, has resolved,

and perhaps taken measures to perpetrate some

crime, but who has fortunately been prevented by

an accident which put it out of his power, is sure, if

he has any remains of conscience, to regard this

event all his life after as a great and signal deliverance.

He can never think of it without returning

thanks to Heaven for having been thus graciously

pleased to save him from the guilt in which he was

just ready to plunge himself, and to hinder him from

rendering all the rest of his life a scene of horror, remorse,

and repentance. But though his hands are

161innocent, he is conscious that his heart is equally

guilty as if he had actually executed what he was so

fully resolved upon. It gives great ease to his conscience,

however, to consider that the crime was not

executed, though he knows that the failure arose

from no virtue in him. He still considers himself

as less deserving of punishment and resentment; and

this good fortune either diminishes, or takes away

altogether, all sense of guilt. To remember how

much he was resolved upon it, has no other effect than

to make him regard his escape as the greater and

more miraculous: for he still fancies that he has escaped,

and he looks back upon the danger to which

his peace of mind was exposed, with that terror,

with which one who is in safety may sometimes remember

the hazard he was in of falling over a precipice,

and shudder with horror at the thought.

2. The second effect of this influence of fortune,

is to increase our sense of the merit or demerit of

actions beyond what is due to the motives or affection

from which they proceed, when they happen to

give occasion to extraordinary pleasure or pain. The

agreeable or disagreeable effects of the action often

throw a shadow of merit or demerit upon the agent,

though in his intention there was nothing that deserved

either praise or blame, or at least that deserved

them in the degree in which we are apt to bestow

them. Thus, even the messenger of bad news is

disagreeable to us, and, on the contrary, we feel a

sort of gratitude for the man who brings us good

tidings. For a moment we look upon them both

as the authors, the one of our good, the other of our

bad fortune, and regard them in some measure as

if they had really brought about the events which

162they only give an account of. The first author of

our joy is naturally the object of a transitory gratitude:

we embrace him with warmth and affection,

and should be glad, during the instant of our prosperity,

to reward him as for some signal service. By

the custom of all courts, the officer who brings the

news of a victory, is entitled to considerable preferments,

and the general always chuses one of his

principal favourites to go upon so agreeable an errand.

The first author of our sorrow is, on the contrary,

just as naturally the object of a transitory resentment.

We can scarce avoid looking upon him

with chagrin and uneasiness; and the rude and brutal

are apt to vent upon him that spleen which his intelligence

gives occasion to. Tigranes, King of

Armenia, struck off the head of the man who brought

him the first account of the approach of a formidable

enemy. To punish in this manner the author of

bad tidings, seems barbarous and inhuman: yet, to

reward the messenger of good news, is not disagreeable

to us; we think it suitable to the bounty of

kings. But why do we make this difference, since,

if there is no fault in the one, neither is there any

merit in the other? It is because any sort of reason

seems sufficient to authorize the exertion of the social

and benevolent affections; but it requires the most

solid and substantial to make us enter into that of the

unsocial and malevolent.

But though in general we are averse to enter into

the unsocial and malevolent affections, though we

lay it down for a rule that we ought never to approve

of their gratification, unless so far as the malicious

and unjust intention of the person, against whom

they are directed renders him their proper object;

163yet, upon some occasions, we relax of this severity.

When the negligence of one man has occasioned

some unintended damage to another, we generally

enter so far into the resentment of the sufferer, as to

approve of his inflicting a punishment upon the offender

much beyond what the offence will have appeared

to deserve, had no such unlucky consequence

followed from it.

There is a degree of negligence, which would appear

to deserve some chastisement though it should

occasion no damage to any body. Thus, if a person

should throw a large stone over a wall into a public

street without giving warning to those who might be

passing by, and without regarding where it was likely

to fall, he would undoubtedly deserve some chastisement.

A very accurate police would punish so

absurd an action, even though it had done no mischief.

The person who has been guilty of it, shows

an insolent contempt of the happiness and safety of

others. There is real injustice in his conduct. He

wantonly exposes his neighbour to what no man in

his senses would chuse to expose himself, and evidently

wants that sense of what is due to his fellow-creatures

which is the basis of justice and of society.

Gross negligence therefore is, in the law, said to be

almost equal to malicious design[3]. When any unlucky

consequences happen from such carelessness,

the person who has been guilty of it is often punished

as if he had really intended those consequences;

and his conduct, which was only thoughtless and

insolent, and what deserved some chastisement, is

considered as atrocious, and as liable to the severest

164punishment. Thus if, by the imprudent action

above-mentioned, he should accidentally kill a man,

he is, by the laws of many countries, particularly by

the old law of Scotland, liable to the last punishment.

And though this is no doubt excessively severe, it is

not altogether inconsistent with our natural sentiments.

Our just indignation against the folly and

inhumanity of his conduct is exasperated by our

sympathy with the unfortunate sufferer. Nothing

however would appear more shocking to our natural

sense of equity, than to bring a man to the scaffold

merely for having thrown a stone carelessly into the

street without hurting any body. The folly and inhumanity

of his conduct, however, would in this

case be the same; but still our sentiments would be

very different. The consideration of this difference

may satisfy us how much the indignation, even of

the spectator, is apt to be animated by the actual consequences

of the action. In cases of this kind there

will, if I am not mistaken, be found a great degree

of severity in the laws of almost all nations; as I have

already observed that in those of an opposite kind

there was a very general relaxation of discipline.

3. Lata culpa prope dolum est.

There is another degree of negligence which does

not involve in it any sort of injustice. The person

who is guilty of it treats his neighbour as he treats

himself, means no harm to any body, and is far

from entertaining any insolent contempt for the safety

and happiness of others. He is not, however, so

careful and circumspect in his conduct as he ought to

be, and deserves upon this account some degree of

blame and censure, but no sort of punishment. Yet

if by a negligence[4] of this kind he should occasion

165some damage to another person, he is by the laws of,

I believe, all countries, obliged to compensate it.

And though this is no doubt a real punishment, and

what no mortal would have thought of inflicting

upon him, had it not been for the unlucky accident

which his conduct gave occasion to; yet this decision

of the law is approved of by the natural sentiments

of all mankind. Nothing, we think, can be more

just than that one man should not suffer by the carelessness

of another; and that the damage occasioned

by blamable negligence should be made up by the

person who was guilty of it.

4. Culpa levis.

There is another species of negligence[5], which

consists merely in a want of the most anxious timidity

and circumspection, with regard to all the possible

consequences of our actions. The want of this

painful attention, when no bad consequences follow

from it, is so far from being regarded as blamable,

that the contrary quality is rather considered as such.

That timid circumspection which is afraid of every

thing, is never regarded as a virtue, but as a quality

which more than any other incapacitates for action

and business. Yet when, from a want of this excessive

care, a person happens to occasion some damage

to another, he is often by the law obliged to

compensate it. Thus, by the Aquilian law, the man,

who not being able to manage a horse that had accidentally

taken fright, should happen to ride down

his neighbour’s slave, is obliged to compensate the

damage. When an accident of this kind happens,

we are apt to think that he ought not to have rode

such a horse, and to regard his attempting it as an unpardonable

166levity; though without this accident we

should not only have made no such reflection, but

should have regarded his refusing it as the effect of

timid weakness, and of an anxiety about merely

possible events, which it is to no purpose to be aware

of. The person himself, who by an accident even of

this kind has involuntarily hurt another, seems to

have some sense of his own ill desert, with regard

to him. He naturally runs up to the sufferer to express

his concern for what has happened, and to

make every acknowledgment in his power. If he

has any sensibility, he necessarily desires to compensate

the damage, and to do every thing he can to

appease that animal resentment, which he is sensible

will be apt to arise in the breast of the sufferer.

To make no apology, to offer no atonement, is regarded

as the highest brutality. Yet why should he

make an apology more than any other person?

Why should he, since he was equally innocent with

any other by-stander, be thus singled out from

among all mankind, to make up for the bad fortune

of another? This task would surely never be imposed

upon him, did not even the impartial spectator

feel some indulgence for what may be regarded as

the unjust resentment of that other.

5. Culpa levissima.

167