The Theory of Moral Sentiments

f licentious systems.

All those systems, which I have hitherto given

an account of, suppose that there is a real and essential

distinction between vice and virtue, whatever

these qualities may consist in. There is a real and

essential difference between the propriety and impropriety

of any affection, between benevolence and any

other principle of action, between real prudence and

short-sighted folly or precipitate rashness. In the

main too all of them contribute to encourage the

praise-worthy, and to discourage the blameable disposition.

It may be true perhaps, of some of them, that

they tend, in some measure, to break the balance

of the affections, and to give the mind a particular

bias to some principles of action, beyond the proportion

that is due to them. The ancient systems

which place virtue in propriety, seem chiefly to recommend

the great, the awful, and the respectable

virtues, the virtues of self-government and self-command;

fortitude, magnanimity, independency

upon fortune, the contempt of all outward accidents,

of pain, poverty, exile, and death. It is in these

332great exertions that the noblest propriety of conduct

is displayed. The soft, the amiable, the gentle virtues,

all the virtues of indulgent humanity are, in

comparison, but little insisted upon, and seem, on

the contrary, by the Stoics in particular, to have

been often regarded as mere weaknesses which it behoved

a wise man not to harbour in his breast.

The benevolent system, on the other hand, while

it fosters and encourages all those milder virtues in

the highest degree, seems entirely to neglect the more

awful and respectable qualities of the mind. It even

denies them the appellation of virtues. It calls them

moral abilities, and treats them as qualities which do

not deserve the same sort of esteem and approbation,

that is due to what is properly denominated virtue.

All those principles of action which aim only at our

own interest, it treats, if that be possible, still worse.

So far from having any merit of their own, they diminish,

it pretends, the merit of benevolence, when

they co-operate with it: and prudence, it is asserted,

when employed only in promoting private interest,

can never even be imagined a virtue.

That system, again, which makes virtue consist

in prudence only, while it gives the highest encouragement

to the habits of caution, vigilance, sobriety,

and judicious moderation, seems to degrade equally

both the amiable and respectable virtues, and to

strip the former of all their beauty, and the latter of

all their grandeur.

But notwithstanding these defects, the general tendency

of each of those three systems is to encourage

the best and most laudable habits of the human mind:

333and it were well for society, if, either mankind in

general, or even those few who pretend to live according

to any philosophical rule, were to regulate

their conduct by the precepts of any one of them.

We may learn from each of them something that is

both valuable and peculiar. If it was possible, by

precept and exhortation, to inspire the mind with

fortitude and magnanimity, the ancient systems of

propriety would seem sufficient to do this. Or if it

was possible, by the same means, to soften it into

humanity, and to awaken the affections of kindness

and general love towards those we live with, some

of the pictures with which the benevolent system presents

us, might seem capable of producing this effect.

We may learn from the system of Epicurus,

though undoubtedly the worst of all the three, how

much the practice of both the amiable and respectable

virtues is conducive to our own interest, to our

own ease and safety and quiet even in this life. As

Epicurus placed happiness in the attainment of ease

and security, he exerted himself in a particular manner

to show that virtue was, not merely the best and

the surest, but the only means of acquiring those invaluable

possessions. The good effects of virtue,

upon our inward tranquility and peace of mind, are

what other philosophers have chiefly celebrated. Epicurus,

without neglecting this topic, has chiefly insisted

upon the influence of that amiable quality on

our outward prosperity and safety. It was upon this

account that his writings were so much studied in the

ancient world by men of all different philosophical

parties. It is from him that Cicero, the great enemy

of the Epicurean system, borrows his most agreeable

proofs that virtue alone is sufficient to secure happiness.

Seneca, though a Stoic, the sect most opposite

334to that of Epicurus, yet quotes this philosopher

more frequently than any other.

There are, however, some other systems which

seem to take away altogether the distinction between

vice and virtue, and of which the tendency is, upon

that account, wholly pernicious: I mean the systems

of the duke of Rochefoucault and Dr. Mandeville.

Though the notions of both these authors are in almost

every respect erroneous, there are, however,

some appearances in human nature which, when

viewed in a certain manner, seem at first sight to favour

them. These, first slightly sketched out with

the elegance and delicate precision of the duke of

Rochefoucault, and afterwards more fully represented

with the lively and humorous, though coarse

and rustic eloquence of Dr. Mandeville, have thrown

upon their doctrines an air of truth and probability

which is very apt to impose upon the unskilful.

Dr. Mandeville, the most methodical of those

two authors, considers whatever is done from a sense

of propriety, from a regard to what is commendable

and praise-worthy, as being done from a love of

praise and commendation, or as he calls it from vanity.

Man, he observes, is naturally much more

interested in his own happiness than in that of others,

and it is impossible that in his heart he can ever really

prefer their prosperity to his own. Whenever he appears

to do so, we may be assured that he imposes

upon us, and that he is then acting from the same

selfish motives as at all other times. Among his

other selfish passions, vanity is one of the strongest,

and he is always easily flattered and greatly delighted

with the applauses of those about him. When he

335appears to sacrifice his own interest to that of his

companions, he knows that this conduct will be

highly agreeable to their self-love, and that they will

not fail to express their satisfaction by bellowing upon

him the most extravagant praises. The pleasure

which he expects from this, over-balances, in his

opinion, the interest which he abandons in order to

procure it. His conduct, therefore, upon this occasion,

is in reality just as selfish, and arises from just

as mean a motive as upon any other. He is flattered,

however, and he flatters himself with the belief

that it is entirely disinterested; since, unless this was

supposed, it would not seem to merit any commendation

either in his own eyes or in those of others. All

public spirit, therefore, all preference of public to

private interest, is, according to him a mere cheat

and imposition upon mankind; and that human virtue

which is so much boasted of, and which is the

occasion of so much emulation among men, is the

mere offspring of flattery begot upon pride.

Whether the most generous and public-spirited

actions may not, in some sense, be regarded as proceeding

from self-love, I shall not at present examine.

The decision of this question is not, I apprehend,

of any importance towards establishing the

reality of virtue, since self-love may frequently be a

virtuous motive of action. I shall only endeavour to

show that the desire of doing what is honourable and

noble, of rendering ourselves the proper objects of

esteem and approbation, cannot with any propriety

be called vanity. Even the love of well-grounded

fame and reputation, the desire of acquiring esteem

by what is really estimable, does not deserve that

name. The first is the love of virtue, the noblest

336and the best passion of human nature. The second

is the love of true glory, a passion inferior no doubt

to the former, but which in dignity appears to come

immediately after it. He is guilty of vanity who desires

praise for qualities which are either not praise-worthy

in any degree, or not in that degree which

he expects to be praised for them; who sets his character

upon the frivolous ornaments of dress and

equipage, or the equally frivolous accomplishments

of ordinary behaviour. He is guilty of vanity who

desires praise for what indeed very well deserves it,

but what he perfectly knows does not belong to him.

The empty coxcomb who gives himself airs of importance

which he has no title to, the silly liar who

assumes the merit of adventures which never happened,

the foolish plagiary who gives himself out for the

author of what he has no pretensions to, are properly

accused of this passion. He too is said to be guilty

of vanity who is not contented with the silent sentiments

of esteem and approbation, who seems to be

fonder of their noisy expressions and acclamations

than of the sentiments themselves, who is never satisfied

but when his own praises are ringing in his ears,

and who solicits with the most anxious importunity all

external marks of respect, is fond of titles, of compliments,

of being visited, of being attended, of being

taken notice of in public places with the appearance of

deference and attention. This frivolous passion is altogether

different from either of the two former, and

is the passion of the lowest, and the least of mankind,

as they are of the noblest and the greatest.

But though these three passions, the desire of rendering

ourselves the proper objects of honour and

esteem; or of becoming what is honourable and

337estimable; the desire of acquiring honour and esteem

by really deserving those sentiments; and the frivolous

desire of praise at any rate, are widely different;

though the two former are always approved of,

while the latter never fails to be despised; there is,

however, a certain remote affinity among them,

which, exaggerated by the humorous and diverting

eloquence of this lively author, has enabled him to

impose upon his readers. There is an affinity between

vanity and the love of true glory, as both these

passions aim at acquiring esteem and approbation.

But they are different in this, that the one is a just,

reasonable, and equitable passion, while the other is

unjust, absurd, and ridiculous. The man who desires

esteem for what is really estimable, desires nothing

but what he is justly entitled to, and what cannot

be refused him without some sort of injury. He,

on the contrary, who desires it upon any other terms,

demands what he has no just claim to. The first is

easily satisfied, is not apt to be jealous or suspicious

that we do not esteem him enough, and is seldom solicitous

about receiving many external marks of our

regard. The other, on the contrary, is never to be

satisfied, is full of jealousy and suspicion that we do

not esteem him so much as he desires, because he has

some secret consciousness that he desires more than he

deserves. The least neglect of ceremony, he considers

as a mortal affront, and as an expression of the

most determined contempt. He is restless and impatient,

and perpetually afraid that we have lost all

respect for him, and is upon this account always

anxious to obtain new expressions of esteem, and

cannot be kept in temper but by continual attendance

and adulation.

338There is an affinity too between the desire of becoming

what is honourable and estimable, and the

desire of honour and esteem, between the love of virtue

and the love of true glory. They resemble one

another not only in this respect, that both aim at

really being what is honourable and noble, but even

in that respect in which the love of true glory resembles

what is properly called vanity, some reference

to the sentiments of others. The man of the greatest

magnanimity, who desires virtue for its own sake,

and is most indifferent about what actually are the

opinions of mankind with regard to him, is still,

however, delighted with the thoughts of what they

should be, with the consciousness that though he

may neither be honoured nor applauded, he is still

the proper object of honour and applause, and that

if mankind were cool and candid and consistent with

themselves, and properly informed of the motives

and circumstances of his conduct, they would not

fail to honour and applaud him. Though he despises

the opinions which are actually entertained of

him, he has the highest value for those which ought

to be entertained of him. That he might think

himself worthy of those honourable sentiments,

and, whatever was the idea which other men

might conceive of his character, that when he

should put himself in their situation, and consider,

not what was, but what ought to be their

opinion, he should always have the highest idea

of it himself, was the great and exalted motive of his

conduct. As even in the love of virtue, therefore,

there is still some reference, though not to what is,

yet to what in reason and propriety ought to be, the

opinion of others, there is even in this respect some

affinity between it, and the love of true glory. There

is, however, at the same time, a very great difference

339between them. The man who acts solely from

a regard to what is right and fit to be done, from a

regard to what is the proper object of esteem and

approbation, though these sentiments should never be

bestowed upon him, acts from the most sublime and

godlike motive which human nature is even capable

of conceiving. The man, on the other hand, who

while he desires to merit approbation is at the same

time anxious to obtain it, though he too is laudably

in the main, yet his motives have a greater mixture

of human infirmity. He is in danger of being mortified

by the ignorance and injustice of mankind, and

his happiness is exposed to the envy of his rivals, and

the folly of the public. The happiness of the other,

on the contrary, is altogether secure and independent

of fortune, and of the caprice of those he lives with.

The contempt and hatred which may be thrown upon

him by the ignorance of mankind, he considers as not

belonging to him, and is not at all mortified by it.

Mankind despise and hate him from a false notion of

his character and conduct. If they knew him better,

they would esteem and love him. It is not him

whom, properly speaking, they hate and despise, but

another person whom they mistake him to be. Our

friend, whom we should meet at a masquerade in

the garb of our enemy, would be more diverted than

mortified, if under that disguise we should vent our

indignation against him. Such are the sentiments of

a man of real magnanimity, when exposed to unjust

censure. It seldom happens, however, that human

nature arrives at this degree of firmness. Though

none but the weakest and most worthless of mankind

are much delighted with false glory, yet, by

a strange inconsistency, false ignominy is often capable

of mortifying those who appear the most resolute

and determined.

340Dr. Mandeville is not satisfied with representing

the frivolous motive of vanity, as the source of all

those actions which are commonly accounted virtuous.

He endeavours to point out the imperfection

of human virtue in many other respects. In every

case, he pretends, it falls short of that complete self-denial

which it pretends to, and, instead of a conquest,

is commonly no more than a concealed indulgence

of our passions. Wherever our reserve with

regard to pleasure falls short of the most ascetic abstinence,

he treats it as gross luxury and sensuality.

Every thing, according to him, is luxury which exceeds

what is absolutely necessary for the support of

human nature, so that there is a vice even in the use

of a clean shirt, or of a convenient habitation. The

indulgence of the inclination to sex, in the most lawful

union, he considers as the same sensuality with

the most hurtful gratification of that passion, and derides

that temperance and that chastity which can be

practiced at so cheap a rate. The ingenious sophistry

of his reasoning, is here, as upon many other occasions,

covered by the ambiguity of language. There

are some of our passions which have no other names

except those which mark the disagreeable and offensive

degree. The spectator is more apt to take notice

of them in this degree than in any other. When

they shock his own sentiments, when they give him

some sort of antipathy and uneasiness, he is necessarily

obliged to attend to them, and is from thence

naturally led to give them a name. When they fall

in with the natural state of his own mind, he is very

apt to overlook them altogether, and either gives

them no name at all, or, if he gives them any, it is

one which marks rather the subjection and restraint

of the passion than the degree which it still is allowed

341to subsist in, after it is so subjected and restrained.

Thus the common names of the [20]love of pleasure,

and of the love of sex, denote a vicious and offensive

degree of those passions. The words temperance

and chastity, on the other hand, seem to mark rather

the restraint and subjection which they are kept under,

than the degree which they are still allowed

to subsist in. When he can show, therefore, that

they still subsist in some degree, he imagines, he has

entirely demolished the reality of the virtues of temperance

and chastity, and shown them to be mere

impositions upon the inattention and simplicity of

mankind. Those virtues, however, do not require

an entire insensibility to the objects of the passions

which they mean to govern. They only aim at restraining

the violence of those passions so far as not to

hurt the individual, and neither disturb nor offend

the society.

20. Luxury and lust.

It is the great fallacy of Dr. Mandeville’s book[21]

to represent every passion as wholly vicious, which is

so in any degree and in any direction. It is thus that

he treats every thing as vanity which has any reference,

either to what are, or to what ought to be the sentiments

of others: and it is by means of this sophistry,

that he establishes his favourite conclusion, that

private vices are public benefits. If the love of magnificence,

a taste for the elegant arts and improvements

of human life, for whatever is agreeable in

dress, furniture, or equipage, for architecture, statuary,

painting, and music, is to be regarded as luxury,

sensuality and ostentation, even in those whose situation

allows, without any inconveniency, the indulgence

342of those passions, it is certain that luxury, sensuality,

and ostentation are public benefits: since,

without the qualities upon which he thinks proper to

bestow such opprobrious names, the arts of refinement

could never find encouragement, and must

languish for want of employment. Some popular

ascetic doctrines which had been current before his

time, and which placed virtue in the entire extirpation

and annihilation of all our passions, were the

real foundation of this licentious system. It was easy

for Dr. Mandeville to prove, first, that this entire

conquest never actually took place among men; and

secondly, that, if it was to take place universally, it

would be pernicious to society, by putting an end to

all industry and commerce, and in a manner to

the whole business of human life. By the first of

these propositions he seemed to prove that there was

no real virtue, and that what pretended to be such,

was a mere cheat and imposition upon mankind; and

by the second, that private vices were public benefits,

since without them no society could prosper or

flourish.

21. Fable of the Bees.

Such is the system of Dr. Mandeville, which once

made so much noise in the world, and which, though

perhaps, it never gave occasion to more vice than

what would have been without it, at least taught

that vice, which arose from other causes, to appear

with more effrontery, and to avow the corruption of

its motives with a profligate audaciousness which had

never been heard of before.

But how destructive soever this system may appear,

it could never have imposed upon so great a number

of persons, nor have occasioned so general an alarm

343among those who are the friends of better principles,

had it not in some respects bordered upon the truth.

A system of natural philosophy may appear very

plausible, and be for a long time very generally received

in the world, and yet have no foundation in

nature, nor any sort of resemblance to the truth.

The vortices of Des Cartes were regarded by a

very ingenious nation, for near a century together,

as a most satisfactory account of the revolutions

of the heavenly bodies. Yet it has been demonstrated,

to the conviction of all mankind, that these

pretended causes of those wonderful effects, not only

do not actually exist, but are utterly impossible, and

if they did exist, could produce no such effects as are

ascribed to them. But it is otherwise with systems of

moral philosophy, and an author who pretends to

account for the origin of our moral sentiments, cannot

deceive us so grossly, nor depart so very far from

all resemblance to the truth. When a traveller gives

an account of some distant country, he may impose

upon our credulity the most groundless and absurd

fictions as the most certain matters of fact. But

when a person pretends to inform us of what passes

in our neighbourhood, and of the affairs of the very

parish which we live in, though here too, if we are so

careless as not to examine things with our own eyes,

he may deceive us in many respects, yet the greatest

falsehoods which he imposes upon us must bear some

resemblance to the truth, and must even have a considerable

mixture of truth in them. An author who

treats of natural philosophy, and pretends to assign

the causes of the great phenomena of the universe,

pretends to give an account of the affairs of a very

distant country, concerning which he may tell us

what he pleases, and as long as his narration keeps

within the bounds of seeming possibility, he need not

344despair of gaining our belief. But when he proposes

to explain the origin of our desires and affections, of

our sentiments of approbation and disapprobation, he

pretends to give an account, not only of the affairs

of the very parish that we live in, but of our own

domestic concerns. Though here too, like indolent

masters who put their trust in a steward who deceives

them, we are very liable to be imposed upon, yet we

are incapable of passing any account which does not

preserve some little regard to the truth. Some of the

articles, at least, must be just, and even those which

are most overcharged must have had some foundation,

otherwise the fraud would be detected even by

that careless inspection which we are disposed to give.

The author who should assign, as the cause of any

natural sentiment, some principle which neither had

any connexion with it, nor resembled any other principle

which had some such connexion, would appear

absurd and ridiculous to the most injudicious and unexperienced

reader.

345

SECTION III.

Of the different systems which have been formed concerning the principle of approbation.

INTRODUCTION.

After the inquiry concerning the nature of

virtue, the next question of importance in Moral

Philosophy, is concerning the principle of approbation,

concerning the power or faculty of the mind

which renders certain characters agreeable or disagreeable

to us, makes us prefer one tenour of conduct

to another, denominate the one right and the

other wrong, and consider the one as the object of

approbation, honour, and reward; the other as that

of blame, censure, and punishment.

Three different accounts have been given of this

principle of approbation. According to some, we

approve and disapprove both of our own actions and

of those of others, from self-love only, or from some

view of their tendency to our own happiness or disadvantage;

according to others, reason, the same faculty

by which we distinguish between truth and

falsehood, enables us to distinguish between what is

fit and unfit both in actions and affections: according

to others this distinction is altogether the effect

of immediate sentiment and feeling, and arises from

the satisfaction or disgust with which the view of

346certain actions or affections inspires us. Self-love,

reason, and sentiment, therefore, are the three different

sources which have been assigned for the principle

of approbation.

Before I proceed to give an account of those different

systems, I must observe, that the determination

of this second question, though of the greatest

importance in speculation, is of none in practice.

The question concerning the nature of virtue necessarily

has some influence upon our notions of right

and wrong in many particular cases. That concerning

the principle of approbation can possibly have no

such effect. To examine from what contrivance or

mechanism within, those different notions or sentiments

arise, is a mere matter of philosophical curiosity.